by Kellie Hart
“Fuck yes!” she squeals over the chanting audience. “Fuck yes!”
Someone beside her yanks the scarf away, and Carey ties her hair up in a knot, shares a quick You got my back? glance with Jacque and Char, and lunges towards the other woman in no more than five seconds. Thankfully, Jacque and Char catch Carey before she completely launches herself through the crowd. Claws at the ready, she fights against them, and I know it will be mere moments before she breaks away. The last two weeks of our entirely Mike-free existence have reinvigorated something in her. When before she was simply going through the motions, now she is center-stage and living. I don’t foresee her letting anyone, ever again, stand in the way of her being her true self or getting what she deserves.
But, for fuck’s sake, Carey, it’s only a scarf!
The music blares onward, but I wave frantically at her to stop the scrapping before it’s begun.
Carey’s eyes land on me, and she cools instantly. Jacque and Char only free her when they can see Carey is calm again. A total dimwit, the thief flips Carey the middle finger, but Carey shrugs it off as gracefully as she is capable.
“Keep the fucking scarf! I don’t care. I get to take him home. ALL TEN INCHES. So, chew on that, bitch!”
Laughing at my foolhardy girl, I rise and rejoin the men. As I do, I catch Char mouth a question to Carey.
Ten inches?! I think it is.
The music rumbles its way to the grand finale, and Fox, Chad, Monty, and I link up to offer the ladies fair a poor excuse for a chorus kickline. On the final beats of the song, we free our entangled arms, Monty falls face first onto the stage, and the remaining men rip off their sequined loin cloths. This is what these women have paid for—the full package—and we shall provide them nothing less.
I am pleased to inform you that Brigadier General William Broadshaft rises to the challenge, and as the women remain standing at attention, he kindly salutes them as well. Carey elbows Jacque and Char, with a finger pointed to my dick, saying, “I told you so!” but their eyes aren’t on me. Char’s concentrating only on Chad, and Jacque has formed binoculars with her fingers to keep her gaze solely trained on Fox.
Love works in that manner, I have realized. It narrows one’s focus so skillfully to the face of the one you adore that it all but blocks out what’s left of the world.
At least, that’s the way it feels when I look at my Carolina.
“Your dressing room,” I whisper.
I’ll be there, she mouths in return.
***
Not fifteen minutes have passed since the curtain fell, and I am naked, waiting in Carolina’s dressing space, when the door bursts open. Carey rushes in, clutching my tshirt and dark jeans. She pants, her cheeks blotched with red.
“What’s wrong, love?” I leap from the sofa to her side. “Did something happen?”
“Char,” she mutters, struggling for breath. “She’s gone into labor.”
“The baby’s coming?!” I shriek; then, I collect my wits. “The baby is on her way?” I try again, a bit manlier this time.
Chest heaving, Carey collapses against her vanity. “Yeah. Apparently, her water broke somewhere in the middle of the set. She wanted to Live one last fucking time before the baby gets here, so she didn’t say anything.” Carey slaps her forehead. “Charlotte is going to be a mother.”
“And an excellent one at that,” I say and pull Carey into my arms. “You will, too. One day.”
Carey blinks her large green eyes at me, and the part of my heart that will never grow old of her looking at me this way sighs in contentment.
“One day?” she asks as she strokes the Do I dare disturb the universe? ink across my shoulder.
“One day,” I agree.
I lean in for a kiss, but Carey shoves me away and chunks my clothes across the room. “You can’t get me all rattled right now! We’ve gotta get going! A baby’s birth is at stake, man!”
I dress rather unelegantly and take up her hand. We rush to the lounge area of Hot Rod to locate Fox and Jacque. Monty is with our group, as well as a tall brunette I haven’t seen before among our friends. Her back is turned to us, but at such a distance, my glasses don’t compensate for the details I am missing. Carey stops me with a hand to my bicep; the other points towards the mystery girl.
“That’s Monty’s latest hookup; Jacque told me,” Carey stage whispers. “I haven’t met her yet, so we gotta make the nice-nice. She’s coming with us to the hospital apparently.”
Now that Carey’s still, I kiss her lightly on the cheek. “I’ll be nothing but a gentleman.”
“And later, you better be a fucking un-gentleman.”
“Of course,” I say and wink down at her. I caress her bottom lip to elicit the groan that makes my cock salute the queen.
“Later, later,” Carey mumbles as if she’s trying to convince herself, yet she drags me along to the group nonetheless.
Fox, Jacque, and Monty turn to us, but I trip over my own feet when the unknown woman catches my eye again. Mere feet away now, it’s clear she’s my twin in every sense of the word: identical hair, eyes, and nose. She was blessed with our pop’s genes, however, as she has never needed glasses. I’ve always hated her for that.
“’Ello, Atticus,” she says.
“’Ello, to you as well, Amelia,” I answer.
All eyes fall on us as the sibling stand-off of a lifetime occurs on the floor of Hot Rod.
“You two know each other?” Monty asks, seemingly dumbfounded, though I spoke my sister’s fucking name. He should be grateful for that and the fact I haven’t laid him out on the floor for sleeping with my blood.
“She, dear friends, is my little sister.”
“Only by three minutes,” Amelia corrects with a finger in the air.
“It’s enough time to grant me title of Big Brother,” I say before I step to her. “Come here, Millie, you wanker! What the bloody hell are you doing in New Orleans?”
Millie runs into my arms, and I scoop her up in a massive hug.
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later,” she whispers into my ear. To everyone else, she decrees, “I needed a mini holiday. You know how that goes, so I followed after Atticus, the old sod!”
I set Millie on her feet, and I hold her hand tight in mine, not realizing until now how much I’ve missed her. Carey smiles at us and entwines her fingers into my other hand. Millie glances between Carey and me, and I twin-lepathy her a promise to explain everything about us in due time.
When Jacque’s phone dings, she jumps, tottering dangerously on her inappropriately high footwear. “Char is wondering where the fuck we are. She says she wants her audience, goddamn it.”
“She’s texting whilst in labor?” I ask.
Jacque holds up her phone as proof, and indeed, the text presently displayed is exactly as Jacque read, though it is egregiously misspelled and accompanied by some type of math equation. Another text follows, littered with eggplant emojis, many teary faces, and at least ten knives. The purpose for the final message is one I cannot say.
“Okay, okay, okay,” Fox says. He snaps and points at the exit. “The car’s out front, blocking the fire lane, but who the hell cares right? We’re having a baby!”
Everyone rushes out, Millie included, but I slow down for a moment and draw Carey to my chest. I stroke her cheeks and work my hands into her hair. Though I tell her very much the same thing every day, I have yet to have the chance, and it needs to be said. It will always need to be said.
“When I came to New Orleans, I hoped that something between you and me would happen, Never did I fathom we would so tumultuously become us, but I would not have had us come together any other way. I have loved the journey. I love having you at my side when I awake each morning. Most importantly, I simply love loving you.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and her fingers twist into my shirt. “You love me more than Tujague’s bread pudding?”
I hold back a laugh. “Some things are in a ca
tegory all their own, love, and do not deserve comparison.”
“You don’t love me more than a fucking dessert!”
“You have cheese, so none of that. And, technically speaking, where I am from, dessert is an after. We all know how I prefer my word choices to your barbaric misuse of the English language.”
Carey slaps my cheek and steps beyond my reach. “Oh, don’t you dare start your British English is the only English shit. We ain’t got time for it. I’m about to be Bob’s uncle!” She sprints to the door, calling after me. “Atty, you better hurry up, or you’re going to have to walk your fine ass to the hospital!”
Quickly, she’s out of my sight, and I take a step forward as a result.
Carolina is my home, my true north, my lighthouse marking the shore beyond a raging sea, and though we have each done our fair share of running, I know now we will forever run in the same direction—into the open, awaiting arms of the other.
As expected, she’ll ride me reverse cowgirl after that, but don’t let that image ruin the beauty of my words. I love Carolina, and I only know what love is because of her.
And if my love also happens to come with a lifetime of free admission to the finest Coochie Buffet this side of the Atlantic, who am I to argue?
IN THE MAKING OF HOT ROD, MANY SCENES WERE SCRAPPED.
I have added some of my favorites below. Some are literal crap, and I preserved them because they are hilarious to me anyway. Others are jokes that are so fantastically stupid I’d be an idiot to not share them with you! Enjoy!
***
DELETED SCENE No. 1:
-Alternate ending-
“Eating you out is extremely laborious, Carey, and now, I’m fucking starving. Let’s go to Tujague’s!”
“What are you hungry for?”
“Jambully.”
“Jambully?”
“With a side of tasty pussy in the mouth.”
“Of course, Atty,” I laugh. “It wouldn’t be New Orleans without it.”
***
DELETED SCENE No. 2:
-Atticus reflecting on love-
There is an established cycle to these things; it’s a dance as old as time. We chase, we fall, we fuck, we love. My God, do Carey and I love.
***
DELETED SCENE No. 3:
-Carey describing Atticus-
I swallow and draw in a deep breath at his nearness. Despite hours on a plane, sitting through Char’s baby shower. and watching me dance in a smoke-filled club, Atticus smells of spicy wood and mint and… Cheetos. The combination is even more fucking intoxicating than the alcohol I’ve consumed, and it goes straight to my head. What horny bitch doesn’t love a man who makes her mouth water? Suddenly, I remember Jacque telling me once that Fox smells like bacon, and you know what that means, ladies? It means yo’ man is fucking tasty. You better eat that shit up!
***
DELETED SCENE No. 4:
-Atticus explaining the last time Sophie touched him-
“The last month has been the best of my life,” Atticus whispers against my skin, “but I have a secret to confess, my darling.”
I say nothing, because at the moment, I don’t care. I just shove my hips towards his mouth, seeking his torturous tongue, needing to explode around his mouth.
“All in good time,” Atticus laughs gently, his hands gripping my thighs hard. “Carey, I want you to know something. Last time I had sex with Sophie was months ago, as I said before, but that is not the entire story.”
“Oh,” I choke out, wondering why he’s telling me this now.
Atticus pulls my tummy to his face, tickling me with his stubble; then, he sighs against me. “The last time I was with Sophie, I truly tried to be in the moment with her, because I wanted so very much to love her as I once had, but you were on my mind that night, Carey. I fucked Sophie, and all I could see was you.”
He thought of me, even back then?
Nearly overcome, words fail me, and when I don’t say anything, Atticus begins to pull away. I stop him with a desperate leg thrown over his shoulder. Hands bound, it is all I can do to keep him next to me, in the moment with me. Atticus kisses my skin and presses his forehead to my leg.
“You must think me a true arsehole,” he says quietly. “I accuse Sophie of infidelity, but I am guilty also. I am no better than her.”
“Atticus, were you two done before you thought of me that night?” I ask. “In your heart, was it over before that moment?”
Atticus’s hair brushes against me as he nods. “Of course. We’d been faking it for years as far as I was concerned. She knew I thought it, but she refused to see it.”
“Then you didn’t cheat on her,” I say. “Maybe what you did in that instance was unfair, but you didn’t bring another, literal person into your bed, and you ended it immediately afterwards. She ruined it by playing Belfast and loose with her pusspuss. Damn her. Anyone should be so lucky to spend half of their life with you. I only imagine what a gift that would be.”
***
DELETED SCENE No. 5:
-Original version of Carey reflecting on love-
I’m on the outside, looking in, knowing I don’t have one coming myself. So, this begs the question: do chances to ride off into the fucking sunset with your soulmate exist? I don’t think so. Even though there’s proof literally in front of me that something like love does happen for some, I know all too well that little emotion can also be a treacherous bitch. Three simple words have become my motto, and they keep my life, clean, simple, and abhorrently sex-free: LOVE ISN’T REAL.
***
DELETED SCENE No. 6:
-Char reflecting on Atticus and Carey-
“Let him take you up against a wall, Carey,” Char blathers on. “With Atticus’s height, your head will hit the goddamn ceiling. Oh, wouldn’t that be fun-you hanging from a chandelier. I see it now, your short, little legs swinging from above-”
***
DELETED SCENE No. 7:
-Original version of the “I need to take a shit” scene-
When each and every present has been opened, and all the guests have been lulled into a food coma by our best selling brownies, I find my chance to slip back to the storeroom and into the bathroom.
“Why do I love you so much and you hurt me so bad?” I ask the long-gone nachos I scarfed for lunch as I drop trou and hover over the bowl. The relief of an imminent good crap already has me groaning in pleasure, but I suddenly interrupted.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Open the fuck up!” someone screams from the other side of the door before they proceed to abuse the innocent slab of wood separating us.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Fuck me,” I mutter.
“Get your ass out, or I’ll drag you out by your pubes!” the person wails.
“Fuck me twice,” I amend my complaint as the door handle jiggles vigorously.
I zip up as quickly as I can, throw open the door, and bless her heart, Char stands there, swollen ankles crossed, doing the peepee dance.
“I appreciate the fornication invitation, Carey, but it’s gotta wait. This preggo’s got to piss!”
I step aside to grant the lady access to the latrine. “Enjoy. Wish I could’ve.”
The door slams, and Char begins to praise the lord in urinary worship from atop the porcelain throne. Laughing, I walk away to let her do her thing in private, and my need to drop the chocolate kids off at the pool is totally forgotten when I take a deep whiff of smoke.
***
DELETED SCENE No. 8
-Carey reflecting on Atticus’s fine ass-
Top off how his cerulean blue eyes, British accent, and potential closeted kinkiness stroke my libido, all I can do is giggle excessively in his presence or forget all my words.
He’s not even in the room with you, and you’re already acting like an idiot.
A horny idiot.
Can we at least upgrade me to a horny toadiot?
No, because Toad
Side Assistance charges extra to tow away a broke down hoe. And honey, right now, you is broke-ded as they come.
Heh. Heh. You said come.
***
DELETED SCENE No. 9
-Carey reflecting on Atticus’s penis-
