Naughty Gras: Tales of Fat Tuesday

by Sable Jordan, Jessa Callaver, Perri Forrest, The KWEEN

  She squirmed in her seat, trying to shift the garter digging into the back of her thigh. As she leaned forward, the wine bottle tilted inside her jacket and a rush of cold air invaded the lukewarm interior. Cassie glanced down, tugging at the zipper just as one of the serenaders staggered out to greet her, lowering his invisible hat near the front of her scooter.

  She gasped, both hands clenching down on the handlebars. The scooter swerved, taking a wide right onto Centanni, and putting her nearly face-to-mask with a tall, smiling hulk of a man.

  “Shiiiiiit!” Cassie veered right as he leapt left, white-knuckling the bike to a skidded stop.

  What...the fuck!

  Cassie could hardly swallow. Her heart thumped hard inside her chest. Who...? What...?

  She pulled around to face the street, exhaling in frantic puffs of smoke. Across the uneven cobblestones, her 'close encounter' lay near-flattened against a metal roll-up door. Legs half-bent, arms sprawled, he stared at her, an assemblage of half-ripped cinderella stamps in crumpled piles on the ground near his feet.

  Cassie heaved a sigh and patted her pounding heart. The mask covering half his face didn't allow her to see much, but at least the better part of him looked to be in one...rather large piece.

  She slowly lowered the kickstand and climbed off the bike, shuddering, as her shoes hit the ground. The bottle jerked inside her coat and she glanced down at her chest. “Shit,” Cassie mouthed.

  Probably not the best of first impressions.

  Turning on her heel, she withdrew it, trying hard to conceal the half-full glass from view. A masculine grumble sounded behind her, and Cassie started, nearly dropping the bottle.

  “Um, um, um...” She muttered a curse under her breath, darting glances around the scooter. She couldn't just leave the damn thing in plain view, where any slippery half-drunk could swipe it and run off.

  Leaning into the seat, Cassie set the bottle on the foot rest, pushing it toward the far interior of the panel with the side of her calf. The two of them had plans for the evening, and damn it if she'd be stood up twice in one night. But first things first.

  She turned, smoothing the sides of her hair. “Here goes nothing.”

  “Signore?” Cassie called out as she neared. His gaze locked on hers.

  He wore a white shirt and blue jeans, neither of which appeared to have any bloodstains or protruding bones. A good sign. She was halfway out of this mess already.

  Cassie opened her mouth to speak again.

  “Jesus!”

  She flinched. Out of nowhere, another man darted from around the corner, his attention firmly on the taller male.

  Cassie furrowed her brow, puffing out her cheeks. Great. What's this guy's deal? Probably one of the jerk-offs who'd caused this whole scene.

  Squatting, he placed a gentle hand on the fallen man's shoulder and flashed him a smile. He muttered something and the taller man nodded, brushing off his shirt and rising to his feet.

  Jesus, indeed. The guy was enormous. Not just tall...Herculean. Easily over six feet, with linebacker's shoulders, thick wrists, and large hands. She blinked back her surprise. The fact that Constantina had survived the face-off was a near miracle.

  The newcomer's face titled up to hers and Cassie swallowed hard, struggling to speak. “M-mi dispiace molto.” She clutched her chest and reached toward the taller man. “Sei fer—?”

  “You should be!” The huskier man rose, and turned to face her, blocking her approach. He blew a curly strand of hair off his knitted brow. “Who the hell rides a scooter at that speed with people all around!”

  Americans. So at least she would understand any insults they hurled at her. Not that she didn't deserve them. She had almost turned the man into Carnevale roadkill.

  She tugged on the hem of her dress. “Sei gius...I mean, you're right. I'm sorry. I didn't see him.” Cassie gazed around her accuser's shoulder. “Are you all right?”

  Like she really gave a toss. In truth, she'd rather be back at home watching her boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—screw the former owner of her new heels than standing here apologizing to these two morons.

  Until he grinned at her. Flipping off his mask, the man in white offered a half-smile that slid easily across his face and put Cassie's body at full attention.

  His gaze slid across her bare legs, then pulled up to join hers. “No harm done that wasn't there before you arrived, I don't think.” He brushed off the arms of his shirt, and stared down at his feet. A shard of glass from a broken beer bottle lay along the tip of his shoe, the maroon leather reflecting the light from the streetlamp above. “Except for that of course.” He shrugged, then smiled again, accentuating the round, almost feminine shape of his lips.

  Lethally seductive, even in their glaring contradiction to the sizable male specimen he was. The high masculine cheekbones, broad straight nose, the dark brown eyes she could practically feel on her skin as he looked at her.

  Why the hell didn't I throw on some lipstick before I left the apartment!

  “Just look at you,” the shorter of the two blurted at her.

  “Huh…?”

  He took a step toward her, leaning in as she leaned away. “She smells like alcohol. And you're driving that thing around basically aiming for people, right?” He crossed his arms against his chest, his paunch protruding.

  Cassie fought back a huff. Who did this guy think he was with his fawn-colored man bracelets? Probably wore them to 'get chicks.' The fugly drummer to his friend's hot lead singer.

  His friend blew out an irritated exhale. “Give her a break. It is Carnival, Victor. Who out here isn't crocked? I know you aren't far from it.” He nodded in the other man's direction.

  “But he's right,” Cassie muttered, tears welling. “I should've...I don't know what I'm...” She tilted her head, trying to hold back the tears, immediately regretting it when her vision started to spin. She stumbled backward, throwing out her arms to steady herself. He reached out, catching strong hold of her wrist.

  “See what I'm saying, man.” Victor pointed at her, his eyes running up and down her body with distaste. “Come on, Troy, let's go. This is weak and I'm starting to sober up here.”

  He took a step toward her. “You all right?”

  Cassie closed her eyes, head facing the ground. She took a deep breath.

  “She should be asking you that?” Victor zipped up his leather jacket and blew air into his hands.

  No, Cassie thought, nodding. She drew back her arm. “Fine.” She glanced up at him with a nervous smile and his eyes lingered. A look of confusion, concern, even a touch of subdued amusement tugged at her heart. Probably wondering what a woman in four-inch suede heels and fishnets with her dress pulled up around her crotch was doing roaming around, on her own, at two in the morning, she thought.

  And even in her bleary-eyed state, hot guy mere inches away, she had to wonder the same.

  Darting a glance behind her, Cassie tugged on her dress. “I should go. I just...” she backed slowly toward her scooter, “wanted to see if you were ok.”

  “Wait!”

  She refused to turn around. No matter how desperately she wanted to. This whole thing was dumb. Running off, taking Tommaso's bike, his wine. Maybe if she headed back to the apartment now, his little tryst would be over and they could....

  Cassie reached the scooter, and quickly drew up the bottle. She took a quick sip before stuffing it into her jacket pocket.

  So, they could what? Talk? Make up? So he could apologize? She chuckled, shaking her head. He'd rather volunteer himself to be quartered and hung from the rafters—his words.

  She lifted her leg, preparing to ride off into her hellacious evening, when chants rose up around her. Cassie glanced behind her and then back to the street from where she'd come. Clustered groups paraded at both ends. Flashes of masks and regal costume, sending color and melody streaming through the dank slum.

  “Carne-va-le! Carne-va-le!” echoed around them. Cassie closed her eyes a
gainst the hard pulse of blood coursing through her temples, her legs heavy.

  It was too much. The clamor, the static, the loneliness, seeping through the fabric and wetting her skin. She had to get out of here.

  She didn't see him as much as she felt him near. Turning on her heel, she met Troy's pointed gaze and her heart fluttered. If from a few feet away, they'd been enticing, from this, more intimate angle, his eyes were near mesmerizing. Silent and intense. Piercing, yet with a subtle softness that tugged at her heart.

  He leaned in slightly, and she almost gasped. “You know, you really shouldn't be riding that thing in the state you're in.”

  “Come on, man, look. We're missing everything,” Victor called out. He hooted, throwing up his hands and a few in the crowd whooped back, echoing his jubilation, twirling their flashlights in the air.

  Cassie glanced up as he approached. The master of ceremonies. Rising up, proud and tall at the center of the crowd. The illustrious Burlamacco himself, bobbing up and down on wooden supports, an ear-to-ear grin plastered across his oversized, paper mache head.

  Damn creepy clown.

  She turned toward the scooter, ignoring the inviting closeness of his body as she slid onto the bike.

  “He's right. You guys should go. I'll be fine.” The engine reared beneath her, and a fresh pang of dread washed through her mind. Returning to the streets, alone; it was the last thing she wanted. A cruel yet fitting fate for the girl who'd never had anything to call her own.

  Troy wrapped his hands gently around hers on the handlebars, stirring Cassie from her thoughts. “Look. I know you don't know us...and you have every right to be careful. But I'm serious.” His thumb lightly caressed the back of her hand and, staring down, her breathing deepened. “You could get hurt. Maybe even hurt someone else...you know?”

  Absolutely! Leaving? her body shouted. Why on Earth would I go and do that? He offered shelter. The warmth of his breath on her cheeks, his touch, the soft tone of his voice, all spoke directly to her desire. Begged that she give in. Give over.

  But she couldn't. This had, after all, been her pattern; how little lost Cassie had tossed her red hood and given over to her own lupine lothario with the soft eyes and gentle touch. How she always did.

  Cassie squared her shoulders. “I think your friend's waiting,” she said, her tone purposefully terse and unemotional. She snapped up the kickstand, tilting the bike, and throwing Troy's weight off.

  He heaved a sigh, unmoved from her path. “Can we at least walk you home...some place warmer, until you've sobered up a little? Or call someone?” He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey Victor, bring me your cell?”

  “No!” Cassie yelled before she had time to temper her emotions. “I mean, no. You don't have to.” She forced a tight smile, gazing up at him and turning off the ignition.

  “Okaaay...well then, can I at least ask that you help out two lost souls? We were supposed to meet our buddies at some Piazza Gar- Garb-something.”

  “Garibaldi,” Cassie inserted, staring off.

  “Yeah! That's it. But everyone we've asked was either too hammered, or would tell us, and then we'd end up lost again on some random side street...kind of like this one.” He flashed a grin, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “To be honest, I'm cold and tired and ready to head back to the hotel. But prince Vittorio down there,” he yelled toward his friend, “can't be left alone.”

  Victor flipped them the finger, his eyes on the phone in his hand.

  Troy chuckled and Cassie found herself fighting back a smile.

  “So,” Troy lifted his brows in question, “you think you might show us the way?”

  “Um...”

  “Come on. I mean, it's Carnival. There are people all around. Pretty blonde with two gruff dudes. All you'd have to do is yell something in Italian and a horde of drunken men would come running, right?”

  Cassie smiled, rolling her eyes.

  “And I'll...we'll be perfect gentlemen, I swear.” He rested one hand on his chest, affecting a solemn stare. “Isn't it the least you could do for nearly taking my young life?” He shrugged and Cassie smirked, shaking her head.

  “Perfect! Just perfect, Troy, man,” Victor hollered. They both glanced over at him. “The guys weren't even at the piazza. They were on the beach. And now, they're headed back to the hotel with some Albanian chicks they picked up somewhere near a fucking statue or something.”

  Troy dropped his chin to his chest, and for the first time, Cassie noticed the thick black plait of hair hanging between his shoulder blades.

  Long hair, probably another narcissist. In an average week, Tommaso spent more time in front of her vanity than any man she'd ever known.

  “Fine,” Troy yelled back. He crossed his arms and the white material of his shirt bulged around the taut muscles. “I'm beat anyway. I'm gonna head back too.”

  Was she invited? Cassie pushed the thought from her mind, forcibly pulling her gaze from his chest.

  “Fine. Fine? Fuck all of you, then,” Victor roared. “I'm not ready to go back and tuck myself in under the damned covers just because you guys are!”

  Troy sighed. “One sec. Don't leave,” he mouthed, walking backward in Victor's direction. She opened her mouth to speak, but he'd already turned toward his pacing friend.

  “No, man, no,” Victor yelled. “If you want to play Superman to this trollop, then fine but it doesn't mean I have to!”

  Trollop. That was different. Sounded like something her father called her mother during one of his all-night rages. What fun days at the old child-abusive homestead those had been.

  Her baby would have loving parents.

  Baby. She laughed. Generally, both sex and a willing partner were required for that—and however sporadic the former, the latter still eluded her.

  The random bursts of noise around them blotted out most of their conversation, and Cassie strained to hear what was being said just feet away. Whatever it was, Victor was apparently having none of it. Yelling, throwing up his hands, his face contorted in anger. She half-expected him to stomp over and start screaming in her face.

  “Whatever!” Victor hollered suddenly. Cassie sat up straight, trying not to look. He glared at her, arms akimbo, then turned toward the crowd at his back where a group of girls sang their way down the street. They whistled at him, a few making smooching noises and groping gestures near his crotch. He wrapped a heavy arm around the closest one, using her necklace to pull her face toward him. She slung her arm around him, and he pressed his mouth to hers as he trotted out of sight—middle finger raised high in Cassie and Troy's direction.

  Cassie pulled up alongside Troy at the far end of the street. “Testy.”

  “You don't know the half.”

  Whoops, had she said that out loud?

  They watched Victor twirl the object of his affection, tongue-wrestling their way down the street. And then, in a blink, he was gone. Absorbed into the crush, Cassie assumed. A match made in Carnival heaven, she thought, with a chuckle. She only hoped that woman knew what she was in for once those wine-goggles wore off.

  She leaned back in her seat, arms crossed. “Does he um, know where he's going?”

  “Doubt it,” Troy replied. “But don't worry. He'll find his way. Always has.” Cassie gazed up at him and he smiled.

  His eyes lingered, staring on and around her face. Almost as if he were examining her for spots. “What?” She ran the back of her hand across her cheek. “Something on my face?”

  He shook his head and shrugged. “It's nothing.... So, you never answered my question back there.”

  “Which?”

  “Well, the location's changed. But the request still stands.” He took a step closer, brushing a stray piece of hair off her forehead. “How's about showing a poor, abandoned soul back to his hotel?” His thumb traced a gentle path down her temple and across her cheek, and Cassie had to fight the urge to take hold of his finger and slip it past her lips.

  S
he blushed. She knew exactly what she should say. Politely refuse his offer. Tell him she was flattered, but really needed to be getting home to her boyfriend. Tell herself she had enough complications in her life, and needed another man like she needed more cellulite on her ass.

  Only problem was, there was no home anymore. And no boyfriend. No boyfriend, no apartment, no view of the cheap bistro across the street. No late-night dinners on the beach during warm weather...or hiding bruises under long-sleeved shirts and heavy eye shadow.

  Just her. For better or worse. And gazing into Troy's eyes, into the unmasked intentions behind them, the words fell from her lips before Cassie could hold them back.

  “Hop on.”

  He favored her with a sexy grin. “One thing.” Tilting up her chin, he leaned in, resting his hand on the handlebar. She turned and spread her legs, eyes closing. This was what she wanted; what she’d asked for, emerging onto the streets trussed in black lycra. If she had her druthers, he'd take her right there, right now—the chorus of two dozen 'Carnevalians' serenading their sex.

  A quick jerk at the front of the bike forced Cassie's eyes abruptly open. Her hand fell onto Troy's shoulder, the keys to the scooter dangling in her periphery.

  “Only if I'm driving,” he whispered against her ear, lay a soft kiss on her cheek.

  Cassie snatched her keys and gave him a playful shove. Sliding off the scooter, she grabbed the wine from her pocket, and raised it up in 'cheers' before taking a long draw.

  “Or,” she tossed the bottle at him, rolling Constantina onto the cross street as a gap opened up in the crowd, “how's about we walk? Safe enough for you?”

  He jogged over to her. “As long as you can make it in those shoes.” Troy nodded toward her heels, taking a swig from the bottle.

  “Make it where?”

  “Il Maniero di Viareggio.”

  Her eyes flared and she nodded. “Nice digs.” And one of the pricier hotels on the promenade.

  “We live but once. So they say.”

  Cassie returned a tense smile. If we live at all, she thought.

  * * *