Cocktales

by The Cocky Collective

  Juliet tossed the curtain back dramatically. She had on a shimmery, midnight blue strapless thing that looked like it was meant to be worn in front of a wind machine.

  “So what did you do?” Her almost black irises twinkled as she beamed over my misfortune. Juliet had real problems—like, an eleven-month-old at home and a baby daddy in prison kind of problems—so Harley’s little Eeyore tattoo was the highlight of her week. That and getting her mom to babysit so that she could go dress shopping.

  “I just left.” I shrugged.

  Juliet laughed and slapped her hand on the side of the fitting room. “You just left him there?”

  That pulled a grin out of me. “Yeah, and I didn’t answer his calls for a week.”

  “So, is he coming or what?” Goth Girl asked, lazily looking over the top of a Bridal magazine. I was kind of surprised something that girlie hadn’t spontaneously burst into flames in her hands.

  My shoulders slumped. “I don’t know. He said he’d try, but…it’s fucking Harley. You know how he is.”

  My friends both nodded in morose silence.

  “You know what will make you feel better?” Juliet asked, her usually bitchy voice more cheerful than ever. I turned and looked at her skeptically. “Trying on this dress!”

  “You’re not gonna get it?” I asked, admiring her again. She was standing in front of a full-length mirror outside of the fitting room, holding her long black braids up with one hand. I had to admit, as much as I loved the dress, it wasn’t right on her. Juliet had dark skin thanks to her African-American mother; dark, almond-shaped eyes, thanks to her Japanese father; and killer curves, thanks to motherhood, but that dress did little to accentuate any of it. She needed something bright. Something form-fitting. Something low-cut.

  She needed to remember what it felt like to be a slutty teenager again.

  I, on the other hand, had zero curves, green eyes, freckled skin, and couldn’t wait to grow the fuck up.

  “Yeah, okay. Fine.” I sighed.

  I grabbed the smallest size they had, pulled it on over my head in the fitting room without even bothering to take off my skin-tight jeans or combat boots, and tossed open the curtain.

  Juliet’s mouth fell open, and Goth Girl’s drawn-on eyebrows lifted almost to her hairline.

  “You have to get it. You have to.” Juliet whispered. I glanced at Goth Girl, who gave me an apathetic nod of agreement.

  “Dude, it’s like,” I lifted my arm to peek at the price tag, “two-hundred dollars. And I don’t even have a date.”

  “You have Harley!” Juliet beamed. She was wearing a sequin-encrusted body-hugging, halter-top number with a slit all the way up one thigh. It was red. It was slutty. And with some matching lipstick, it would be perfect.

  “If he bails you can always just go stag,” Goth Girl drawled, not even glancing up that time. “Or I can break up with Steven, and we can go together. I hate that asshole anyway.”

  I snorted out a laugh as excitement bloomed in my belly. Glancing back and forth between my two best friends, I smiled and said, “Fuck it. I’m going to prom.”

  Two

  A few minutes later I came skipping out of the store two-hundred dollars lighter, plus tax, but with my signature cockeyed optimism fully restored. I hugged my friends goodbye and strutted over to my little black Mustang hatchback with my head held high, squinting into the warm, spring sunlight.

  I don’t need no man.

  I smiled, hitting the unlock button on my key fob.

  I’m an independent woman.

  I pulled open the driver’s side door and laid my garment bag across the backseat.

  I can go to prom all by myself.

  I sat behind the wheel and tossed my purse onto the passenger seat.

  In fact, maybe I will. Maybe I’ll just call Harley up and tell him to go fuck—

  My inner pep-talk was interrupted by the sound of my cell phone ringing.

  Oh, shit! Maybe that’s him!

  I sprang into action, afraid that I’d pussy out if I waited too long to talk to him. Yanking my slouchy, fuzzy, tiger-striped shoulder bag into my lap, I dug through the contents until I found the source of the noise. Jamming my thumb into the TALK button, I lifted the phone to my ear on the second ring.

  “Hello?”

  “…You answered.”

  Most people have a fight or flight response to fear. I have a freeze response. Like a stupid fucking deer. With those two clipped words, all of my bodily functions seized up completely. My blood turned to ice. My feet to lead. And my lungs to deflated balloons as I exhaled his name.

  “Knight.”

  Swallow, BB.

  I swallowed.

  Blink, BB.

  I blinked.

  My eyes darted around the parking lot. “Where…are you?” I managed to ask.

  “At the shop.”

  The Shop was Terminus City Tattoo, Knight’s home away from home. Before he’d enlisted in the Marines, Knight had been a tattoo artist, body piercer, and sometimes-resident there when things got bad at his Step-Dad’s house.

  Which was always.

  “You’re home?”

  Knight exhaled through his nose. I pictured him smoking a cigarette out on the Terminus City fire escape, the smoke disappearing as it floated in front of his almost colorless, ghostlike blue eyes.

  “If you call crashing on a couch in the fucking break room home.”

  I did. That couch and Bobbi, the woman who’d hired him and let him stay there, were more of a home to him than he’d ever known.

  “Are you…” I had to consciously tell myself to breathe just to have enough oxygen to finish my thought. “…doing okay?”

  Knight had been in either boot camp or Iraq since last May. He’d written me a few letters, but we’d had very little contact since he left. His departure hadn’t exactly been under the best circumstances.

  “When the fuck have I ever been okay?”

  When you were with me.

  Part of me wanted to go to him. Pretend like the past didn’t exist. Run away together and live in that faraway land called Denial. But the other part of me couldn’t forget all those nights. Those horrible, horrible nights. Nights where I’d been physically restrained and screamed at, hog-tied with seatbelts or handcuffed to bedposts. Nights where my boyfriend had picked fights with perfect strangers in public. Nights where he’d destroyed everything he could get his hands on and left me to pick up the pieces.

  Nights that, when triggered, still had me breaking out in a cold sweat and gasping for air.

  “How long have you been home?” I choked out around the swelling lump in my throat.

  “Not long enough to know how the fuck to do this.”

  Knight was broken when he found me and broken when he left me, but now? I could hear it.

  He was shattered.

  “Hey…” I cooed, as if speaking to a skittish bird. “Do you…want some company?”

  He remained silent as I cringed, kicking myself for the offer.

  “Punk…”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know what’s gonna happen if you come here.”

  Bad things. Wonderful things. Bloody things. Tears.

  “Then we’ll go get coffee,” I said, shifting my car into reverse.

  Coffee. That sounds grown-up. Just a couple of exes grabbing a friendly cup of that shit I hate to drink on a Sunday afternoon. What could possibly go wrong?

  “Coffee,” Knight echoed. “Fine.”

  Three

  I sped into Atlanta with a bowling ball in my gut, a cigarette between my fingertips, and the wind rustling the nylon garment bag in my backseat.

  Knight was home.

  As much fun as I’d had with Harley, as much as I appreciated him for making me feel good again, for distracting me from my pain, I didn’t love him. I simply wasn’t able. Knight had taken my heart with him when he left for Iraq, leaving me with nothing to offer Harley but my time and my body.
/>   And my Mustang, of course, which he’d tricked out in order to win more money at the track. If he ever found out I’d used all that extra horsepower to go see his mortal enemy, Ronald McKnight, Harley would probably rip out every aftermarket intake and valve he put in.

  With his bare hands.

  But I didn’t want to think about Harley. And I damn sure didn’t want to ruminate over the colossal mistake I was making by going to see Knight. So, I turned on my car stereo, cranked the volume knob to the right, and let Local H distract me with their own hard-hitting, three-chord tales of woe instead.

  By the time I pulled into the crumbling parking lot behind Terminus City, I had almost convinced myself that everything was going to be fine. That Knight and I would walk to the corner coffee shop, catch up like a couple of old friends, then go our separate ways with a hug and an empty promise to stay in touch.

  I rolled up my windows and turned off my car on muscle memory, my mind hard at work trying to trick the rest of my body into staying calm. Fabricating lies. Taking deep breaths. Reciting positive affirmations. With every shaky step I took toward the fire escape entrance, my self-talk grew louder, trying to drown out the rumble of excitement and panic building inside of me.

  I was a few feet away from the concrete stairs I’d spent countless nights smoking and laughing and crying on when the thick metal back door at the top flew open and a ghost from my past came stomping out.

  I froze, a fawn in the presence of a hunter, every muscle tensed, every sense on high alert, every brain cell cocked and ready to fire.

  One second ticked by before Knight saw me, but in that second, I saw him. His white-blond buzzcut looked the same. My fingers twitched, remembering how velvety it felt beneath them. His sharp features were still scowling. His almost colorless eyelashes, eyebrows, and irises were just as striking as they’d been the first time I saw him. His body was still armored with muscles on top of muscles. His shoulders still tensed from holding up the weight of the world. His feet were still adorned with black combat boots. But his wardrobe of rolled-up Levi’s, skinny suspenders, and band T-shirts had been replaced with military-issued camouflage cargo pants and a tight black T-shirt.

  I watched in suspended animation as Knight pulled a pack of Camel Lights, my brand, from his pocket, his movements as familiar as my own. I knew exactly how he would shift his weight as he reached for his lighter, how he’d hold the unlit cigarette between his teeth before sparking the flint. In that second my trauma, my fear, and all my good sense dissipated.

  I was just a girl, staring at a boy, trapped inside of a trained killer.

  Knight bit the end of his cigarette just like I knew he would, but before he could light it, his eyes landed on me.

  I stared as Knight’s hardened expression softened. To anyone else, the change would have been imperceptible, but I saw it. I saw the way his pale eyebrows lifted and pulled together slightly, the way his angular mouth turned down at the corners. I realized in that moment that I was looking at a man who probably hadn’t been hugged since the night he told me he was leaving…eleven months ago.

  That look trumped my desire for safety and self-preservation. Without thinking and without a word spoken between us, I marched straight up the stairs, wrapped my arms around Knight’s waist, and buried my face in the curve of his thick, corded neck.

  He smelled like home. An uninhabitable, condemned, broken home with a gas leak that could explode at any minute, but home nonetheless.

  “Punk…” Knight’s strained voice begged, his hands hovering inches above my body. It was a warning.

  “It’s okay,” I whispered against warm skin, my lips grazing a rapidly pulsing artery. “It’s okay.”

  Knight’s arms circled my upper body, coiling around me like a Boa Constrictor. My breaths became labored from the crushing force of his embrace. I felt his remorse and pain. I felt his Adam’s apple slide up and down against my cheek as he swallowed.

  And I felt his erection swell against my waifish body.

  Desire flooded my bloodstream, clouding my judgment. It caused me to do stupid things, like place a kiss on Knight’s thumping jugular.

  Then another one, a little lower.

  One second, I was being crushed against Knight’s hard chest, the next I was being crushed between his hard chest and the graffiti-covered back alley wall of Terminus City Tattoo. Abrasive bricks clawed at my skin while Knight devoured my mouth and took his frustrations out on my clothing. As he bit and sucked and stole the breath from my lips, Knight fisted the low neck of my thin white wifebeater with both hands and ripped it completely in half. Shoving my padded Wonderbra up over my breasts, Knight broke our kiss just long enough to glance down at his handiwork. Two silver hearts encircled my nipples, held in place by barbells shaped like arrows.

  Knight pressed his forehead to mine as he palmed my tiny A-cups. “Fuck, Punk.”

  I looked down too, but mostly to admire the massive bulge that extended up the front of his camo pants and into his tight black T-shirt. I ran my hand up his length over his clothing and felt his hips thrust into my palm involuntarily.

  The sound of a car door slamming shut in the parking lot caused Knight’s head to snap to attention. “Inside. Now,” he growled, yanking open the fire escape door and all but throwing me inside.

  Before the exit had even clicked shut Knight was on me again, pressing me against the wall in the narrow door-lined hallway and shoving my tight ripped jeans down to my knees. He slid a scarred, callused hand between my legs and smiled against my lips.

  Knight never smiled.

  “You still have that one too,” he rasped, teasing the silver barbell in my clit. The one he’d put there before I was even old enough to drive.

  “Mmhmm,” I moaned as a thick finger pushed inside of me.

  Suddenly Knight’s smiling mouth was gone, nipping and biting its way down my sternum, teeth grazing my protruding ribs, canines catching on my jutting hipbones, until his warmth was where I needed it most.

  With his middle finger buried in me to the last knuckle, Knight ravaged my slippery flesh the same way he’d attacked my mouth. Licking and sucking and taking no prisoners. My legs shook. My knees, tethered to one another by my jeans, threatened to buckle. And my hands finally found an excuse to rub Knight’s fuzzy, velvety-soft buzzcut again. I knew I wouldn’t last long, but when Knight caught my barbell between his lips and flicked his tongue back and forth across the oversensitized flesh I was a goner.

  I contracted around his thick finger and clamped my thighs together around his hand and writhed against his merciless mouth as fireworks exploded behind my eyes and the sparkly embers coursed through my veins.

  I sank to the floor where Knight was still kneeling and kissed his slippery, self-satisfied lips as he unbuttoned his pants. Tugging his black Terminus City T-shirt over his head, I marveled at the new United States Marine Corps tattoo on his left pectoral muscle. A lot had changed since I’d seen him last, but for now, we were going to focus on the things that had stayed the same.

  Like the way our bodies and pulses and pupils responded to one another regardless of what our brains were screaming. Like the undeniable black depths of our connection. Like the way Knight always figured out a way to fuck me with my boots and jeans still on because he was too impatient to deal with taking them off.

  As my eyes roamed down, past Knight’s new tattoo and over the ripples of his stomach, they stopped and stared at the sight of his cock, free and thick and dripping with precum. I reached for it, saliva pooling in my mouth, but Knight caught my wrist and spun me so that I was facing away from him.

  Pressing his length against my ass, Knight draped his chest over my back and snaked an arm around my waist, bending me over until I was on all fours. “I’ve waited too long to come in your fucking hand,” he growled, sliding the head of his cock between my legs as he kneaded my ass with his free hand. “I thought about you every fucking second, Punk.” He gripped my ass harder and p
ressed against my entrance. “Fuck, I missed you.”

  Tears pricked my eyes as I nodded against his cheek. Lifting one hand off the floor, I gripped his hard forearm where it was locked around my waist and whispered, “I missed you, too.”

  With a surge of emotion, Knight reared back, pulling my torso vertical as he filled me to the hilt. The hand that had been on my ass wrapped around my jaw pulling my face to the side as far as it would go. Knight kissed me with his serpentine tongue as his arms coiled around me in another soul-crushing embrace. With every thrust, I felt his apology, and with every tear, he tasted my acceptance.

  Four

  I woke up, sore and sated, on the cold tile floor of Terminus City Tattoo. The hallway was now dark, save for the red light from the EXIT sign overhead. My jeans and panties were around my knees. My bra was shoved up under my armpits. My tank top had been ripped down the front. And a sleeping Marine was molded to my back, his cock already hard again where it had come to rest between my sticky thighs.

  So much for coffee.

  “Knight,” I whispered, propping myself up on one elbow. “Knight, wake up.”

  “Come back to bed,” he mumbled, pulling me back against his chest.

  “We’re not in a bed,” I chuckled, elbowing him in the side. “We’re on the dirty-ass floor, and it’s dark out. Get. Up.”

  Knight’s stomach growled in agreement.

  “See? You need to eat,” I insisted, sitting back up and shimmying my bra into place.

  “No. You need to fucking eat.” Knight’s eyelids snapped open, pinning me with his laser-scope stare. He reached out and jammed a thick finger into one of the valleys between my ribs.

  “Ow!” I hissed, swatting his hand away. Knight was the only one who knew about my…issues with food. He’d watched me enough at school to realize that I was hiding it during lunch. Throwing it away in my napkin. He used to confront me about it and threaten to force feed me if I didn’t take at least a few bites.