Sunni
He’s a goddamn mess. It’s taken me all night to process the fact. Jag, the man who is always confident, sure-fire cocky, and has a joke loaded on the tip of his tongue, is a downright sloppy-ass mess. He doesn’t know it, but I’ve looked up to him over the last six months when he frequents my section at the diner. I’ve idolized his confident and robust mannerism. He was bringing me back to life without even realizing it. Not to mention the fact he’s been the star of several of my fantasies.
“Time to go, Jag.” I tap his shoulder and toss the bleach-scented bar rag on the countertop.
He rolls his head to the side, his forehead pressed into his arm resting on the bar. “I don’t want to go home. I hate home. He’ll be there taunting me. I can smell him now.”
Jag opens his mouth once the last word is out and belches a loud resounding noise that vibrates off the walls of the empty bar. Who in the hell is he talking about? And more importantly, what has this vibrant man so destroyed? I’m no stranger to the game and know we all have demons we keep locked away deep in our closets. It seems Jag’s has come out to play.
“I’m locking up, Jag. You have to go.” I shake his shoulder again when his eyes flutter shut.
“I can’t go home.”
Jesus. I stomp my foot, frustrated beyond belief. I can’t leave him here. And I sure in the hell can’t move him. Jag isn’t a super tall guy, but the thing is every inch of him is solid muscle from his arms to his legs. He’s a good six inches taller than me. More than likely I wouldn’t be able to lift his damn arm up in the air.
I run my finger along the hem of his dark Henley, debating what to do. The side profile of his face rests in peace with all his features slack and relaxed. His olive tan shines brightly under the dim bar lights. Jag is not only a confident and kind man but is the prettiest man I’ve ever had the privilege to see.
My heart aches, missing the familiar smile he always has plastered on. It’s one of those full megawatt ones that has the power to achieve world peace. It brightened my days at the diner every single time he’d waltz in. I find my fingers brushing back a lock of hair covering his forehead. His sides are shaved with long, messy hair on the top. It’s usually styled or pulled back with a headband. Not tonight. His hair matches his mood.
“What’s going on, my friend?” I lean down and kiss his cheek.
It takes me just under five minutes to go outside and pull my car around the front and juggle locking the doors and flicking off the lights.
“Let’s go, big guy.” I tug on his arm and am shocked when he raises his head and tries to stand.
His cellphone tumbles to the floor. It lights up when it bounces off the hardwood floor. Notifications run up and down the screen. The sight of them comforts me because they mean Jag has people behind him.
He sways into me then sways the other way. I tug on his arm with all my might to right him. Jag slams right back into my side, damn near taking me out. His phone in my hand begins singing out “Like a Virgin” by Madonna.
I hate betraying his privacy. I’m desperate and unable to move this beast of a man. I manage to slide the answer button and get the phone to my ear.
“Hello,” I pant into the phone while juggling Jag.
“The hell? Who is this? Where is Jag? Put his ugly ass on the phone now.”
“Waywa,” Jag chants.
“Um, this is Sunni. I have Jag, and he’s drunk. Really, really drunk.”
“Where are you?”
I give the woman on the other line the bar name and address. She ends the call before saying another word. I’m assuming she’s coming here to get him. I hate to admit it, but my heart squeezes in pain at the thought of him having a girlfriend. I shake the thought away as fast as it assaulted me.
“Ten more steps and you can sit down, Jag.” I squeeze his arm in mine, giving him silent encouragement. “You’ve got this.”
“I’s got a dick.” He stumbles out of my arms.
I dart around him and open my passenger side door, so all he has to do is flop down.
“Look.”
I turn to see Jag with his pants down, waving his dick at me.
“Jag,” I hiss. “Pull your pants up.”
“I love doing this. Makes me chuckle every single damn time.” He grabs the base of his long shaft and begins whirling it. Soon it’s flying in a continuous circling motion while Jag laughs his ass off.
“Jag!” I race over to him and grab the hem of his workout pants.
“It’s so big. I like petting it.” Jag rubs his hand up and down his dick. “He likes it. He gets big.”
“Dammit, Jag!” I slap his chest, getting his attention.
His head whips up, eyes bright with delight as his full lips part open. “Sunni, you’re beautiful.”
He reaches out a hand toward my face. I don’t flinch or move, instead pulling up his pants, making sure not to touch his pet dick.
“I wanna kiss you, Sunni.” He steps closer. “I thought about it all night watching your hot little ass behind the bar.”
I press my palms into his chest. “You’re drunk, Jag.”
“I’m dick. I’ve got one.”
I grab his hand, guiding him away from thoughts of a kiss, and tug him toward the car. “Yeah, you’re a drunk dick,” I mumble.
Jag flops into the passenger seat with his thick muscular legs hanging out. He grabs me by the hips before I have the chance to back away. His long arms wrap me in a hug; he nestles his cheek on my lower belly, making me wince.
“Why? Why now?” he mumbles.
I can’t help it. I find my fingers roaming through the long, messy, inky black hair on top of Jag’s head. The motion soothes him. I continue it until his slurred words die off. Headlights flash into the vacant parking lot. The black Escalade whips right up by us. Both doors fly open, followed by two silhouettes.
“Jag.” I shake his shoulder. “Your friends are here.”
He doesn’t move. I try it several more times, and finally the sleeping beast stirs awake.
“Here, we got him,” a deep voice booms behind me.
I turn to see a man who is a giant. Way taller than Jag and thicker in muscle. The look on his face has me quaking in my sandals. His presence isn’t to be fucked with.
“Jag, handing you over to your friends now.” I lean down and kiss the top of his head.
My own action shocks the shit out of me. I don’t regret it but also couldn’t tell you what in the hell possessed me to do it.
I turn to his friends, noticing one is a woman. The concerned look on her face scares me. Something in my gut tells me she knows exactly what Jag is fighting, and if the look in her eyes is any clue, I should be scared as well.
“He had a lot of tequila. I cut him off, but he managed to charm another server into more shots.” I take the tiniest of steps back from Jag. “I’m really sorry about this.”
“It’s not your fault. Thank you for taking the call.” The woman steps up, shaking her head.
“Waywa, I showed her my dick. He’s a good friend.” Jag lifts his head up only to have it sway from side to side. “Wunni woves my cock.”
“Jag!” The man grabs him by the collar, shaking him so violently I fear he might break Jag’s neck. “Get your shit together.”
I step back closer to Jag with a hunger to protect him with everything I have. I don’t care how drunk or crude he is because this isn’t the Jag I know. We all have shitty days, or, hell, even months. Lord knows I have. I’m certain the last five years of my life have been my own personal hell.
“Don’t hurt him.” I place a hand on the man’s forearm.
Big mistake. Big, big mistake. His eyes flash at me, and I swear he bares his teeth at me. I slowly move my hand. Jag sways side to side.
“I’m sick,” he announces.
“No, you’re a dick,” the woman retorts.
“My dick is the motherfucking cham—” Jag’s announcement is cut short when he gags on the last word. The other man is smart enough to back up. Not me. The next five seconds reel out in slow motion as Jag leans over and wretches every last drop of tequila from his stomach. It splatters on the pavement, my bare feet, and up my legs. I’m coated in human vomit.
“That’s it.” The man steps back up again, not in the least hesitant about the vomit. “Your ass is going home.”
He hoists Jag up over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold, still not concerned about the vomit. The man makes it looks like he has a bag of flour on his shoulder instead of a brute of a man.
“Jesus.” The woman runs her hand through her hair. “I’m so sorry about this. How can I help clean up?”
I shake my head, struggling to find a shred of decency in this fucked-up scene. I wave her off and shut the passenger door.
“I’m Layla.” She holds her hand out and points to the man with her other one. “That’s Cruz. He’s my husband.”
I relax with the knowledge she’s not Jag’s girlfriend.
“Sunni.” I shake her hand and offer a slight grin.
“Thank you for taking care of Jag. He’s like a brother to us.”
“No problem. I really did try to cut him off. He was determined to destroy himself.”
“Seems to be his game these days. Don’t worry. We’ll get to the bottom of it.”
“Good.” I tuck my hands into my jean shorts pockets. “I really like Jag. I mean, I only know him from the diner and here tonight. Seems like a really good guy.”
“He is.”
Cruz steps up to us, placing his hand on Layla’s shoulder. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” She nods. “Nice to meet you, Sunni.”
“You too.” I step to the front of my car as the cute couple begins to walk away. A pang of tempered pain beats along with my heart. I had a love like that once, or at least I thought I did.
“Hey, wait.” Layla freezes and whispers to Cruz. He nods and then pulls a business card from his wallet. Layla races back up to me again.
She waves the card in front of me while rambling on a mile a minute. “My dad owns Diablo’s Throne gym. Cruz, Jag, and some other fighters teach a free self-defense lesson for women on Tuesday nights. You should join us. I mean, you are leaving a bar in the middle of the night, you know. It never hurts. Oh, and tomorrow is Tuesday night. Thanks again.”
Just like that, Layla is gone as soon as she showed up. The black Escalade pulls out of the parking lot with Jag in the backseat. I find myself kicking myself in the ass. A large part of me wanted to take Jag home to watch him sleep and nurse him in the morning when he woke up with one hell of a hangover. And maybe then he’d open up to me and tell me exactly what’s eating him alive. Once the glowing taillights fade into darkness, that hope diminishes.