The Shuffler

Will

The bar isn’t as empty as I wanted on a Thursday night.

I walk in and half the university football team is already deep into spring-break bonding. Cheerleaders lined up on the counter doing body shots while the rest of the place soaks up the tips.

One of the cheerleaders peels her top off to show the abs and the impressive cock in her pants.

The squad hollers with approval.

Judging by the way she watches herself in the mirror behind the bar, the “accident” was planned.

I want to leave.

This is why I stay clear of campus bars. Too many Chads and Trixies burning their twenties on hormones and cheap liquor.

But there are things you notice about the person you love.

Jamie has a whale-tail tattoo. We’ve been together two years, through undergrad, talking marriage once the job lands and things settle.

I can’t put the size of what I feel for her into clean words.

We’re as serious as two people get and still in the part where everything feels new.

She called half an hour ago and told me to meet her here.

Said she had something I needed to see to believe.

She’s in the back, away from the noise, working on a beer that isn’t her first.

Jamie doesn’t have classes tomorrow, but knocking back brewskis on a school night is unusual for her.

She’s scanning the room the way she does when she’s self-conscious about a new look.

I smile and walk over.

“There’s something different about you.”

“Wa-what?” she stammers.

“You’re more beautiful every time I see you.”

Safe line.

I’m a romantic, and I like laying it on.

One of the few things I do well.

“Wait… are you actually seeing something, or are you just being cute? How specifically am I more beautiful?”

Crap.

The fact is Jamie is average.

Not unattractive, just missing the features that stop traffic.

She’s the kind of person who wants to look great but has always had higher priorities or simply come up short of the beauty mark.

Of course she’s perfect to me.

That’s cold comfort when your partner is looking for the specific thing that changed.

I check quickly.

Golden-red hair in beachy waves falling midway down her back, framing skin that looks like it belongs on a cover and makeup done with precision.

Her top is a see-through button-down tied off under the ribs to show the hourglass, bare midriff, and heavy tits.

Several buttons open, with the cleavage on full display.

If she’s wearing a bra, it’s doing science-level work.

She’s got more up top than anyone else in the place, but that’s normal for her.

Six-inch black boots, plaid mini, no panties—also normal.

Cherry, booze, and sex smell across the table.

Nothing new.

I can’t figure what she changed.

I look at her face.

“Your eyes. They’re glowing. Rest of you too.”

She laughs the way I like and settles back.

“Wrong, cheeseball. But thanks.”

“Okay, I give up. You did make a change, right?”

“That’s… kind of the big question.”

She digs in her purse and sets a blue-green plastic box on the table.

Clunky knobs and an antenna on top.

Looks like a garage-door opener built from thrift-store parts or something you’d hand out at a rave.

“Today I was given this,” she says, like it’s important.

“And it’s…?”

“Well, see, that’s the part you won’t believe.”

She takes a breath.

“It trades shit.”

I squint. “It swamps shit?”

She glares.

“It trades shit.”

She can tell from my face that isn’t clear.

She points at the bar with a sweep of French-tipped fingers.

“They’re having a piss-up. Whoever chugs the most wins bragging rights and a week off from swallowing jizz.”

The football players are holding cheerleader hair back while the girls chug and drip suds.

“It trades shit… how?”

She shrugs.

“Like magic.”

I lift my chin.

She looks at the box.

“As far as I can tell it trades people’s body parts with other people. Or things. Whoever holds the box knows about the changes. Keeps the screaming down. I haven’t had it long. Been having fun.”

I laugh.

“I’m serious!”

Her voice tightens.

“This is important. Landmark. Game-changer. You’re on the team so I want to share it.”

She’s right—I don’t believe her.

Girl’s got something on her mind, so I play along.

“So you got a magic box you can use to make the world better?”

“Trade people,” she corrects. “Sort of. Dude said it’s from a tech firm, and he’s alpha-testing. Said I was picked from a list, and they needed to see what the tech can handle in the wild. Make sure it doesn’t stress out. Or that it works. I was stoned. Signed some paperwork…”

“I thought you said it’s magic?”

“No, I said it’s like magic. Haven’t you ever wanted to be someone else? Change? Make your body better?”

“Baby, I’m happy being me. You should be too.”

I put my hand over hers.

“You’re perfect.”

“Yeah,” she glances down, “now I am.”

“What?”

“Nada.”

She shakes her head.

“Look, don’t you want to change something? Dudes are all about alphaing. Don’t you want the biggest cock on the planet?”

“Hey, what’s wrong with my cock?”