•3

                                    

                                          
Before
                          
With one maragarita glass in my hand and a beer shoved into my back pocket, I walked carefully on the path from the monorail to my bungalow. Or, ours, I suppose. 
                          
I remember how I hated him when he first moved in. I was the first employee to have their bungalow built along the lakeside; I thought I'd be the only one. 
                          
On Owen's tour of the park, he chose to build his bungalow right beside mine, claiming the front view would be beautiful.
                          
To prove his point, the porch of his bungalow was built to face mine. The first time I exited my door, he called, "Told you the view was beautiful!"
                          
My annoyance towards him died down after I discovered he was working with the four baby velociraptors. Working with an aggressive animal qualified you as a daredevil, but multiplying it made him worthy of my time. 
                          
Owen lifted his eyes from the motorcycle he was tinkering with as he heard my shoes cracking against the gravel. 
                          
A smirk taking over his face, he wiped his greasy hands on his pants and met me halfway. 
                          
Our handshake was performed, as always; high five up top, turn our hips and smack each other's ass lightly. 
                          
"Hello to you, neighbor," Owen muttered, pulling the beer from my pocket. 
                          
Together, we walked the rest of the way. I sat on the picnic table, under the shade of the tree that marked the halfway point between our bungalows.
                          
"Anything interesting happen today?" I asked. 
                          
"Jackass tried to present the idea of turning the raptors into weapons again," Owen said. 
                          
In sync, we took sips of our drinks.
                          
It had become tradition in our friendship. During the late afternoon, our free time crossed into the same shot. Drinks were provided, and we drank every time a bad story was shared from the day.
                          
"Seriously, Owen, if you lure him to the edge of the tank, I'll let Mo eat him," I offered. 
                          
Owen smiled, shaking his head, "You're ruthless, Lauren."
                          
"Only to people who are dicks," I corrected, winking, "Did anything good happen?"
                          
"The girls finally listened to my commands."
                          
I balanced my glass on the table to clap proudly for him. 
                          
"That's big news. Congratulations, Raptor daddy," I cheered. 
                          
From the way he rolled his eyes to meet mine, he was obviously going to say something about the nickname I'd given him. 
                          
He stopped when he realized my attention was elsewhere. Following my suspiciously squinted eyes, he found a car rolling to a stop on the street in front of our bungalows. 
                          
Dressed in attire that screamed she was in a higher position than everyone else --and wanted to remind people of it-- the director of Jurassic World approached us. 
                          
"Hello, Mr.Grady, Ms. Rove," Claire greeting professionally.
                          
I scrunched my face, mouthing a skeptical, "Ms.Rove?" to Owen. 
                          
"Mr.Grady?" Owen repeated out loud, touching on Claire's questionable greeting. 
                          
Claire faked a smile, fixing it with, "Owen. Lauren." 
                          
"How can we help you?" I asked, suppressing an annoyed sigh. 
                          
"Every time we've unveiled a new attraction, attendance has spiked," Claire began; it sounded rehearsed.
                          
"Are you releasing the bitch that tried to bite off my arm?" I asked.
                          
Owen's eyes snapped to me. "What?"
                          
"Claire thought since I worked with the largest dinosaur on the island, I'd make the same connection with their genetically engineered dinosaur. I went into the cage to feed her and she chased me, wanting me as food," I explained, glaring at the woman, who purposely ignored it. "Genius idea, wasn't it?"
                          
Claire's jaw clenched. "Have care how you speak, Lauren. I am still very capable of firing you."
                          
"Good luck finding someone else to walk across a marine dinosaur," I retorted. 
                          
While she glared, I took a joyous sip of my alcohol, my eyes smiling for me. 
                          
"You just went and made a new dinosaur?" Owen asked. 
                          
"Yeah, it's kind of what we do here," Claire said as though he was an idiot, "The exhibit opens in a few weeks-"
                          
"If you need another show, I'm capable of trying to do tricks on Mo," I interrupted. 
                          
Fueling my idea, Owen suggested, "We'll call it Lauren and the Incredible Mosasaur. Or just Lauren and Mo."
                          
"You named it?" Claire asked, which was clearly the only thing she took from it.
                          
"It is a she, and she is an animal," I reminded her, my head tilting skeptically, "Or have you forgot that?"
                          
"I'm already not comfortable with you walking across her," Claire said. 
                          
In my eyes, the reason for that was because Jurassic World didn't want to get sued if Mo ate me. 
                          
"I'd save your concern for that genetically engineered dino," I said. 
                          
Claire suppressed her annoyance and directed her attention to Owen. "Mr.Masrani asked I consult with you."
                          
"You wanna consult here, or in my bungalow?" Owen flirted. 
                          
Claire shook her head, looking uncomfortable, "That's not funny."
                          
"It's a little funny," Owen muttered. 
                          
"We'd like you to evaluate the paddock for vulnerabilities," Claire continued.
                          
I furrowed my brow. "Why him?"
                          
"I guess Mr.Masrani thinks that since he's able to control the raptors-"
                          
"See, it's all about control with you," Owen cut her off. He looked her in the eyes as he spoke, ensuring she understood his correction, "I don't control the raptors. It's a relationship, based on mutual respect. That's why you and I never had a second date."
                          
"Excuse me?" Claire scoffed, "I never wanted a second date."
                          
"Who prints out an itinerary for a night out?" 
                          
"I am an organized person!"
                          
"What kind of a diet doesn't include tequila?" 
                          
"All of them, actually," Claire huffed, "What kind of a man shows up to a date dressed in board shorts?"
                          
"It is Central America," I said without hesitation. 
                          
Owen caught my eye and winked. I flashed him a smile. 
                          
"Can we just focus on the asset, please?" Claire muttered. 
                          
"The asset?" I repeated, in astonishment.
                          
Claire's lips pouted for a subtle moment, thinking of why I responded as I did. 
                          
"Look, you're in charge out here. You gotta make a lot of big decisions-- it's probably easier to believe these animals are numbers on a spreadsheet. But they aren't. They're alive," Owen tried to explain. 
                          
"I'm fully aware they're alive."
                          
"You made them in a test tube," I said, "Humans know that. They do not."
                          
"They're thinking, 'I've gotta eat, I've gotta hunt. I've gotta..'" Owen paused, slowly punching the air in reference to sexual activity. With an amused smirk, he asked, "You can relate to at least one of those things, right?"
                          
Claire's poker face never faltered. She ordered Owen to meet her in her car in five minutes. 
                          
"Somebody needs to get laid," I muttered to Owen as we watched her walk away, "If I ever get that uptight.."
                          
"Have sex with you?" Owen finished, smirking, "Gladly."
                          
"You're an idiot."