by Lori L. Otto
“I think he might want to know who the third party was.”
“No,” I say, trying to be polite.
“Oh, it’d be you,” she says to Damon.
“Wait, what?” he asks.
She has my attention, too. “Sorry?” I’m biting my lip, stifling a laugh if she’s suggesting what I think she’s suggesting.
“I wanted to see if you two wanted to have a three-way with me.”
“Oh, God, no,” Damon says even before the laughter escapes my lips. “No, see… it’s not like that with us. No. We’ve known each other for too long.”
“Eight years. And neither of us are, uh… curious at all, in that aspect. Sorry. I’ve already seen more of Damon than I ever want to.”
“You wouldn’t have to do anything with each other… just, you know… watch… and maybe touch.”
“Oh, we know…” I say. We’ve seen porn, thank you very much. “I have to pass. Damon, you’re a handsome guy, but, uh…”
“You’re an ugly son-of-a-bitch,” he tells me. “Fuck that.”
We both start laughing as our waitress gets up, clearly embarrassed. “Look, I’m flattered,” I tell her. “We–we–are flattered. It’s just not something we’re into.”
She nods, smiles, and returns to us. “Well, I get off at nine, if either one of you are interested in a little solo action…”
“I’ll be here at five after,” Damon says quickly. “And if you have a girl friend you want to bring…”
“For him?” she asks, nodding to me.
“For him, or for us…” he says.
I glare at him, then start shaking my head vehemently. “Not for me. That’s all you guys. Or maybe Tavo. Or Peron. Or anyone other than me.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” she says. “I’m Ralli, by the way.”
“Cute name,” Damon says. “Suits you.”
“I might need one of these alcoholic shakes to get this image out of my head,” I joke with him.
“Might I suggest the Mudslide?” he asks. “Dark chocolate oozing with sweet, vanilla custard.”
“Awww, fuck,” I say, throwing down my burger onto my plate. “You’re the absolute worst.” He can’t stop laughing, and eventually I join in with him, now thinking about how ludicrous her invitation was. When I can talk, I finally pose a question to him. “Do we look like we swing both ways?”
“Compared to…” He gestures to the abundance of mountain men around us.
“Yeah, we’re not coming back until we get the facial hair thing figured out.”
“You better start now.”
“Mine grows fast!” I argue, feeling the stubble on my chin.
“Your mustache takes awhile, though. The beard’s good, but there’s something weird about part of your upper lip.”
“It’s a scar, you idiot. It’s never gonna grow right.” I drag my finger over the line on my lip that I can barely even feel anymore.
“I guess we can’t come back.”
“I don’t think mountain men will take points off for a scar. Girls even like it. You just have to be perfectly coiffed. Can’t have a single imperfection… spend more on beauty products than any woman I know.”
“But feel my skin.” He picks up my hand.
“No!” I pull my arm back into my body, chuckling again. “We do look like we swing both ways. It’s your fault, too.”
He puts his arm across my shoulders and plants a kiss on my cheek.
“We’re so getting beat up as soon as we walk out of this place…” I mutter.
“We’re both too pretty.”
“I’m not shaving anymore,” I vow. “So, Ralli, huh?” I ask him, starting to eat again.
“Might as well have some fun before we hit LA. Lots of nice dinners with executives, from what I hear. Who knows when my next opportunity will be?”
“Executives from the music industry. Pretty sure they’ll have opportunities for you. They want Damon Littlefield to be happy. Once they know what does that, you’ll have your choice of Rallis.”
“You never know. One of the meetings I’m taking is all about my image.”
“So glad they don’t want to meet with us.”
“Actually, they want to meet with you. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
“Better not be about my fucking image.”
“Not sure what it’s about.”
“Shouldn’t you know? You’re essentially the boss of me.”
He smiles. “Don’t think it has anything to do with me…”
“I don’t know if I like the sound of this.”
“It’ll be fine. Just know if you go tour with someone else, I’m giving you a matching scar on the other side of your face, and serving those execs Big Willy on a platter with a side of vanilla custard. Okay?”
“Thanks for consistently reminding me why you’re my best friend,” I tell him, grinning.
“It’s blackmail, but it works for us.”
“Sure does.”
After I finish eating, Damon and I go our separate ways. I decide to go to the cowboy-themed bar he’d mentioned and try to find some guys to play pool with–not for money, but just for the challenge.
Before I approach the bar to pay for a table, I see Tavo line dancing on the wooden floor in the back. I can’t tear my eyes away, and stand at the edge of the carpet in disbelief. It’s a horrible country song played by an even worse country band with what has to be one of the least rhythmic drummers not just in Wyoming, but in the world. And there Tavo is, trying to keep the beat in his Nikes, cargo shorts–that’s all he ever wears, snow be damned–and his High Life t-shirt. Not knowing whether to laugh or cry, I just smile, feeling a sense of pride for my strange little friend.
There are days when I just love how Tavo lives his life. Jumping in there, doing random shit, and not giving a damn about what anyone thinks about him. Deciding against taking what would be an undoubtedly embarrassing video of him, I walk over to the bartender and ask him how much it is to play pool.
“Just go pick up a stick and play. What’ll you have to drink?”
“A Coke’s good.”
“Ten bucks for the table.”
“All right,” I say, handing him fifteen and waiting for my drink.
Within two minutes of breaking, I’ve got four people watching me play. I decide not to hold back, hoping that there’s someone here who can match my skills. As I shoot the last ball into the corner pocket, an older, burly man sets a fifty on the edge of the table. When I look at him, he simply asks, “You in?”
“I’m in.” I put two twenties and a ten on top of his bill, and the woman with him racks the balls for both of us.
“New Yorker?”
“Yeah.”
“Where’dja learn to play like that?”
“A friend’s house when I was a kid.”
After the guy’s second turn, I feel bad for him and wonder why he decided to put his money out there. The only reason he even got a second turn was because someone at the table behind us bumped me as I took my shot. This time, I’m aware of where everyone else is around me, and I take my time running the table until the eight ball is safely in the side center pocket, where I said it’d go.
“Wanna try to win it back?” I ask him.
“Nah,” he says, holding his hands up in defeat. “Thought if I had a turn, I’d keep you from doing what you just did, but… I’m not taking that chance again.”
A woman sets a crisp Benjamin down next to the money that’s still laid out. “I’ll take you on.”
“You’re just his type,” Tavo says from behind me.
“Hey, man,” I say, shaking his hand before turning back around to look at the pretty, thirty-something brunette who’s just propositioned me. “You’re on.”
“You want to rack them, or should I?” she asks.
“I’ll do it.” Tavo helps to gather all the balls on the table, and I make quick work of racking them, and then breaking them, pocketing a solid and a stripe. “Sol
ids,” I call after scanning the table quickly. I purposefully miss my shot, wanting to give my challenger a chance so I can see what I’m up against. It’s always risky, but I don’t want to be that show-off asshole who plays a two-player game alone.
“I’m Monica,” she says as she walks around the table past me, checking out her options. Tavo elbows me in the back.
“I’m Will.”
“Will?” she starts. “Do I even have a shot?”
She’s still looking down at the table, so she can’t see the look of shock on my face as I stare at her. A few people in the crowd who had gathered to watch the first game after seeing my skills moan and begin to walk away.
“She just wanted to play with you, Will. She doesn’t give a shit about the game,” Tavo whispers in my ear.
“If I were you,” I tell her, now walking to the other side of the table to join her, “I’d have quite a few. Depends on how good you are.”
“I’m good,” she says as she leans against the table, now clearly not talking about pool. “Really good.”
“Did you just put down a hundred bucks to… what? Hit on me?”
“It got your attention…”
“I need the money,” I explain.
“And I have it.”
“I think you have the wrong idea.” I pocket the money from the first game.
“We’ll call it a lesson then,” she says desperately.
“A lesson?”
“Can you teach me? Billiards? For a hundred dollars?”
I shake my head, seeing Tavo nodding his at me. “I’m only here for the day.”
“Just for this game. Then you can make the decision what you’ll do for the rest of your day here. Please? I really do want to learn.”
“You’re willing to give me a hundred dollars to just show you the basics of pool using our game as an example?”
“Yes.”
I check my watch. “All right.”
The hot water of the shower is punishing on my skin. I’d earned a high-five from Tavo on my way out the door, but I wasn’t at all proud of what I’d done. The lesson turned into about an hour of improprieties, when it came right down to it. Sixty minutes of sexual innuendoes that admittedly got me hard more than once. Hands-on tutorials of good posture and form. Monica smelled good, too.
The game was over in twenty minutes. After that, she showed me what she already knew about holding sticks and handling balls. I wanted to walk away. In my head, I saw myself running out of that fucking cowboy bar alone, but I kept listening to her, watching the way her hands caressed the billiard tools, having completely unseemly fantasies. Tavo sat across the bar on a saddle, watching everything unfold as if he were watching us on a movie screen. A true voyeur, that one.
“Wanna come back to my room?”
The question lingered in the back of my mind. I’ll admit, it did. But it never came out of my mouth. She never came back to my room, because when I thought about undressing her, there was something missing.
It was Shea.
I remembered the first time I saw her naked. How, with no hesitation whatsoever, at the simple suggestion of stripping down to nothing to stay warm, she did just that. She looked at me with all the confidence in the world and her body was like a holy chalice I wanted to drink from. I’ve never seen a woman’s body in that way before. And although her actual body was no different from any other women’s, the soul that had taken residence there was extraordinary.
I miss her. I miss her a lot, which is why I’m focused on her so intently in this long, steamy shower in the middle of the day. Things I want to do with her. Things I want to let her do to me. Things she says she wants to do.
I need to see her again.
After drying off, I collapse on the newly-made bed, happy and tired. I did pass a test today. I’m sure Shea wouldn’t be happy if she’d seen how I’d been with my billiards student earlier, but I think she’d forgive me. If she knew how much of a battle this is for me, she may even be proud of me. That might be expecting too much from a woman I’m dating, though.
Forgiveness would be plenty.
Someone knocks on my door.
“Just a second!” I tuck a towel around my waist and check the peephole, opening the door for Peron. “Sorry. Just showered. Let me put some clothes on.”
He waits in the bedroom while I throw on my jeans and a t-shirt in the bathroom.
“Heard you were working out this morning.”
“Just running. Can’t be complacent anymore, you know?”
“You’re a good looking guy, Peron. And a good guy. You’re gonna be fine.”
“Have you eaten today?”
“Yeah, Damon and I had a burger.”
“That sounds good. Wanna come with me? Talk for a bit? Lyrics or something?”
“Uhhh… I don’t really want to go back to the same place, but if you’re okay with going somewhere different, sure.”
“That’s fine.”
He picks a barbecue place, but orders a meatless salad from the menu for his meal. I guess he remembered his ‘not being complacent’ plan after choosing the restaurant.
“You have some new lyrics?” I ask him.
“No. I wanted to talk about yours. They’ve been bugging me for days.”
“What?” I ask him, picking up on some tension.
“Yeah. And then I ran into Tavo in the lobby a few minutes ago, and he tells me about your encounter with some pool tramp, and–”
“Stop.” I slap my palm on the table to get his attention before he continues his obvious rant. “Don’t know why you’re pissed, but get it out there.”
“I cannot believe you told some woman you’re falling in love with her last week. You hadn’t even known–”
“Known her a week, I’ve been over this and over this in my own mind and with Damon. Thanks for stating the obvious, Per. What’s your point?”
“Well, I felt about sixty-percent certain that you were fooling yourself then. That you were out of your mind and on some aphrodisiacal high or something from being shut in with your sexual concubine for days–”
“Let’s not call her that. I’d consider her at least my equal, okay?”
“Whatever. Not my point.”
“Let’s get to it, then.”
“You’re making a big mistake. Leading her on like that.”
“I don’t feel like that’s what I’m doing at all.”
“Feel.” He laughs. “Feel. Like you know what it’s like to feel.”
I’m taken aback. Of all the people who’d come to me with such a conversation, the last one I’d ever expect it from would be Peron. “So you don’t believe I can change?”
He shakes his head.
“Then why the fuck did I come to you to be the one person to hold me accountable to this plan to change on this tour? I thought you’d be the one person who actually thought I could do this. That I could change.”
“I’ve seen you up close and in action, Will.”
“Yeah! You have! You’ve seen me abstain from sex for nearly this entire tour! With a shit ton of temptations, need I remind you? With Damon shoving someone in my face nearly every night, if a woman isn’t brazen enough to approach me herself… or having a front row of girls throwing me pieces of paper with their phone numbers or room numbers at every damn show… or crazy ladies willing to put up a hundred bucks just so she can talk dirty to me in a bar for an hour. It’s enough to drive someone like me mad! How about ‘good fucking job, Will?!’
“I thought you were on my side.”
“Well, then we got to Minneapolis, and all bets were off. You fell off the wagon, and stayed away from us so we couldn’t even try to get you back on track.”
“She’s different, Peron. That wasn’t a hookup. It wasn’t a one-night stand. I don’t need to be talked out of being with her.”
“Don’t need to be, or don’t want to be?”
I shrug my shoulders. “Either.”
“She�
�s no different,” he says softly. “Will. She’s just some girl you met on the road. A pretty face who was offering something you wanted. You were at a very low point. Like an addict desperate for his poison. You get her alone… isolate yourself from any good influences you had… you take what you want. It all makes sense to you, when your common sense is nowhere to be found. You’ve got your euphoric high, and you think love. Do you remember love? Do you even know what it is?”
Addict. I’m still stuck on the word addict. It’s the second time someone’s suggested that term in relation to me. It takes me a minute for my brain to process the rest of what he’s said.
“Peron?”
He nods.
“I didn’t remember love until I met Shea. I’m not sure I remembered how to feel until I met Shea. But I do feel something–no, a lot–for her. So thanks for asking and not just making your own ignorant assumptions about me,” I say sarcastically. “Looking back, something else also happened in Minneapolis. You got dumped. I hate to bring it up, I do, but I can’t help but wonder if you’re trying to sabotage this good thing that I’ve got going on because of the shit that’s going on in your life.
“If that’s what’s going on, just stop. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you after those first few days. I’m here for you now. I’ll listen to you moan and groan and wallow over that lying-cheat-of-a-girl who doesn’t deserve your time anymore, if that’s how you want to spend your days. I’ll help you move on, if you’d rather that. But I won’t let you analyze my feelings for Shea or give any advice on how I handle my relationship with her until you actually ask me about her. About how she’s different, and how she makes me feel. Ask me how I’ve avoided temptations since I’ve met her. Until that happens, the topic of Shea is completely off-limits to you, okay?”
He nods once more, his jaw taught, but I think he knows I’m right. Something in his eyes is telling me that.
“I respect our friendship, and I don’t think you intended to be such a dick to me today. I’m gonna head back to the hotel. I’ll see you on the bus tomorrow.”
That night, after talking to Shea, I sit quietly in the hotel room and watch people in the street below. Although I’d told her that I made a hundred and fifty bucks playing pool–revealing one of my strengths to her–I decided not to expose the weakness I displayed in my interaction with Monica. It would only make her needlessly worry. I didn’t act on it. Yes, a part of me wanted to, but it wasn’t the part that was making the decisions anymore.
