“He’s right, you know.” Dutch leaned in a little closer, resting a hand on the side of my chair. I felt the slight brush of his fingers against my bare thigh. They lingered just below the frayed denim. He smiled again and my stare dropped to his lips.
“Ok…I’ll come.” I took his hand off my leg, but Dutch held onto my fingers. His arched eyebrows dared me to pull away. Charming bastard, I almost laughed in his face.
I knew of guys like Dutch. The type that left you saying, what the hell just happened? The only difference; I never had one set his sights on me. I was an average tomboy, who was cursed with red hair and freckles. I guess camp made life an even playing field; everyone took a cold shower and wallowed around in the same dirt.
Dutch let go of my fingers and rested his hand on my inner thigh. It happened so fast, I wasn’t sure what to do. Darcy jumped up from the table and came around in my direction. She slapped his hand away from my leg.
“Stop touching her, you jackass. Come on, let’s get ready for the party.” She stood about five inches shorter than me. Linking an arm through mine, she pulled my taller body from the chair. She gave me no choice except follow her out the door.
Darcy pulled a pack of Virginia Slims from her shredded, ass-hugging shorts. She gestured in my direction but I gave a quick shake signaling no. In the night air, she blew out a cloud of smoke between us. She flicked the ash, with a half-interested gaze over my plain, gray t-shirt.
“Do I need to change for this party?” Not sure why I even threw out the question since each suitcase had more of the same.
“Nah. It’s on the docks. You're cute you know. In that natural way.”
“Ok?”
“He likes the cutesy, fresh ones.”
“Fresh?”
“Something new to catch his attention. Here's the deal, Lexie. I don't wanna get mixed up in whatever game he's runnin' with you.” Pulling in another drag, she blew a ring of smoke, filling my lungs with more second-hand cancer.
“I can’t tell if you like his bullshit or are just too naive to see it. Either way, Dutch is fun. Pulls you in real nice with all his little complements and smiles, makin’ you feel all hot and dazed. Then bam! Don't trust the bastard. Cute as a puppy then he sneaks up and bites your ass. Literally.”
“Thanks, I guess?”
“Should see your face.” Her quips of laugher propelled white clouds from her nostrils. “He's not actually going to put teeth marks on your butt. Well…I don't know. I haven't seen him since last summer. Who the hell knows what he's into these days.”
Her sharp-pitched cackles seemed out of place within the quiet camp grounds. Contemplating her warnings, I took the quips with a grain of salt. Besides, I had no intentions of having a torrid summer fling with any boy, let alone Dutch. My life was a complicated mess right now.
“So what’s this Hatchet House?”
“Oh hell, I might as well tell you. It’s a lawn shed about half a mile or so in the woods away from main grounds. It’s full of equipment and shit they want to keep away from the kids. The staff uses it for quick, ass-grabbin’ sex. Not much privacy in the bunks, you know. If you get asked up there, or I guess I should say when that bastard charms your cotton panties off. Better be damn flexible so you don’t touch anythin’. That place has more STDs than a sorority bitch on spring break.”
Darcy’s pulled in another drag, waiting for my reaction. The girl scared me a little, like an angry, fighting pit bull, latching on teeth and nails. The smoke blew out of her noise as she laughed. “I’m just messin’ with you.”
“People don’t hook up there?”
“Nah, they do. You’re just fun to talk to because I can’t shock many people anymore. You get this petrified look. Kinda fun.”
I trotted along beside Darcy. She took me to the back corner of the bunks. Under her bed, she pulled out a wood crate. My eyes grew wide seeing the contents inside.
“Now Lexie, if you’re plannin’ to come to these things, you’ll have to contribute. Can’t have you moochin’ on all the good stuff.”
“Ok,” I swallowed.
The party provided a glimpse into the darker and wilder side of camp. Rochellas was a college student’s hazy summer job and the worse nightmare of a camper's parents, if they knew the morality of those who cared for their precious, undisciplined offspring.
Seven of the staff met up on the docks to partake in a tub of hard liquor and large amount of pot, consumed in joints, as well as a few bongs. As it turns out, Brecken was preoccupied during our dinner in the mess hall. High as shit in the trees was the term Dutch used. He swore it was just a summer thing for most of them, except for Brecken.
As the newest invitee to the dock, I listened as the group swapped stories from past years. Brecken, who supervised archery, chose not to shower all summer. If you smelled like shit, the little shitters kept their distance. He used his idea to drive the campers away so he could sip on a flask and take midday naps against a tree.
I cringed, listening to Darcy’s story. Last summer the group had one party that got a little out of hand. The staff faced the next day hung over and irritable as hell. Darcy slipped the kids Benadryl, and then loaded them up on the boat for a ride out to the middle of the lake. She passed out across the steering wheel, nursing one hell of a hangover, while the kids took a nap on top of a pile of life jackets. They floated for hours, almost reaching the other side of the lake shore.
Darcy said something regarding Dutch, but Brecken shut her down fast. Actually, he gave her a slight push that ended with one big splash in the lake. She clawed up the side, pulling his lawn chair over backwards. Water sprayed up while angry words echoed from the black pool.
“That’s not fair, you know. I didn’t hear your worst camp story,” I teased Dutch, looking into his brown eyes. He leaned forward and kissed me instead of answering. His lips tasted slightly of bitter tea. It was different than kissing Jess; the confused thoughts drifted through my mind. It was different but good. I wanted Dutch to kiss me again because it was easy with him.
The days flew by with the turnover of new campers every two weeks. I ate every meal with Dutch, Darcy, and Brecken. As a person who once survived on vending machine drivel, I never complained about the lack of gourmet food while the others ripped the shit out of the mess hall staff.
Several nights each week, my new friends held an invitation-only party on the docks. I stayed clear of the drugs even though it was tempting to fade into the smoky escape. Those nights offered a relaxing time in the summer away from our kid duties.
Darcy taught me how to play quarters and I got pretty good at a few drinking games. Other nights, the group gambled cleaning duties by playing Texas Hold ‘Em. I cleaned the toilets for days in a row until Brecken taught me how to cheat.
Sometimes we just chilled out on the dock drinking, or in the case of the others, smoking. Once in a while, we hooked up Darcy’s iPod. She liked to dance all swanky and nasty in the humid air. I danced with her a few times. My father would have yanked me right off those wooden boards if he saw me. Dutch, on the other hand, liked to watch us.
I knew these people were crazy and unconventional as hell, but they were nice to me, with minimal pressure to partake in their recreational drug use. I preferred to think of it that way instead of the reality; my friends were high more often than sober but they made me feel welcome. That’s what mattered most at camp.
Everyone lived by Dutch’s unwritten rule of Rochellas. Never talk about the world outside the red arched sign because it ruined the high. I didn’t know majors, hometowns, or even the colleges attended by most of the staff. I didn’t know their families or even if they had siblings. The most important piece: they didn’t know a single thing about Alex Tanner.
One night as I sat on the boat dock, it occurred to me; most of these people assumed I really was Lexie. I never bothered to correct the nicknamed dubbed by Dutch’s attempt to flirt on the day we met. This summer, I could be someone else. The id
ea felt new and invigorating, like an Etch-a-Sketch shaken until clean.
At Rochellas, this Lexie never lost a mother to cancer. She never watched the world pick through her belongings as the sky fell all around her. This fun-filled girl was never dragged to another town, only to be homeless. She never experienced the glares, taunts, or pity from a place that survived on gossip. Most importantly, this camp never heard of a Mason and this Lexie owed them absolutely nothing. I was free of everything.
I spent most of that free time at the pool, laughing at Dutch. I wasn’t under the delusion our friendship was exclusive. My intensions were strictly platonic, which blurred occasionally as time went on at camp.
Friends with flirting benefits, at least that’s what he called it. Every time he kissed me, I enjoyed it. Dutch was just so damn good at sucking me into his irrational thoughts; a seamless transition from laughing to flirting to being touched by a guy who was intoxicating with experience.
Deep down, I knew he didn’t care about me. He just liked having fun and pulled you along for the ride. That’s all I wanted too, but I made it very clear; friends with flirting benefits included absolutely no sex.
Even with that one little rule, I still had fun with Dutch, at least until my past invaded my present. Those were the days when I called Jess and my problems came right back to haunt me. We didn’t talk much while I was at camp since it required a short hike to a clearing in the swampy woods to get cell phone reception.
He was always sweet on the phone; his familiar voice grabbing me right in the chest. Most of the calls were much of the same. Jess said Arlis sucked without me. The town’s notorious were up to their usual. Skeeter Rawlins got drunk in the middle of a Tuesday and fell off Nickel Bridge, breaking an arm and a few ribs. My father’s proposal to Caroline over Memorial Weekend, still traveled around in some circles as the latest news. The residents counted down the days to the fall wedding and the lucrative invite to a party at Sprayberry.
The grass fires north of Arlis, filled Jeeter’s and the feed store with ongoing conversations about those affected by the blaze. Jess promised he was nowhere near the area with fireworks. He ran into a few of our classmates, including Ashley. She was driving down Main Street one afternoon, and he flipped her off just because it made him feel better.
Every time we talked, the warmth of his voice and familiarity of our words became harder to bear. It was inevitable I would miss Jess, but I didn’t expect it to be this difficult hearing him on the phone. I knew him too well. I knew the words that caused his eyebrows to wrinkle up. I knew when Jess sounded frustrated; he pushed the hair off his forehead. I knew the exact way his tongue absently licked his upper lip when he talked about eating a hamburger from Jeeter’s. I knew the way Jess smiled as he teased me from hundreds of miles away.
Sometimes I think it was just easier when the bars on my cell phone showed no service. I didn’t have to deal with the awful pain he caused in my chest.
The weekend after Fourth of July, I left with Dutch and a few others for a much needed sabbatical and my first trip to New Orleans. Bourbon Street looked exactly how I imagined; fun and booze and sex. We hit the strip, crawling between the bars, leaving a trail of alcohol tabs for those twenty-one or in the possession of fake IDs. My plastic Texas license held a picture of twenty-three year old Lexie Carter from Nacogdoches. Dutch set up my new ID two weeks ago when he mailed a picture, along with my two hundred bucks, to someone he knew in Houston.
As we entered a small club, I was already drunk from the shots I pounded in the last two bars. Dutch pulled me to the middle of the cramped dance floor. He smiled an intoxicating grin as we intertwined in a dirty grind.
Usher’s smooth voice drifted through the bar as I pressed my back into Dutch’s chest. He leaned in, kissing my neck as his fingers slid across my stomach and over my hips, pulling me hard against his body. We danced under strobe lights; it was hot and sweaty and sexy. I turned around, tasting his rum coated lips as he slipped his tongue in my mouth. The alcohol moved through my body and the room got a little hazy, making me forget people could see us.
Dutch dipped me low to the floor, slowly grinding against my hips to a Timberlake song. “Lex…you have to stay with me,” Dutch whispered in my ear.
I shook my head, no.
“Come on, baby. It’s our night. You can't leave me hangin’ like this. You want it too. I can feel it.”
“I'm staying with Darcy. You know that already.”
“Darcy is not staying in your room tonight. She’ll be tied up with whoever the hell has his hand up her shirt over there.”
“Matt.”
“Good for you. More than Darcy will bother to know. Come on, we shouldn't both be lonely. I could just stay in your room and talk, Lexie…” His soft, caressing use of my nickname always made me feel a little wilder. Dutch inched his hand over the back of my jeans, his fingers tracing the edge of the pocket.
“Is that what you’re calling it now? I’m not talking with you tonight.” I pulled back, watching his face turn into a pout. “Come on, let’s keep dancing.”
“Maybe I should find someone else who really wants to dance.”
“Maybe you should. There's a whole room full of them.” I let go of his body and gestured out toward the floor. “I’ll find someone else to entertain me.”
Turning in the opposite direction, I walked toward the counter and sat down on the wooden barstool. Brecken would be back soon and I could just hang with him for the rest of the night. Dutch was fun, but I was not caving to his pressure. I felt a set of hands go around my waist and flatten across my stomach. His thumbs rubbed back and forth over the sides of my breasts.
“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 chan
ted. 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.
The Mason List Page 20
