“None of them dance as good as you, Lex…” His lips pressed into the skin of my neck. Damn he was persistent. I let him pull me off the barstool and back toward the floor, keeping a possessive arm around my waist. Dutch couldn't verbally convince me to change my mind, but he did his best to break the wall down with his body.
My attraction to Dutch was different than my attraction to Jess. Dutch caused something to stir in me that felt very sexual and exciting but at the same time, not fulfilling, like eating a whole tub of frosting without a single crumb of cake.
On the other hand, Jess made me feel something unexplainable. Thoughts of the dark-haired boy clouded the moment. I knew it was only a matter of time before he interrupted my weekend shenanigans. Jess wasn’t here, yet he was everywhere...
A pain stabbed me right in the chest. I abruptly let go of Dutch and walked to the bar for another shot. Suddenly, the idea of his hands on my body, made me feel nauseous.
In the early morning hours, Dutch and I left with a few others to wander down Bourbon Street to a tattoo parlor. I watched as the others picked out barbed designs to commemorate the drunken summer of Rochellas. They took turns getting inked as I drew on a napkin in the corner.
“Lex, you can't just sit there on your ass. We are in this sick tattoo parlor in New…Aw…lins.” Dutch's loud, drunk voice drew the syllables out like a stadium announcer, sending Brecken in a high pitch howl.
“Hells yeah!” Breck took another swig out of the tequila bottle he picked up somewhere on the street.
“Hey, let me see that.” Dutch grabbed my doodle on the napkin. “Damn girl! You are good. Nope. No backing out now. That would look cool as shit right there.” He flipped over my arm, pointing at the bracelets tied on my inner wrist. “I can see it right there all twisty and hot, inked into that sweet-ass skin.”
“Dutch, I can’t do that. It’s permanent.”
“You’re like this crazy, freaky cool artist.” He intertwined our hands, tracing my Luscious Pokeweed painted nails. “What better way to say, ‘I’ve got it. I’ve got so much talent I put it right here.’ You have to do it.”
“I don’t know.” I looked wide-eyed back at my doodle. It was a quick, wispy sketch, reminiscent of a Celtic design I once saw in an art book.
“Come on Lexie. Lexie!” Dutch chanted. After a few seconds, every drunken patron of the fine establishment had joined in on his charming antics.
“Oh, screw it. But it has to be a small version of it. Breck, give me that bottle.”
“Oh yeah. That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”
I needed some liquid courage and hoped my nervous stomach could keep it down. Dutch gave me a slap on the ass as I took a seat. The burly guy, in a Tesla rock t-shirt, grabbed the scissors to clip off the strands.
“Wait!” Reaching in the midst, I unlatched the one in memory of BB, stuffing the braided band snug in my hip pocket. My lips planted on the bottle for another swig. “Ok. Let’s do it.”
During the cleaning and prepping, I felt the buzzy vibe of the tequila. The artist transferred my picture to a stick on stencil. The excitement built watching the prototype come to life.
“Shit!” I sputtered as the first needle stab hurt like a bitch.
I watched the beautiful picture develop into a four-inch long design, with loopy edges scrawling around my wrist. It glowed in the same purple shade as my nails. When the tattoo guy finished, my eyes grew wide; I was permanently inked with my own artwork.
Stumbling back to the cheap motel, I clung to Dutch with my marked arm. I was drunk; the dizzy kind of drunk that slurred my words. Outside my room, he pushed me against the wall and leaned in for a kiss, letting his weight settle against my body. His tongue slipped over mine, blocking any protest to stop.
Rational thoughts moved at a sluggish speed, hoping everyone was asleep and not meandering back to their rooms only to catch a peep show. He slipped his fingers in the waist band of my jeans, causing ticklish tremors on my skin.
Tickle massacre. His laughing blue eyes popped into memory, bringing back all the times Jess held me down until I screamed for mercy in hysterical laughter.
Dutch flicked the button free and inched the zipper down. He pushed his hand down inside the denim. “Mercy.” The word slipped out, meaning nothing to him.
“Huh?”
“You need to let me go.” I tried to step to the side, but I lost one of my shoes.
“Lexie, baby.” His eyes sagged in a heavy trance. “Don't leave me hangin’. I need you so bad it hurts.”
To the right, a door slammed open catching us both off-guard. Darcy came out wearing only a tight, white t-shirt and hot pink panties. I could see through both of them. “Get your purvey hands off her jackass.”
She pulled me toward the room, giving Dutch no option but to back off or fall down. They exchanged a wordless conversation of angry attraction. In that moment, I was positive there was truth behind the theory that Dutch and Darcy had hooked up at some point in the dirty past of Rochellas.
“Mind your own damn business,” Dutch growled in her face.
Darcy let loose a string of expletives and slammed the door. Tequila swirled around in my stomach as I collapsed on my bed. Good save, even if it came from her twisted jealousy. Darcy threw the lost shoe in my direction and stormed back out into the hallway in those pink panties, slamming the door again.
Alone in the cheap room, I contemplated the events of the evening. The dark-haired boy invaded every translucent thought circling in my tequila filled brain. In a moment of weakness, I picked up my phone and waited for his familiar sound to float through the buzzy rings.
“Alex?” Hearing is sleepy voice, I felt like I’d slipped on my favorite sweatshirt from a bottom drawer. A warm, peaceful feeling spread from my chest through the rest of my body.
“Hey,” I whispered.
“What time is it?”
“It’s really late.”
“Somethin’ wrong?” His voice got a little more alert. In the background, I heard the rustling of sheets as he sat up in his bed. I knew they were blue sheets. He was sitting in bed, shirtless, against his blue sheets, pushing his dark hair off his forehead.
“No, I…” My nails dug into my palm. “I was just thinking about some stuff.”
“Are you out in the woods this late alone?”
“No, I’m actually…I’m with Darcy.” It wasn’t a total lie, but I couldn’t tell Jess I was in New Orleans.
“Everythin’ ok?”
“Yeah, it’s fine. Sorry, I know it’s late. I’ll let you go.”
The line held a pause. I pictured those troubled eyebrows contemplating the real purpose of my call in the middle of the night. Jess would worry and stay awake, tossing around after I hung up. Stupid drunk calling. I just wanted to hear his voice, and the alcohol let my guard down.
“You can call me anytime, Al,” he whispered on the other end of the phone. “I don’t care how late it is.”
“I know, but you have to get up early.”
“I do but I don’t care. Talk to me, Al. What’s wrong?”
“I’m fine. I’m just waiting on Darcy while she um, calls someone.”
“I hear it in your voice.” He sounded so sweet and it grabbed me in the chest.
“I’m just tired.”
“Ok.” The line was silent and then he whispered, “I miss you, Al.”
My eyes closed, hearing his voice swirl around in the darkness. “I miss the sound of your voice…your beautiful face. I miss your laugh.” I forgot I was in New Orleans as I listened to his sleepy, pancake syrup coated words. “The way you act all mad but still smile at me. I miss the way your lips turn up a little on the right side…when you’re tryin’ to tease me back. Do you even know you do that?”
“No,” I whispered.
“It’s how I know when you’re lyin’ too.”
“I don’t lie.”
“No?” He chuckled in a deep voice. “I miss this…I miss talking to you…watchin’ your lips move. I miss that freckle right next to the bottom one…the way it’s sorta on your skin and your lip. Makes me want to kiss it…taste it.”