Skin: He wanted full contact

by Johanna Hawke

  I couldn’t even count on both hands how many women I’d slept with during my work trips to cities like Los Angeles and New York, but I often reminded myself how few of them I had actual feelings for: zero. Sleeping around was what an established tattoo artist working on high-profile projects was supposed to do, right? No one would care about the tattoo artist who was pining for the high school girlfriend he’d messed things up with.

  So, Poppy it was for now. She strutted over to me like she was on the catwalk, gave me one final tease with her breasts, and headed out the door without a word. In a few days, I’d surely forget Poppy’s name. She would be just like the others—a combination of aligned circumstances and hope of numbing the pain.

  Chapter 3

  Roni

  The kitchen table was creaky now, something I figured was a result of my father’s increased weakness and tendency to lean on everything in his pathway. I never thought I’d be back here, at least not like this. I sat across the table from my father, whose sunken face was a struggle to look at. Seeing him like this broke my heart, as did being back in this nowhere town.

  “Roni, I’m just so glad you’re back for good, sweetheart,” Dad said, pushing a bowl of cheesy grits, my favorite snack, meal, or side dish as a kid, towards me.

  I offered up my most convincing smile. “Of course. Anything for my number one guy.” I paused. “And I’ve told you a dozen times. I go by Veronica now.”

  Dad shook his head. “You’ll always be Roni in this house.”

  This house. I already knew it was going to be odd staying in my old bedroom for more than a night or two. In this town, it was the norm. I could almost guarantee that nearly all of my high school classmates were still living with their parents and would be for at least another half a decade. In New York, however, all of my friends and classmates had vowed to get the hell out of their parents’ house by the time they graduated. That had always been the plan. I graduated art school knowing full well that I was headed for an overpriced, likely crappy apartment, and I would have been completely okay with that. New York was a hub for arts and culture. Middle of nowhere Virginia wasn’t. Being back here felt like some terrible nightmare, especially given my father’s declining health.

  My father must have sensed the disappointment on my face, because he scooted his chair closer to mine and pushed a strand of my blonde ringlets behind my ear. “I’m sorry, dear,” he said. “The last thing any parent ever wants is to be a burden on their child, especially a child as wonderful as you.”

  How did Dad always have a way of saying the right thing at the right time? It was what I so badly needed to hear. Clearly, my poor attitude and sulking—even in the twenty minutes I’d been home—had impacted him that much that he was worried about burdening me instead of focusing on his treatment. Snap out of it, Veronica, I told myself. You’re back where everything’s familiar, you’re starting a great job, and you have a father who needs you.

  “You’re never a burden, Dad,” I said, placing a gentle kiss on his cheek. I wanted so badly to be like the old Veronica—maybe even Roni—that my father and everyone in this town had come to expect. I could see it in my mind, a naïve teenager running around town with my curls flowing in the wind, rushing from volunteer work to an after school job, from church to a school fundraiser. Maybe there was a reason I was getting this second chance at home.

  I finished my bowl of grits as Dad told me about the latest happenings in town. Apparently, in the seven months since I’d been home, the pastor and his wife got a divorce, and Emily Hansen, a classmate of mine, gave birth to her fourth child in six years.

  We didn’t speak about my mother’s death, though I could tell we both wanted to. I wanted with all my heart to tell my father how sorry I was, how wrong I’d been, for missing Mom’s funeral. In hindsight, it was likely the worst mistake of my life. I chose an art exhibit opening over honoring my mother’s life and mourning her unexpected passing, and I couldn’t take it back. It was only four months ago, but I couldn’t remember a damn thing about that opening. I couldn’t remember anything beyond the art pieces of mine that had been selected. I did, however, remember the look on my father’s face when I told him over video chat that I was going to miss the funeral. I couldn’t erase that look of disappointment from my mind if I tried.

  “Dad, I’m so—”

  Dad cut me off and held up his hand to stop me before I had a chance to continue. “I know, Roni,” he said. “The past is the past.”

  I wanted more than anything to run upstairs to that baby pink room of mine and cry into my pile of pillows. I wanted to cry about the parent I lost, and the parent I was losing. I wanted to cry about the dreams I’d given up in New York to come home. I wanted to cry about the love that I lost in the weeks before I left this town four years earlier. Instead, I made polite chitchat with my dad until he decided he was tired and wanted to lie down.

  After helping him to the family room, which he had transformed into his bedroom to avoid having to take the stairs, I made my way up the stairs with my first batch of luggage and drew in a breath. This was my new reality. It wasn’t going anywhere, so there was no use in fighting it.

  The bedroom I walked into had been home to a completely different Veronica, one who’d always put others first and looked on the bright side. I supposed I’d become selfish in my years away at college. Spending just a few minutes with my dad had started to remind me what was really important, and I knew it was time to stop sulking and accept my new life for what it was. I looked around the room with a determination to see only the positive.

  The full-sized bed was smaller than I remembered, but still a nice step up from the twin bed I’d grown accustomed to at school. I’d have to redecorate, as the Zac Efron and Twilight posters were just a tad outdated, but there was something nice about being back in this familiar room. I walked over to my dresser and opened the top-left drawer, the one I avoided every single trip home until now. There, just where I left it was my Jesse box, filled with birthday cards and love notes and favorite snapshots. Without giving myself a chance to overthink things, I grabbed the old shoebox, walked over to the hall closet, and threw it up on the top shelf. This was my fresh start in Linfield.

  When was this trip down memory lane going to be over and allow this place to start feeling like home again? Everywhere I went, I was hit with the overwhelming feeling of nostalgia. I parked my car in the lot outside the Rusty Bucket, through no idea of my own. Dad had decided that there was no time like the present to get back into the swing of things in Linfield and sent me out the door to “go do whatever kids do these days.” I found myself back in the familiar parking lot outside of the best dive bar for miles. It was a shitty place I, along with a good chunk of my graduating class, had been going to since I was sixteen or seventeen, since they never checked IDs and didn’t care how old you were as long as you ordered something.

  Having turned twenty-one up in New York, I wasn’t accustomed to driving to a bar. I’d had at least a half a dozen bars within a quarter-mile of my dorm. Here, you had to drive a solid five minutes to get anywhere. Equally so, it was weird walking into the Rusty Bucket with a real license that said I was twenty-three instead of the half-assed fake one I’d kept on me throughout high school just in case.

  “Welcome, darling,” one of the bartenders, clearly a transplant from somewhere further south, said as I passed by her. The Rusty Bucket was just as I remembered it. Sure, four years wasn’t such a long time, but it was enough that so much else had changed. It was nice to be in the comforting surroundings of a bar I’d spent dozens of nights in. Looking around, it was a lot less happening than I remembered. There were a few people in the back booths, and a few others further down the bar. I wondered why there were so few people here until I looked at the giant wooden clock above the shelves of booze. It was 8:05 PM, and it was a week night. This wasn’t exactly prime bar-going time.

  My first two thoughts when Dad had told me to go out and be young h
ad been the mall and this bar. Seeing as it had been a blur of a day, filled with acclimation I hadn’t prepared for, I opted for the place that served alcohol. I sat on a barstool two seats down from a group of three and ordered a vodka soda from the unfamiliar bartender. I hadn’t exactly ever been on a first-name basis with the staff at the Rusty Bucket, but I’d always seen the same faces. I supposed a lot had changed since the last time I stopped by.

  Two vodka sodas in and I still couldn’t bring myself to visit the booth that Jesse and I had long ago deemed “our” booth. I told myself that going to the back section and sitting in that booth would help free me from Jesse and our history in this town. No one at this bar seemed to know me, and it was as good a time as any. Instead, I sat on my phone, scrolling through social media, searching for anything to take up the time.

  “Roni?”

  Great. It was my first day back in town and already I was being forced to socialize. I didn’t recognize the voice upon first listen, so I squeezed my eyes shut, hoped it would be someone not completely terrible, and opened up my eyes. “Kayla,” I said, my mind recognizing my high school friend before my eyes had a chance to.

  “I didn’t know you were back in town,” Kayla said. Her voice was friendly, not like someone who I virtually abandoned and ignored for the past few years. Kayla and I hadn’t been absolute best friends, but we’d been close. Our friend group—us, along with Georgia, Rachel, Maddie, and Shawna—were the key to my high school survival until I met Jesse.

  I offered up a smile. “I actually just got back today. My dad’s not doing too well, so I took a job down here so I could be closer to him.” It was the first time I spoke the words aloud, unless I counted telling my almost-roommate why I couldn’t move in with her in New York. I knew better then to lie to Kayla. She was one of those people who was so good at reading others.

  “Sweetie, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Kayla said, resting her hand on my shoulder as if we’d talked daily since graduating high school. “You’re still the same old sweet Roni, always putting others first.”

  Wanting desperately to change the topic from myself, and to have time to decide if I was alright with reverting back to my childhood nickname, I searched my mind for anything I could come up with to ask Kayla. The only thing that came to mind was her love of baking. “How’s the baking going?” I asked.

  “That’s so sweet of you to remember!” Kayla tucked her cropped dark hair behind her ears. “I graduated from a pastry arts program last year, and I’m working at Pritchett’s Bakery over on Main.”

  “That’s fantastic!” I replied, feigning excitement. I never had a clue who the Pritchetts were, other than that they’d been some wealthy family that helped found Linfield and named a bunch of businesses and properties after their own family. The town had Pritchett’s Bakery, the Walter M. Pritchett Library, and the Pritchett House, which I tried to push out of my head because I heard a rumor that Jesse had purchased it. I thought about asking Kayla if she knew more of the Pritchett family backstory, but I wasn’t sure I was in the mood to listen to her answer.

  I hated that I’d become more of a fast-paced city girl with no patience and increased irritability. As Kayla went on about her butter cookies, I made a mental note to try to be more engaged and present in Linfield. After all, it wasn’t everyone else’s fault that I’d ended up back here.

  Long-winded as she was, I realized I really missed Kayla. I missed Linfield. I could complain about the town and its people all day long, but, at the end of the day, this was my home, and these were my people. Kayla excused herself to go meet some work friends for drinks in the back, and we exchanged numbers with a plan to meet for lunch soon to catch up. A part of me was relieved that I ran into Kayla. It was my first step to getting back in the swing of things here.

  The vodka sodas hit my bladder sooner than I expected, and I stepped off my barstool to head to the bathroom. It was the moment of truth. I’d have to pass my beloved booth, to walk right by it and learn to feel nothing at all. As I scooted by the booth where Kayla was saying hello to her friends, I offered up a quick wave. I finally turned the corner to find the red upholstered booths looking just as I’d left them. There in my booth was the ghost of Jesse, a memory of what could’ve been that I couldn’t shake. Only it wasn’t a ghost.

  Chapter 4

  Roni

  “Hey, Roni,” Jesse said, far too casual for my liking.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I asked. I was still trying to pick my jaw up. I’d been able to avoid Jesse during every holiday break for four years, and, now, my first night back in town, he was at my first stop. I supposed his jail sentence had something to do with me having not seen him, and a part of me wished he was still in the slammer so I wouldn’t have to be staring at his gorgeous face.

  “It’s nice to see you, too, gorgeous.” Damn those blue eyes. I wanted so badly to hate them, but they pulled me in as Jesse pierced my soul with that gaze of his. How could someone look so familiar, so similar to the good old days, but also so different? Jesse’s arms were covered in too many tattoos to count, and I had to admit to myself that they were kind of sexy. I never figured myself for a tattoo-loving girl, but I’ve always been a Jesse-loving girl. Besides the new ink and an extra half a foot of gorgeous hair, Jesse looked just as I pictured him every day since.

  “Seriously? Screw you,” I said. I continued on to the bathroom, where I paced back and forth in the handicapped stall and wondered what my next move should be. I hadn’t mentally prepared myself to see Jesse yet. I wasn’t ready for this. How the hell could he act so nonchalant, like he hadn’t completely destroyed me? He left me heartbroken, and now all he could say was, “Hey, Roni”? I supposed that was the Jesse way. A knock on the bathroom stall forced me to do my business and walk back out. Maybe he would magically be gone. Maybe it had all been a figment of my imagination.

  “Come on. Let’s just talk,” Jesse said, before both of my feet were even out the bathroom door. He walked back to the booth, clearly presuming I would follow, and, just as always, I found myself obliging.

  I hated Jesse. I hated his stupid perfect smirk and his gorgeous eyes and the fact that he had probably dozens of tattoos I was surprisingly curious about. I sat down on the side of the booth that had always been reserved for Jesse, just to throw him off his game a bit. To my surprise, he didn’t blink.

  “What do you want, Jesse?” I asked. There was a piece of me that wanted him to say that I was what he wanted.

  “Look, I didn’t know you were going to be here,” Jesse said. “I’m the one that actually lives in this town, after all.”

  I offered up a smirk to match his. “Actually, I’m back in Linfield for good.” I wasn’t certain if it was actually for good, but I wanted to see his reaction. Besides, I was here until further notice, anyhow. Jesse’s eyes lit up and I knew that he was thinking exactly what I’d been thinking since I first stepped foot back into town: this could be a second chance for us. I didn’t want to think that way, to get my hopes up. I didn’t know if I could ever even trust Jesse again. Just sitting across from him in a place filled with so much history hurt my heart. At the same time, seeing Jesse’s face felt like home. It was older, hardened by the hard life I was sure he’d been living the past few years, but it was still the face of a man I once loved.

  Too consumed in my own thoughts to notice, I finally shook off the past and turned my head to see Jesse leaning in toward me. He planted a gentle kiss on my lips and pulled back. I wasn’t sure what exactly came over me, but I moved closer to him and kissed him back. Without a word, Jesse grabbed me by the hand and pulled me down the hallway towards the back exit.

  The second we stepped out of the back door, our mouths rushed together like a magnetic force. It was like our lips had been searching for each other all this time. Jesse tasted just as good as I remembered, with soft lips that made kissing him all the more enjoyable. No man I hooked up with in college had even come close to the intoxi
cation I felt with Jesse. In fact, their combined level of sexiness still didn’t hold a candle to Jesse’s.

  Our tongues still connected, we settled for a discreet spot between two dumpsters. It was a patch of concrete, one that normally would be a turn-off with its garbage-covered corners and possibility of getting caught by other aroused bar-goers. Tonight, however, this was the only place I wanted to be. I didn’t give a damn about the trash.

  Jesse lifted my dress over my shoulders, and, though my first instinct was to tell him not to, to hurt him like he hurt me, I couldn’t resist him. As soon as the cloth hit the top of my head, I pushed my lips back onto his. He grabbed at my breasts, squeezing them with one hand while unhooking my bra with the other. Was this really happening? It occurred to me for the first time that it had been nearly five years since we’d seen each other naked. Would Jesse still like what he saw? I already knew I liked what I saw.

  I squeezed Jesse’s dick hard through his jeans, then unzipped the pants and tugged them and his boxer-briefs down over his ankles. I tugged at his shirt, clawing desperately for any more of his skin to touch, but he resisted. “Shh,” he said, pulling his shirt back down each time I tried to slide it up. I wasn’t sure why he was doing such a strange thing, but I didn’t want to ruin the moment I dreamed about for so long with overthinking.

  “Roni, I missed you, baby,” Jesse said.

  Pulling my mouth away from his just enough to reply, I said, “I missed you too.”

  “You’re so sexy,” he whispered over and over again in my ear, sending heat soaring through my body. Jesse slid my panties down my legs and shoved his fingers inside me. We’d never done that in high school. This was something new with Jesse, a sensation that sent me shaking as I kissed his neck, trying to release some of the passion. Jesse gently lowered me to the ground, landing on top of me.