by Jean Haus
The lights dim and I pluck a pair of sunglasses from the pocket of my open shirt, stepping back to Gabe’s drum set so that Romeo and Sam can have the stage for the intro. One of our originals, the song is slower and more bluesy than most of the stuff we play. Romeo, who writes most of our music, has a thing for blues, folk, and combinations of the two.
The crowd sways and moves to the beat. Some hardcore fans, knowing the song, shout and whistle in excitement. As the opening bridges into the repeating chords of the chorus—Romeo also likes to start songs with the chorus—I walk to the microphone, grab it, and share it with Sam as all four of us sing the first words.
The volume of the guitars drops and the drums pump a slow beat behind me as I walk away from Sam, who’s bouncing like normal to the edge of the stage, singing the first verse low like a whisper. The crowd crushes forward. Some chick’s hands grab on to the edge of my boots, which hang over the edge of the stage, but I keep singing. Rabid fans don’t bother me—they get me more pumped up. After another repeat of the chorus, I step back behind the drums again while Romeo plays the solo. Leaning on Romeo, we end the song with one more round of the chorus.
As the song fades, the crowd roars.
I slide the microphone back into the stand and lower my glasses. “You guys rock! With that response, I’d like to stay here all night!” Their response is deafening. “But we’ve left a classic for the end.”
When I step back, Romeo breaks into a charging riff and the crowd goes wild, recognizing Lit’s “My Own Worst Enemy.” Sam, Romeo, and I jump together to the beat, and the crowd is soon copying us. I’m pumped with unquenchable energy as everyone sings with me and raises drinks at the refrain. It’s the perfect hard-driving song to end the evening.
Tilting the microphone stand over the edge of the stage, I sing the last line as the whole room bounces with us. On the last note, the lights cut out. The masses below the stage go wild. The lights come back on. The four of us bow in a line at the front of the stage. The chant of “More! More! More!” rings out, but Romeo put a stop to giving in to the “more” chant after the first six months. If it were up to me, we’d always do more.
Backstage, Sam passes around the obligatory bottle. At my turn, Gabe shoves it at me. I snatch it from the immature little prick and take several swigs. My inked back hurts more now that the high of performing is wearing off.
After we load up Romeo’s van, he’s off to see Riley. He’s one whipped asshole. The rest of us head toward the closed-off balcony—most of the places we play are old movie theaters turned into bars—but some guy stops me at the foot of the stairs.
“Hey, man!” he shouts over the recorded music playing. “I wanted to say thanks for the tickets. The show rocked.”
I’m trying to figure out who the hell he is when I notice the Dragonfly Ink logo on his T-shirt. Then my stupid ass notices his piercings and tattooed arms. Damn. I’d been hoping Allie changed her mind. Obviously not. But I force the tightness from my face. “No problem…”
“Todd,” he fills in, and gestures behind him. “This is Mac. The old man only inks part time.”
With his gray beard, Mac looks like he’s closing in on sixty. Compared to everyone else I saw working at the shop, he’s an odd choice, but I’m guessing he’s good because Allie appears to take her business seriously.
Noticing people slowly gathering around us, I take the first step and say over my shoulder, “Come on up and have a drink with the band.”
Without hesitation, they follow me up. Sam, Gabe, and a bunch of girls already wait in the balcony area, standing at tall tables. Mara comes at me and throws herself into my arms. I give her a long hug, enjoying the way she’s rubbing herself against me, then grab two beers from the tray on a table and give them to Todd and Mac. After grabbing my own beer, I introduce them to Mara, who’s now glued to my side.
Standing around one of the tables, we talk music for a while until we switch to ink. Mara’s mouth is quiet, but her body is as suggestive as hell each time she moves. Someone orders a round of tequila shots, and a minute later Mara and I are licking the salt from the same glass, feeding each other the shot, and sucking on the same lime. She wraps a leg around my waist as our lips touch during the suck. I’m liking it until I glance up and see Todd and Mac still holding their own shots and watching us enviously. That’s when the situation I’ve put myself in hits me.
They work with Allie. In fact they work for her. And Mara’s been hanging on me all night, practically fucking me with her clothes on. Definitely fucking me with her eyes. They might say something to Allie. Maybe even warn her away from me. Normally, I wouldn’t care if a woman turned me down because I’m promiscuous. I sure as hell don’t owe anyone anything. But Allie’s different. She’s a challenge. A challenge that now has a newly opened door for me—in the form of a fake date. Allie, hearing about Mara and me tonight, has the potential to shut that door. Business owner, talented tattooist, and college student, Allie is the whole package. The more I get to know her, the more I’m committed to the challenge she presents. Mara, on the other hand, is a way to pass the time.
A hot, wild way to pass the time.
Sam comes over and starts talking to Todd and Mac about ink while I weigh my options. Mara stays pasted to me. Damn, her tits look good. She must have one of those push-up bras on. The kind I like to leave on when we have sex. I mentally compare the two girls to each other. Sure, Mara’s hot, but there’s not much else there. Allie is also sexy but talented too and easy to talk to. Then there are her sad, guarded eyes. I want to rid her of the storm in her gaze, if even for a night. It’s become part of the challenge.
It takes only one more second of thinking about Allie’s eyes to realize that I want to get myself out of this predicament. I’ve never tried to get a woman to quit hitting on me. Oblivious to my thoughts, Mara leans close and whispers in my ear about leaving, then explores my neck with her lips.
I glance down at the amazing tits pushed against my arm. I conjure up Allie’s sexy voice. Mara’s teeth nip at my ear. I imagine Allie’s lip ring. Mara squeezes my ass. I imagine Allie’s rainstorm eyes.
I draw in a deep breath and shake my head no. “Can’t. Got to get up early.” That is true. Romeo has us booked tomorrow for another recording session. But Mara knows early mornings never stop me from staying out late.
She stays pushed up against me but starts to pout.
I shrug.
She glares.
I drain half my beer.
Finally, Mara jerks away from me, yanks her purse from a chair, and walks away without looking back. Both Todd and Mac watch her swaying ass disappear down the stairs. Good. They’ll remember she left without me.
We drink some more. Todd and Mac try to talk Sam into checking out the shop. He just shakes his buzzed head and grins, showing them the lame tattoos on his arm. Though he’s cut like a fucking bodybuilder, I swear the pussy is scared of needles. Girls are hanging around us, but none are as aggressive as Mara.
Sam switches to Sprite. He may be a heavy partier, but he never drinks and drives. I used to, back in my teenage years. Sideswiped a tree once. Totaled my motorcycle. Walked home. With a broken arm. It was the next morning by the time the cops showed up and tried to pin me with careless driving, but my parents threw a fit. At them and me. I didn’t give a shit, but liked the attention. Was probably looking for it. But with one hotshot lawyer, the case was dropped within a month. And once again I was off my parents’ radar. Yet after having several nightmares about not hitting a tree but a person, I never drank and drove again. Not even to get my parents’ attention.
The bar announces last call. I decline. Sam wants to go. He is all about getting home and doing his best tomorrow. The ass has bought into Romeo’s plans for our indie glory. Gabe already left with his stick-with-tits girlfriend. We give Todd and Mac some fist bumps and leave them at the table, which is still populated with girls.
We drive home, and my buzz dissipates at the
thought of my lonely dorm room and my even lonelier bed.
Chapter 7
Justin
When I pull up in front of Dragonfly Ink, I’m nervous as shit. I went on a few real dates in high school, but they hadn’t scared me. Now I’m about to go on a fake date and my balls are tied in knots. I’m not worried about going with the flow and acting the boyfriend. I’m freaked out because I want to make an impression. Something I never worry about. And I’m clueless about how to do it while on this sham of a date. My charm hasn’t gotten me far with this girl.
Yet.
As soon as I open the shop door, Allie’s coming at me. Hot damn. She’s wearing a dress. Black. Short. Tight. It has only one sleeve, her tattoo acting as the other and her bare shoulder gleaming under the track lights. “Hey,” I say as she lifts a coat. I reach for it, then hold it out for her. “You look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” she responds hastily, sliding into the coat and flying past me out the door.
Opening the car door for her, I notice the reason for her quick flight. Mandy, Shaya, and Todd peer at us from the shop’s window. Todd gives me a thumbs-up. I give them all a quick wave and hurry around the car, wanting to get away from our audience as quickly as Allie clearly does.
“Where to?” I ask, starting the car. She gives me directions as I try not to stare at the sleek length of her legs ending in sexy heels. She finishes the directions with, “By the way, you look pretty good too.”
“Thanks,” I say. I don’t share that it took me for-fucking-ever to pick out my clothes. I finally ended with a black Armani button-up shirt, frayed jeans, and low black boots. Not exactly the outfit of the year, but with my nerves in overdrive, I couldn’t fathom what to wear to an art show.
The silence in the car is awkward for the first few minutes, until I ask, “So should I know anything about your ex? Will he be breathing down my neck all night?”
She waves a hand. “He’ll be fine. I just don’t want anything to do with that revolving door.”
The revolving door comment hits my conscience. Though I’ve never slept with more than one girl a night, the next night could always mean someone new. At that thought, I decide to stay off the topic of her ex. “Is this a good friend who’s showing at the gallery or an art friend?”
“Both. We’ve known each other since high school. I haven’t had much time to see her lately, which is another reason I didn’t want to miss the show.”
“Another art geek?”
“Yes. She was never as geeky as me, and obviously way more driven, considering she’s doing the whole gallery thing.”
“I’m going to be honest, I didn’t know there was an art gallery in the area.”
“You from around here?”
“Been here three years, but I grew up in Grand Rapids.”
“Actually, there are two art studios around here. One is more a mix of photography and art, and the one we’re going to is mainly paintings and sculpture but also offers classes. But yeah, art galleries exist outside of New York or London or Grand Rapids. Smaller scale, with less commas on the price tags.”
I can smell her perfume, something clean and flowery scented. It fits her perfectly. “Your friend…”
“Hannah.”
“She paints?”
“No. She does constructed sculpture.”
“Constructed sculpture?”
She nods. “Instead of molding the piece or chiseling it from stone, it’s built.”
“You like her work?”
She glances at me. “Well, yeah.”
I give her a look that says, Tell me the truth.
Allie laughs and the low, husky sound fills the interior of the car. Damn. She could giggle and it would be sexy. She pushes auburn waves behind a shoulder. “I do like her art. I would love to own a piece, if I had the extra money. She has major talent.”
I slow as we near the address she gave me. It’s in an older, renovated part of town filled with boutiques and little restaurants. Since the gallery parking lot is full, I pull a U-turn and park on the opposite side of the street. “If the amount of cars out here is any indication, she must do well.”
Allie nods. “Hannah eventually wants to make it to New York.”
I kill the engine and shoot her a look. “Any last words before we become a public couple?”
Her hands pause on the seat belt as she glances at me. “Thanks for coming. Hopefully, it will be tame and we’ll just have fun checking out art and sipping cheap wine.”
“You. Me. Art. Fun. Cheap wine. Sounds good,” I say as she reaches for the door handle. “Hey, let your date get that.”
She rolls her eyes but lets out a soft, nervous giggle. I was right. Her giggle is sexy too.
After opening the door, I take her hand and we walk across the street. She doesn’t pull away, and the way our hands fit together feels perfect. We hang our coats on a rack in the entrance, and as soon as we enter the studio, a waitress dressed in a top hat offers up a tray of drinks. I almost laugh at the ridiculous display. Gummy worms lie at the bottom of a plastic flute of sparkling wine and red wine fills a plastic glass with a flashing pink stem. Keeping my inner wine snob in check, I reach for the red wine. Allie goes for the flute of sparkling wine. Hand in hand we start roaming the huge gallery space, which is split down the middle by sleek white panels. Soft Spanish guitar music plays in the background.
Our first stop is a metal bird with long wings extended, perched on a motorcycle about half its true size. It’s kind of cool.
“Can you tell what it’s made of?” Allie asks before sipping her wine.
I look over the piece more closely, enjoying the feel of her hand in mine. Never thought I’d enjoy something so innocent. “A thin, shiny metal?”
“Close. Large paper clips. Cool, huh?”
I’m examining the piece again when a loud “Hey, girl!” sounds behind us.
As Allie turns and breaks our hand connection, she’s enveloped in fuzzy, bright green arms. The words “You made it!” come out of the fuzz. Allie laughs, returns the hug, and the owner of the fuzzy arms finally materializes. I’m looking at a girl who’s wearing a funnel-collar coat that’s impossibly fuzzy and green. The funnel is higher than her spiked pink hair.
She grabs Allie’s arm and leans close. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know Jazz would bring Trevor.” Allie’s mouth tightens but the pink-haired woman doesn’t notice. “And when did he get back? It’s like he materialized out of thin air. I know you—”
“Hannah,” Allie says, cutting her off and gesturing to me. “I’d like you to meet Justin.”
“Oh.” Hannah’s bright blue eyes drift over me for several seconds. “Well hello, Justin.” She gives Allie an approving look. “Didn’t know you had it in you, Al, but he’s delicious.”
Allie gives a tight half smile.
I grin at Hannah. “I’m not sure if I should say thanks or if Allie should.”
Hannah cocks her head. “Maybe both?”
A guy in a pink top hat clamps on Hannah’s elbow and whispers in her ear. She listens intently, then lets him drag her away while waving in our direction.
“She’d fit in New York perfectly,” I say, then take a sip of wine. It’s horrid. Or maybe I’m just used to the really good stuff.
“Yeah, she was flamboyant even in high school.” Allie motions forward with her wine glass. “Let’s check out the rest of her collection and then find somewhere inconspicuous to hang.”
I follow her to the next display and almost run into her when she suddenly stops.
A few people away, Trevor stands next to a woman in a dress much smaller and tighter than Allie’s. The woman cackles loudly before Trevor leans down and says something in her ear. A slow smile spreads across her face.
Allie stands frozen, watching them. The look on her face has my gut clenching with the realization that maybe this girl is untouchable because she already belongs to him. She turns abruptly and wraps an arm around mine. Her nails dig
into my arm as she drains the rest of her wine. The hand holding the empty glass trembles a bit.
“Hey, you okay?” I ask softly.
Her lips unclench from a grimace and she nods. As a waiter passes, she exchanges her glass for another gummy-worm sparkling wine. She drains half of it in seconds, then spins toward the closest display. “I’m good,” she says stiffly. She gestures to the sculpture in front of us. “What do you think of this one?”
I glance at the piece, some sort of tower with crazy metal shit spilling down its sides. Like a cellular tower vomiting on itself. “It’s all right,” I say, though I couldn’t give a fuck what it looks like. Not when Allie appears shell-shocked.
She tugs at my arm and robotically says, “Let’s go check out the pieces on the other side.”
Our fake date has suddenly turned sour. I’m definitely not anywhere near charming her. Not sure it’s possible now.
We wander past people, some of whom Allie nods to vaguely, and check out art, but her mind is clearly far from this room. Far from me or fun or even art. Her hand stays clamped around mine. When she talks, her voice is a monotone. She’s soon on her third glass of wine. As we browse without really seeing, a few people come over and talk with us. Each of them says something about Trevor being here. I’m getting the idea they must have been together for quite a while and that their breakup was big news when it happened.
After touring a bunch of pieces that I hardly pay attention to, we end up at the back of the studio next to a wall of paintings. Seconds later Trevor, without his scantily clad date, comes up to us.
Allie stiffens and her hand slides to my shoulder.
Trevor steps in front of her. “So tell me, Al, you’re aware I wouldn’t know sculpture from a pile of turds, what do you think of the exhibit?”
Allie blinks as if coming to life, then says steadily, “It’s cohesive. The pieces build on one another and show her strengths. The three she picked as pivotal works do stand out the most. The exhibit is whimsical yet keeps her usual focus on the contrast between nature and technology.”
