73. She

Genre: Drama
Characters:  Wilson, Ramone
Prompt: 73. She
Word Count: 841
Rating: PG
Type: series
Summary: Wilson and Ramone have a talk.
Warnings: Short, kind of lame pics
** I just wanted to put up something, at least get the dust off of this story!
bueno= good , no puedo= I can't, que paso= what's up

Wilson sat blankly staring at the thin ring of condensation caused by his ice cold glass. He hadn’t touched it, the tall glass of beer filled to the rim. He was too busy thinking about the reason he was here and what he had to say. Three day. Three days before, hours, minutes, even three seconds before that kiss there would have been a completely different reason behind this meeting. He looked up at the door as it swung open, watching Ramone greet the bartenders with a smile. The smile he used to seduce each woman he encountered, each woman he had to have.

His slow strides to the bar stool irritated Will further. He clenched his teeth as he watched Ramone drum his fingers on the bar. Images of Ramone touching her with those hands enraged him, brought a sick feeling to his stomach, an aching in his chest. “Que Paso?” Ramone greeted, snatching his own beer bottle from the bar, “You wanted to talk?” He faced Will with a worry-free expression. “Yeah,” Will rubbed at the tight muscles in his neck, “about Cian…” He trailed off as he tried to formulate the right way to say it. Ramone had been his friend since his freshmen year of college but this dance wasn’t their first. They’d had their eyes on the same woman once before. Will respectfully bowed out, withholding the displeasure of seeing the pair together and carried on with his studies like a good friend.

He allowed that memory to fade quickly as he continued, “I had every intention of backing away from her when I saw you at her apartment but I can’t now. I won’t. She has my heart and I’m not going to stop trying to win hers.”

Ramone smiled. He felt challenged. Felt as if he’d just been asked to race around the world for a prize. The prize being a woman who had somehow managed to capture his attention in a way no woman ever had. “Well then,” He spoke through his smile, “that makes two of us.”

“This isn’t a game, Ramone.” Wilson belted.

“Bueno! Cause I’m not playing.” Ramone retorted. “Right now her focus is this someone who means a lot, you, but something within me longs for her, causes an aching in my body for her. Normally, I’d try to avoid stepping on your toes but, no peudo, Will. I can’t do that this time.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Wilson asked flatly.

“Both.” Ramone seemed reluctant to answer. “People will stare at the two of you. Call you all kinds of names and make shitty comments about her being black with a white man. That’s too much for her, Will! She can’t handle that! She needs someone who looks like her. Someone who can walk down the street and kiss her, hug her, hold her hand without the world staring at her!”

“What she needs,” Will’s anger beamed through his eyes, “is someone who will love her through the comments, and stares. Someone who loves her for being the great person she is and not just because of her skin color. Love her because she is their only and not just the flavor of the week.”

Ramone laughed, “Flavor of the week…” He repeated shaking his head. “Will, I understand that you have history with her and that you’ve had more time to fall for her but think about it. If things were like that between the two of you, it would have happened by now! Even if she did get over the fear of what people might think, she’d still have to deal with how her family might handle it. If you care about her like you say, you’d want it to be as easy as possible for her. Accept her being with someone that looks like her.”  

“You mean like you?” Wilson nodded, shaking his head in agreement. A silent acceptance to this battle placed before him. Pulling through his pocket he retrieved a twenty dollar bill, enough for his untouched drink and a more than generous tip. A quick glance at Ramone, he blinked back the wave of anger that washed over him, the urge to snatch him from the bar stool by his neck and show him just how serious he was. Dropping the crisp bill down on the counter he spoke as calm as possible, “I mean what I said. Hurt her ...and I will hurt you.” Without allowing him to reply, Wilson pushed through the bar door with extreme force, not caring if he cracked the glass, hit someone with it, or damaged it in any other way. All that mattered was Cian, and the kiss that was now haunting him and deepening his feelings by the second.

A war with someone he considered a good friend was one road he could do without traveling down. A road that could possibly lead him into a fiery crash, twisted metal, broken and destroyed to the point of no return. If this was the way it had to be, he was ready and willing to take that chance. In his eyes, she was more than worth it.