ofvellichorandverbosity

[ofvellichorandverbosity]

champagne problems - ch. 1

The humidity felt sticky on her skin, but Cam didn’t seem to notice. She had never been one for the details of a situation--or well, some situations. She was quick to call out the mistakes in an engineering formula or point to the structural flaws in a design--little things like that never slipped by her. The world of science and numbers had a rhythm all on its own, something that the blonde had always seemed to find her groove in. 

Relationships though...well, those were another story. 

“So that’s when I said ‘BOOM’! You looking for this?” A large pair of fists slammed on the table, causing the flatware to jump a few inches in the air with surprise. Blinking back her focus on the man in front of her, Cam smiled politely, trying to figure out when she should say that repeating a story from a Marvel movie wasn’t impressive when you’ve seen said movie six times. 

Apparently, she didn’t need to say anything, because a dark cloud passed over his face and his brows knitted in frustration. “Were you even listening? God, it’s always the same with you blondes--head in the clouds, too ditzy to spend five minutes listening to someone else’s story.” His breath came out rushed and he glared into her soul.

Correction: his glare tried to stare into her soul. There had to be a soul there in the first place--one thing that Camryn Ross was pretty sure she no longer had. 

Maybe she never had one--that wouldn’t surprise her. She’d never been the best with connecting to folks. The dark, tortured brand wasn’t something that just happened overnight. She’d spent a long time crafting this persona, even before she’d met….

No. She had a rule and she’d be damned if she’d break it, especially in front of man baby and his fragile ego. 

Her eyes lifted to meet his, her own gaze icy cold. “If it’s always the same with us blondes, why do you keep picking us?” 

He twisted his lip, obviously surprised that she’d chosen to engage in his insult. “Well, you might be stupid but y’all are a pretty good lay.” 

Cam rolled her eyes, a sigh of disgust passed through her lips. “God, men are such pigs. Is that really all you think about? I should have known--men like you only have one brain and Lord knows it’s not located on your shoulders.” 

The man learned forward, his perfectly swoopy hair starting to come loose from his gel prison. “Listen here, bitch. I have a degree from Harvard, you’d better believe I’ve got more intelligence in my left pinky than you do in your whole body.” He sneered. 

“So they’re just giving those away now?” She raised her brow, taking a piece of her bread and ripping off a piece casually. She popped it in her mouth and scrunched her nose. “Hm, maybe I should get in line.”

A manicured finger appeared in front of her nose. “You’re lucky I even went on this date with you--your brother begged me to take you out, since no one else wants you. Can’t imagine why--you’re such a peach.” 

As bored as Cam was attempting to act (a sure fire way to piss off preppy boys with big bank accounts), she couldn’t deny his words stung deeply. She knew Charlie probably hadn’t begged this asshole to take her out but she knew he had asked him a few times. He was worried about her--fine. Whatever. But did his worry have to come with a douchecanoe and no oar? And did this guy have to say the truth so loudly?

“Oh, aren’t you a charmer.” She scrunched her nose  as she took a sip of water. “It’s true what they say about southern gentleman--such ladies men.” She pushed herself from the table and placed her napkin on the plate. “Does your momma know you talk to women like this?

“But you’re right. Lucky me, for I got to sit in front of the biggest jerk this side of the Mississippi for an hour as he talked about nothing but himself--including a terribly plagiarized version of the War Machine story from Avengers: Age of Ultron.” His face turned ashen and she just shrugged. “Yeah, I noticed. You aren’t sly, y’know. Lucky me, for I got to listen to you insult my intelligence, my appearance and I guess my datability. As if being interesting to assholes like you is what I live for. So yeah, consider me a fuckin’ lottery winner.”

She moved toward the exit, sending the waitress an apology and slipping her a 20 for her time. She didn’t need this man to feel whole, Cam reminded herself. She was just fine on her own--she had been for years. Men like him--their perfect, flawless face, their lined pockets of glittering gold, their expensive educations and fancy pants jobs and unattainable secret rules--they were nothing but trouble.  Big, fat, stupid, I-told-you-so trouble. 

And heartbreak. 

As she reached the door of her 2002 Jeep Wrangler--her pride and joy, fixed up from the junkyard all on her own--another hand wrapped around the handle and she looked up. 

“Cam, seriously. How many guys are you gonna keep putting up with before you tell your brother to stop meddling?” 

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she looked back at Sawyer--her best friend, her trusted confidant, and her favorite underpaid date security detail. Not that, in all honesty, Cam really needed a security guard. She was more than capable of getting wayward men flat on their back--and not in the fun kind of way. But Sawyer had insisted that he hang by, if only to crack jokes on the whole car ride home. Something about the way he was so pushy about this idea made Cam think that he knew more about herself than she did--but she didn’t feel like digging around in that garden. 

“Have you tried telling Charlie to stop doing anything? It’s like asking a pig to fly--it cannot be done. He’d just get all wiggy and start being more intense about the whole thing. At least this way he can say he tried before he dies of a premature death due to his worry over me.” Cam shoved him out of the way and opened the door. “Now, are you getting in or walking?”

In a flash, Sawyer was next to her in the car--his face a mix of amusement and annoyance. “Cam, please tell me you know you can do better than Harvard Hack over there. That man was as interesting as a piece of rotting flotsam on Myrtle. Even if he is pretty.” Sawyer had this tendency to use marine terms in everyday life--but she supposed she couldn’t blame him. Unlike her, he’d found a job that aligned with his passions. How could she be mad that he was living his dream?

“Yeah yeah yeah--now let’s go before Trust Fund Baby gets it in his mind to start screaming at me. I don’t need a repeat of the last guy.” 

“What happened to him?”

“Turns out a black eye doesn’t go well with linen suits.” The engine reeved and they tore out of the parking lot, leaving the awful man huffing over his own rejection.

“Violence isn’t the answer, C.” Sawyer chastised softly and she cackled loudly. 

“No, but alcohol is a solution.” She tilted her head to the bright neon sign on Sawyer’s side of the street. Pulling into a parking spot, she hopped out of the Jeep and ran a hand through her hair. “Now, let’s solve this problem, shall we?” A resigned groan fell from Sawyer’s lips as she tugged him along. 

Cam loved dive bars--she loved the smell, the feel, the stories that were etched into the exposed beams. Perhaps it wasn’t completely true that Cam was bad at relationships--she had always been close with Karla, the local bartender. She was a good listener, and while Cam never said anything she would tell another person--she got the impression that if she ever did, Karla wouldn’t judge her. Maybe. 

“Well there you are--I was beginning to get worried. My regular not showing up on Two For Tuesdays? I was ready to call up the sheriff to put a warrant on you.” Karla winked as she slid two shots her way--whiskey, of course. If Cam was going to play the part of a tormented individual, nothing better to stoke those demons than some Jack Daniels. 

“Wouldn’t be the first, babe.” She winked and shot the amber liquid back. She didn’t used to drink whiskey. In fact, she wouldn’t be caught dead drinking anything that wasn’t clear or fruit flavored. But reality bit her in the ass in a real way and suddenly she preferred the burn of the alcohol to the searing pain of a heart ache. 

“How you can do that astounds me. That shit is nasty.” Sawyer shook his head, sipping his pina colada with a little dance. Sawyer had never much cared about what people thought of him--especially if he liked something. Why refuse yourself something you enjoy just because someone else doesn’t? That’s silly. He’d often remind her, through slurred words after his fifth pina. He had a point, Cam knew that. But also--some opinions weren’t meant to be challenged.

“It’s not hard.” In fact, it’s more appealing than alternative. “You just don’t think about it.” Any of it. You don’t think about the burn, you don’t think about the smoky aftertaste.  Not about the way his blue eyes reflected candlelight perfectly or the way his nose wiggles when he was particularly amused.  Definitely not how his laugh was so effervescent that you could pick it out in the middle of a crowd---

Cam nearly dropped her shot glass straight on the ground, but Sawyer caught it just in time. “Cam?”

No, no no no. Her breathing became shallow and she felt her entire body shrink back into herself as she heard the laugh again. No, no--this is just me imagining this. There’s no--no way…

“Vodka Martini, please.” The voice was as smooth as she had remembered it and Cam willed herself to keep her back toward the man. Sawyer looked ready to open his mouth again and without thinking, the blonde kicked him hard. She placed her finger up to her lips and motioned slightly to the man. He was confused--and in a large amount of pain--but he stayed quiet. 

“And another whiskey for the lady--though in a past life it would have been a sex on the beach, no?” 

The color drained from her face and she closed her eyes. If this was a nightmare, it was time for her to wake up. Slowly, she turned her body to face him, her entire brain on high alert. 

“Camryn Ross.” He said her name softly, gently--and if she wasn’t mistaken, a hint of reverence? Her heart hammered in her chest as she searched desperately for words. 

As she opened her mouth, though, words were not what came out. Instead, it was the contents of her meal and the whiskey shot she took earlier. All over the bar, the barstools and--worst of all--his shoes. 

Oh fuck. She cursed. Now that was an intro.