by Emma Scott
I nodded, but said nothing. Theo’s eyes were fixed on the street but in the past too. I didn’t want him to stop talking.
“The lady’s tattoo was done before mine. She checked it out in the mirror, crying. Her artist looked like Chester from the band Linkin Park, but he was hugging her, and she patted his cheek like he was her son. She told him he gave her the greatest gift: her daughter as she wants to remember her, any time she wants. She just has to look down on her arm, and there she is.”
He stared straight ahead, beyond the passersby and the streets and the sky. I thought he’d come to the end of the story, but then he leaned over, rested his forearms on his knees. His fingertips traced the lines of the scorpion on his arm.
“Her name was Helen. And I never forgot her. When it was time to start college, everyone was on my ass to become a graphic artist. Computers, tech, websites—that’s where the money is, T. If I had a dollar for every time my dad tried to steer me toward graphic design…” He shook his head. “I wanted to draw, not work on computers. I wanted the response between the art and the audience to be immediate. As visceral as it could be. Up close and personal. Except I’m not an up-close-and-personal guy. I’m not a big talker…” His eyes flicked toward me. “Except with you.”
I smiled. “Go on. Please.”
“I thought of that woman telling her tattoo artist about her daughter. How the artist listened like a priest or a bartender. All the while he’s using his talents to give her a piece of art everyone can see on her body, yet it’s for her alone at the same time. Art on display, but utterly personal. It became what I wanted to do. It is what I do. A client comes in and I listen. Not just to what kind of tattoo they want. I listen to their stories. I listen and do my best to render what they’ve envisioned.” He turned over his wrist, traced the name under the scorpion once more, then sat back on the bench and tucked his hands in his pockets. “So there you go.”
I rested my cheek on Theo’s shoulder. “Have you ever had a Helen?”
“Some. I’ve had a couple of Iraq War vets. They come in for tattoos of important dates, like deployments. Or they want their company insignia, to honor the guys they served with. Friends who’ve fallen. They tell me their stories. Or I’ll get a young woman and she’ll be kind of nervous about getting a tattoo on her stomach or hip because she thinks she’s fat or whatever. At first, they joke around and say they’ll need to lose weight if they’re going to show it off. But after it’s done, they’re proud of the tattoo. They want to show it off, just as they are. Those are good ones.”
Theo was quiet for a minute then looked over at me, caught my rapt expression and shifted on the bench. “Okay, story time’s over. I’m ready for that drink now.”
We strolled along the street in search of a café. My eyes kept stealing glances at this man beside me. Realizing Theo wasn’t only there for Jonah during the worst moments of his life. He was there for a lot of other people too. Taking their pain, listening to it, deconstructing it. Turning it around and giving it back to them as a piece of art. Uniquely their own, just as pain is unique to the person who bears it.
“Have you ever told Helen’s story to your dad?” I asked.
Theo shook his head. “Why bother? He’s made up his mind.”
I linked my arm in his. “I can’t wait to get my tattoo from you. Now, more than ever.”
“You know what you want?”
“Nope,” I said, smiling up at him. “Don’t know yet which story of mine I want you to tell.”
Theo’s brow furrowed and a funny smile came over his lips. His expression was amused, but I’d come to see that Theo’s feelings were all in his eyes. And right now he was touched.
We stopped at a small café where Theo had a beer and I had a strawberry lemonade.
“You don’t mind I have this?” he said, raising his bottle.
“If I were to ask people not to drink around me, I’d stop being invited to parties.”
Theo snorted a laugh. “I need some fries or something. You want anything else?”
“I want that dress,” I said, pointing at the window of a vintage clothing store across the street. In its window was a housedress. Something out of the 1940’s, with hundreds of tiny green apples on it and red buttons down the front.
“Perfect for tonight,” I said, grinning at Teddy. “We’re gonna do it up in real New Orleans style.”
We started getting ready around seven. I put on the retro housedress and instead of heels, I went for black, high-heeled Mary Janes. They complimented the black of my tattoos while bright red matte lipstick and black cat-eye liner completed the look.
I emerged from the bedroom to find Theo wearing his simple black-shirt and jeans, his tattoos snaking down his arms. He needs a watch, I thought. A watch would draw attention to his muscle definition, and contrast the ink.
We drove out to Louie’s Louisiana Kitchen, a Cajun restaurant near the river that also hosted nightly musical acts. It was an older, more classic New Orleans joint, with no air conditioning, no fancy décor, and no world-class chef. Just real, authentic Cajun food and jazz music by local artists.
I remembered the night I first met Dena and Oscar, we’d eaten at the Cajun restaurant in the MGM Grand. Theo had a thing for ultra-spicy food.
“If you want spicy, this place is it,” I shouted to him in the crowded line waiting to see the hostess. “Hottest jambalaya in New Orleans.”
He narrowed his eyes at the challenge. “We’ll see about that.”
The place was packed. Apparently, the band playing tonight was hugely popular—a bluesy quartet with a young, sultry female singer. I’d made reservations, but even the front entry was crammed like a dance club and stifling hot, the last vestiges of summer. Sweat beaded on my brow, threatening my makeup. Theo stood just ahead of me as we waited, while a cocktail waitress came around handing out free short glasses of beer to help ease the wait.
The guy behind me—a skinny, pale man in his early twenties with red-rimmed eyes and a rumpled shirt, took two glasses and downed them quick. Judging by his look—and the smell of hard liquor that wafted off of him—those beers weren’t his first of the night.
“Hey,” he said, nudging me. “You a sweet little thing, ain’t you?”
I rolled my eyes and turned away, to face Theo’s broad back. Sweat glistened on the back of his neck, turning the hair there into little barbs.
“Hey.” The guy nudged me again. He leaned in close enough that the stringent smell of booze on his breath was actually a mist on my cheek. “I’ll bet you taste sweet. Like candy.” He chuckled. “Can I have a lick?”
Unfortunately for him, a lull in the music came at that exact instant. Theo spun around, his eyes boring into the drunk guy with a dangerous intensity.
“What the fuck did you just say to her?”
The drunk guy held up his hands. “Sorry, man. Didn’t realize she was yours.”
“Don’t apologize to me,” Theo said. He wasn’t a super tall guy, but he had at least fifty pounds more muscle on him. He jerked his thumb at me. “Apologize to her.”
The guy thought about it for a moment, then snorted a wet laugh and staggered a little, jostling me again.
A muscle in Theo’s jaw twitched. “You’re standing too close to her.” He laid his hand calmly on the guy’s chest. “Fuck.” He gave a small shove. “Off.”
The guy staggered a step or two back, and held up his hands again, his laughter gone. “All right, man. Be cool.”
Theo’s eyes remained locked on his in warning for another second, then he put his arm around me and pulled me in front of him, keeping me in the protective circle for the rest of our slow migration to the hostess stand.
“Reservation?” the hostess asked, and it took me a second to realize she was talking to me.
“Two,” I said. “Dawson.” My heart was still thumping loudly in my chest and the heat flushing my cheeks had nothing to do with the lack of air conditioning.
The
way Theo had handled that guy…
I wasn’t a fan of violence, but some strange, primal urge in me almost hoped the guy had pushed Theo back, just so I could watch Theo defend me again. Protect me because I was his to protect.
Oh my God, get a grip. You’re setting the feminist movement back fifty years.
The hostess sat us at a tiny table. I fanned myself with the menu while Theo studied his intently, totally oblivious to my reaction. It took an eternity for the waiter to show up, then another eternity to bring the food. When it finally arrived—chicken fricassee for me, and shrimp jambalaya for Theo—my dinner date took one taste, wrinkled his nose, and started pouring on more hot sauce.
“Are you crazy?” I said, laughing. “My mouth hurts just looking at that.”
“It was warmish,” Theo said with a grin. “Now it’s satisfactory. Barely.”
I shook my head, my chin in my hand. “You must’ve been a fire-eater in a past life.”
He laughed and we dug into the hot Louisiana night, and the hotter dinner. The pre-show music hung in the heavy, humid air like pungent smoke. I imagined spirits dancing in the shadows in this city of vampires and voodoo.
We talked easily, and he laughed readily, drinking beer to my lemonade. Still, something in me felt tipsy. High and exhilarated, my thoughts running unchecked down a road I’d never taken before.
Jonah once told me I went up to eleven. Theo went up to one hundred, I mused. Nothing ever halfway. He was the kind of man who, if you wronged him or hurt someone he loved, he’d cut you off without another word. But if he was yours, he was yours for life.
If he was mine…
The thought startled me so badly, I nearly knocked over my lemonade glass.
Theo glanced up from his food. “You okay?”
I nodded, noticing his eyes were watering. I jerked my chin at his plate. “Why do you eat that if it’s so hot?”
“I like it.”
“It looks painful.”
He gave a lopsided grin. “Hurts so good.”
“God, you’re such a man.”
“Last I checked.”
I laughed and the other half of his smile widened before he went back to his food. I started into my dish, but my eyes kept straying to Theo. He took a too-big bite of his jambalaya, sweat beading his brow because he’d made it inferno-level hot. On purpose. He washed down the shrimp with a chug of beer, blowing out his cheeks, then hunched over his plate, intent, both inked forearms on the table, gearing up for another huge mouthful.
I wondered if I’d taste the heat on his tongue if he kissed me.
My knee jumped, sending my napkin to the floor. I bent to get it, not coming back up until my face was composed. God, the atmosphere in this place was making me stupid.
Theo took another steaming forkful of spicy food. Another bead of sweat slid down his temple as he licked his lips.
Oh yes, without a doubt, if I kissed him he’d burn me.
“I got something in my teeth?”
I blinked at him. “No, nothing. Just thinking.”
“About what?” Theo asked. His eyes stayed on me as his lips wrapped around the beer bottle and took a swig. I watched the swallow go down his throat. All my sordid thoughts visible on my face, or spelled out in neon, flashing above me. A blush inflamed my cheeks as I fought for an answer.
“This place has a lot of atmosphere,” I finally said.
God, are you serious?
Theo nodded and another dark look came over him, similar to the one he’d worn confronting the drunk guy in line. Only now it was turned on me. His whiskey-colored eyes igniting another primal urge. Theo, shirtless and sweaty, putting a flat hand on my chest and curling his fingers into the fabric of my dress. Instead of pushing me away, he hauled me roughly to him, intent on taking what was his…
Oh my God.
My eyes were trapped by his stare. My body trapped in the chair by a sweet ache of longing burning between my legs. I didn’t blink. He didn’t look away.
With loud drum riff and a glissando down the piano keys, the live music began, finally tearing my eyes free. The band was fronted by a young woman with long brown hair wearing a fedora hat, black leather jeans, and a white shirt with a black vest. Three African-American men made up her band of guitar, piano, and bass. They opened with a slow song that permeated the air like fragrant smoke.
I concentrated on the music, pretending to listen and resolutely not looking at Theo. But the damn music was bluesy, sexy… A slow burn of want and longing. It dialed into my already aching body, filling me with a need to be touched.
A shadow fell over me, and I looked up to see Theo standing, his hand outstretched.
“Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a request, and my traitorous body was already rising to its feet before I could think.
Theo took my hand in his and led me to the small dance floor, where a dozen other couples were swaying to the music. Some, driven by the sultry tones of the song and the singer’s smoky voice, were grinding their hips together, thighs intertwined.
Theo slung my arms around his neck, then put his hands on my hips, and began to move.
I’d never stood this close to Theo before. Our bodies pressed tight. Our faces so close, I could smell the sweet heat of his food, the bitterness of beer, the salt of his sweat. His heart beat thick against mine. The ragged exhale of his breath.
“You told me at the wedding you didn’t dance,” I said, every part of my body conscious of touching every part of his.
His mouth shaped the words, “I lied,” but no sound reached me over the music.
I could barely breathe. I was losing myself in him. Our eyes locked. I couldn’t look anywhere but at him. The light brown of his eyes fiery, like a shot of whiskey backlit by a white-hot flame. His hips ground a slow circle against mine, his thigh inching between my legs. One arm slid around my waist, the other came up the middle of my back, holding me close. My arms wound around his neck, my fingers burrowed into his damp hair.
“I like this,” he murmured. His whole body was flush against mine. I could feel its power, the strength of his muscles holding and moving me with the music. The hollow of his neck glistened. I felt my own sweat slide over my collarbone and between my breasts. My blood was on fire in a way that was entirely separate from the Louisiana summer. A heat Theo was building in me with every roll of his pelvis against mine. I felt the stiffness of his jeans against my skin as his hand slipped down to my ass, pressing me tighter against him. Grinding in a dance that felt more like…
Foreplay.
My breath caught as Theo’s forehead came to touch mine, our gazes locked. Deep within, a greedy instinct and a growing need I hadn’t felt in a long time. I hooked one leg around his waist.
“Touch me,” I breathed.
He made a noise deep in his chest and his hand slid under my dress, up my thigh to my hip, pulling me into him. I bit back a cry as he dipped me back. I let my head fall, arching. He bent with me, his mouth on my throat, his tongue sliding against my skin. Feverish. Burning from the inside out. His touch was scorching, sending trails of fire across my skin in every direction. My nipples hardened. Heat pooled between my thighs where Theo ground against me mercilessly. Slowly his lips dragged up my neck, then my chin, both of us pulling upright until we were face to face again.
The look in Theo’s eyes—the almost feral hunger—stole my breath.
“Kace,” he whispered.
I expected his kiss. It was right there between us, waiting hungrily. I didn’t expect his hands, so rough and hard before, to hold my face gently. I didn’t anticipate the furrow of his brows, almost as if he were in pain.
I tilted my chin, wanting this, needing this so badly.
Please.
He laid his lips to mine, kissing me softly, slowly. The world turned around us, blurring and disappearing. I had to hold onto his wrists to keep from slipping away with it, gasping at the sensation that came roaring to life inside me. A
match lit in a dark room, flaring with brilliant light. My lips parted with that gasp, and Theo, with a growl of pure want, kissed me again, this time hard and deep.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, clinging to him, opened my mouth to take all of his kiss. The taste of his tongue, the heat of his mouth. We started dancing again, our bodies acting of their own volition, our mouths opening and closing, heads tilting back and forth. Our tongues slid and tangled when the kiss went deep. Teeth and lips bit and sucked when it turned shallow.
On and on, we danced and in the back of my delirium, I knew I’d been right about Theo: if you had him, you had all of him. His kiss was the purest essence of himself: intense, fiery, devoted entirely to the moment. This close, he was my entire world, with no place for anything else. His body pressed to mine, his hands on my body, his sweat, his mouth…
He was so much. My instinct balked, used to thinking it was too much. But no, he was giving me everything and I was taking it. I could take it. And I wanted more.
“Oh, God,” I breathed into his mouth. He replied with a groan and I took it in, inhaled him as he kissed me again.
We kissed until the song ended and the applause of the crowd broke the spell. Slowly, the circle we’d been turning in ceased. My feet felt the floor again, our bodies detached. The real world rematerialized. We remained on the dance floor a moment longer, our eyes searching each other for…I didn’t know what. Both of us blinking and dazed, as if coming out of a trance.
We walked back to our table—me on shaking legs—and I drank deep from my water glass, trying to quench the swirl of boiling emotions in my body.
“You want to get out of here?” Theo asked, his voice hoarse with desire. I could see it burning in his eyes.