by P. Dangelico
“You want me to kiss it better?”
The mere thought of Dallas’s mouth anywhere on my body makes me hot all over. And the babe thing again…it does not go unnoticed and untallied. My face flames for the millionth time, and he grins wickedly. Despite the self-inflicted pain of the tattoo, I can honestly say this is the most fun I have ever had. He’s the most fun I’ve ever had.
A homeless guy pushing a loaded shopping cart strolls past us and tips his head at Dallas in greeting. Dallas greets him back. Since we left the shop, it’s happened a number of times with some random people.
“How c-could you s-sit t-through all that pain? It m-must’ve taken hours to do that.” I point to his left arm, the one covered in the intricate black, white, and gray detailed work that apparently Astrid is known for throughout the world.
Did I mention that Astrid is beautiful as well as talented? Yeah, if she didn’t treat him like a pesky little brother I’d be seriously burning with jealousy right now.
“I didn’t do it all at once. I sat for her…” he looks off, squinting, “about four times. Countless hours.”
“I like it…w-why the chain m-mail?”
“To protect my heart,” he says, smirking. But I see past the smirk, past the pain. I see him––the lonely boy always left behind. The one under the beautiful veneer that no one bothers to look past. I don’t think he’s kidding.
He tips his chin at a bar we’re currently standing in front of. Santa Cruz Mountain Brewing. “You want to put another check on that list? It’ll take the sting away almost as well as my mouth.”
Red. I’m very red again. He misreads the blank look on my face as reluctance when in truth I’m in middle of a very graphic fantasy.
“I’ll take care of you, Kitten,” he murmurs. “I’m not drinking.”
Which surprises me. “For real?”
“Wingman––remember? Besides, I’m laying off the sauce for a while. I haven’t had anything to drink since the funeral…even longer before that.”
I’m curious as to why, but I don’t pursue it. The heavy conversation in the car was enough for one day. The bar is cute and quaint, with a rustic hipster vibe. Tiny Christmas lights strung up on the ceiling give it a cozy appeal.
We take a seat at the bar topped with copper and the bartender, a big burly guy in a plaid shirt with a really long beard that’s tied into a ponytail, comes over. I guess you could call it a ponytail. It’s got colorful rubber bands running down the length of it.
“IDs please,” he asks us. Dallas and I had them over and he nods. “What’ll you have? The IPAs are on the board.”
Behind him is a chalkboard full of colorful names. “I’ll h-have U-Unicorn Tears please,” I tell him.
“You?” the burly bartender says to Dallas.
“Just a Coke for me. Gotta watch out for my girl tonight.”
My girl. Lord have mercy on my fragile heart. If he’s trying to get me to not fall for him, he’s failing. I glance over with a tight smile and find him as cool and casual as the flip side of the pillow. I can play it cool too. I can be super cool. Because hell will freeze over before I embarrass myself again.
The bartender sets the tall frosty glass in front of me. Then Dallas’s Coke. Raising my glass, I say, “To…” I take a deep breath, “to friendship and tattoos and…and to r-road trips.”
“To us,” he says, watching me closely, the ghost of amusement hanging around his mouth.
“To us.”
Two hours later…
“Did I try the Good Grief brown?”
“You did,” the bartender says with a wry smile, his arms crossed in front of his big barrel chest.
“Wut about theee Sweet Ride porter?”
“You tried that one too, babe,” the man sitting with his knees around mine says.
“Babe, you said babe like…five times.” I hold up a hand in case he can’t count without digits in his face.
Dallas grins. “Maybe you’ve had enough.”
“Maybe one more. Because I get it now”––I slap the top of the bar––“I get why people do this! I’m juss sayin’. The sting is gone. I feel favulous.”
“About your list…” he starts.
That dratted list. Well, maybe not too terrible. We’re here…together.
“Number ten. It’s a blank. Why?” He looks so utterly curious that I play with the idea of torturing him a little only to determine he’ll only retaliate in a more effective way. I’m a lover not a fighter and I won’t apologize for it.
“I’m not telling you that.”
“Why not?” Smiling again. He’s such a tease.
“Because it’s personal…” leaning in, “but maybe one day you’ll have something to do will filling it in.”
Another sketchy dude walks by us and jerks his chin at my babe. “Why are all these people greeting you? You’re like…Mr. Popularity around here.”
“Not just around here.” He smirks. “And because I used to come here to buy drugs when I was in high school.”
“Oh. That’s nice.”
The bartender with a ponytail on his face slides a glass of amber ale in front of me and I clutch the sweet sustenance with both hands and sip.
“Don’t turn me in to the Chief,” my crush murmurs in a low sexy voice. “We’ve already established that prison isn’t healthy for someone as physically gifted as I am.”
“I like you too much to ever do that to you,” I reply with a sly smile of my own. If my father knew, he’d never let Dallas within ten feet of me ever again.
He gets that sexy amused look I’ve come to know well. Then his voice drops into a pitch and volume that immediately elicit images of sweaty vigorous sex. “How much do you like me?”
“A lot,” my drunken, loose-lipped self admits. I can’t help it. The truth is dying to get out. Is this what people mean when they say truth to power? Because Dallas’s hotness is powerful.
He leans in, our faces inches apart. “Why’d you kiss me on Halloween, Kitten?”
I swallow. “Because you asked me to.”
He snorts. “Maybe you’re not as trashed as I thought you were. Try again.”
Alcohol is a dastardly truth serum. I start babbling things I should never ever babble. All the incriminating words start spilling out of me in buckets.
“Because I wanted to, okay!” His lips twitch. He curls them around his teeth. “Because I think you’re the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen. My eyes hurt when I look at you––they hurt.”
Dall’s smile is so satisfied I should be embarrassed. I should be dying of embarrassment. And yet, I’m not. I should shut up too in fact, but guess what––I don’t. Nope. Once it starts coming out it does…not…stop.
“I kissed you because you looked so so so sad and lonely––like that picture of sad Keanu Reeves on the park bench––and I wanted to make you feel better. I didn’t want you to hurt anymore…I would’ve done anything to take away that look on your face.”
The smile vanishes and his eyes fill with tenderness. I’ve seen that look. I saw it that night all those months ago.
“I kissed you because…because I thought it would be my one and only chance to ever kiss you and I couldn’t pass it up. I know it’s terrible––what I did to you. I know I took advantage of someone I knew was drunk or high…but the truth is…the truth is…I would do it again.”
Eyes flashing, nostril flaring, he leans in just a little and places a quick kiss on my mouth. Holy crap, this is happening! It’s so good, so sweet. I close my eyes and I wait for more. And wait…and wait…
I open my eyes to find him studying me, gaze sexy with a side of smug. “You’re drunk. This isn’t happening tonight.”
Shut down again. Is this really happening? My head swivels in the direction of the bartender. “Sir––Mr. Pony Beard––how mush do I owe you?”
Smirking, the bartender responds, “Your boyfriend paid already.”
Boyfriend…right.
&n
bsp; “Thank you,” I murmur to my non-boyfriend while avoiding eye contact at all cost. “You didn’t have to do that.”
I just poured my guts out, laid it all out there, and he turned me down again. How much rejection can a girl take? A lot apparently. Hell has frozen over because I am officially humiliated beyond anything.
Sliding off the stool rather ungracefully, I sway and Dallas catches me by the arms. “Dora, look at me––”
I gently push him away and make my way through the crowd in a less than straight line. It seems I am a lot more drunk standing than I was sitting. Very tricky, this getting drunk thing.
As soon as I hit the warm air of the boardwalk, a big hand wraps around my bicep. “Where are you going? You’re drunk and it’s dangerous around here at night.”
I shake my arm but that doesn’t cut him loose. “I’d like to be alone please.”
He snorts. “Yeah, no. I’m not leaving you alone. I got us a room down the street at a hotel,” he informs me. “It’s not the Four Seasons, but it’s clean and comfortable.”
“A room as in one room? That’s rather presumptuous of you.”
He stifles laughter. “Presumptuous? I’m pretty sure you wanted me to take your cherry right there in the bar. I’m not leaving you alone. You’re vulnerable right now and someone could take advantage of that.”
“Someone other than you, you mean.”
I glance up into his glossy laughing eyes.
“Don’t laugh at me. Don’t you laugh at me!”
So what does he do––he laughs. And wraps me in his arms, holding me close, his face buried in my hair as his body shakes with laughter. His scent infuses my lungs and his heat seeps into my bones and his strength makes me want to climb him and…and uh, that went somewhere dark fast.
“Holy shit, you’re a sassy drunk.”
“I’m not that drunk!” But the sound is muffled by his t-shirt and his muscles.
“You are very drunk. You haven’t stammered once since you finished your first glass of Unicorn Tears.”
Oh my gosh, he’s right.
I push at his sculpted, shaking-with-laughter-chest and he tightens his grip on me.
“I’m not ever going to offer you my cherry again! You had your chance like…two times––and you blew it, buddy. You blew it.”
His laughter fades and he glances down at me with a halfcocked grin. “This is the part where I say I’ve got something for you to blow.” Then he starts laughing all over again.
“Uhhhh. Uhhhh. Uhhh,” I moan into my pillow and it’s not a happy moan. That’s the sound of pain. My head feels like it’s going to explode. I wish it would. At least I’d be out of my misery.
I smack my lips. Dry. I run my tongue along them. Pasty. I open my eyes to a room flooded with sunlight. The decor is modern, the sheets clean…the day-core. I recall saying that word ten times last night when we walked in. Serves me right if he never wants to see me again.
Apparently being drunk is not an excuse for amnesia. I remember everything in crystal clarity. The laughing, the angels I was making on the king-sized bed, falling asleep on his chest.
Holding my breath, I lift the sheet and exhale when I see I’m still wearing my bra and underwear, the good ones. I packed only the good stuff in the very slim chance that Dallas were to accidentally hit his head and started seeing me as one of the bookends. They made a movie about that very same scenario. Anyway, spoiler alert: it has not happened…yet.
An image of Dallas lying in bed with his hands tucked behind his head watching me get undressed invades my painful head. I finally understand what the walk of shame means.
That’s when I recognize the sound of running water turning off, which tells me he’s out of the shower. Sweet baby pigs. I scramble out of bed to put some clothes on. It’s one thing for him to see me in the dim, forgiving light of night. It’s another in broad daylight. With perfect timing, the bathroom door opens as I’m hopping on one leg, trying to shove my jeans on.
“Morning,” he says all perky, his voice having an extra sexy scratch to it. “How do you feel?”
Turning, I hide my face under the safety of my messy hair. “Umm. N-not g-great, but you know…I’ll live.” There’s so much to apologize for where do I even start.
Slowly, I stand and meet his open smiling face for a nanosecond. That’s all the courage I can muster without a triple-shot latte to bolster me. Then I button my jeans and grab my blousy shirt off the a chair. “I-I-I need to apologize,” I mumble, pulling the shirt on over my head.
“Why would you apologize?”
Because I was a hoochie who threw herself at you. “Because I-I was…out of line.”
“You’re missing the point. That’s the only reason to get wasted…” He examines me cautiously. “I had a great time. Didn’t you?”
The time of my life. I’ve never been so uninhibited––and it was fun. Being wild is fun. “Yeah.” More mumbling. A dull pain tugs at my side. I remember the tattoo and I lose my train of thought.
In relation to nothing, I announce, “I n-need to t-take a shower,” loudly.
“Okay,” he says, snickering.
That’s when I glance up and realize Dallas is wearing a towel around his waist and nothing else, and it’s like my senses get a jump start. Everything fires awake despite the raging hangover. Every detail is amplified times ten.
His hair is wet and pushed off his smooth face. He shaved; I rarely see facial hair on him and this morning is no different. My gaze slides down…to his collarbone. Where water beads slowly travel down his chest, in between swells of muscle, playing off the intricate pattern of his tattoo. His pecs heave with the air filling his lungs.
But my examination doesn’t stop there. Noooo. It continues further south, over the eight pack––yes, he’s got one of those––down to the edge of his towel, under which is a very large erection.
“You keep staring at it like that and it’s gonna want to personally thank you.”
My eyes snap up to find humor on his smiling face. But more than that, there’s lust. He strolls over to me like it’s a morning like any other, cups my face, and drops a kiss on my lips. “I’ll go get food while you shower. What do you want?”
You.
“L-Latte and a muffin?”
He nods, smiles. “See you in a few.”
Dazedly, I grab my cosmetics bag and shuffle into the bathroom. This is so weird.
Dallas
Dragging my tired ass out of the bathroom, I’m met by the sight of a gorgeous ass on full display. Dora’s bent over and jumping around on one leg, attempting to shove the other one into last night’s jeans.
She’s wearing boy shorts with the bottom half of her cheeks hanging out. Last night was bad enough. First the striptease. Then she fell asleep with her ass pressed up against my groin. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep at all. Now it’s even worse.
I already stroked two out last night, one in the shower, and by the look of my dick right now it wasn’t nearly enough. This is getting to be physically painful.
She turns and startles to find me standing a few feet away. Then her gaze drops and my dick waves good morning. No point in hiding it. I couldn’t even if I wanted to and I don’t want to. I can’t hold out any longer. She wants me. I want her. Seems pretty simple. That’s why I walk up to her, take her face in my hands, and kiss her. Because it’s time I made my intentions clear.
“Take the highway south,” I direct an hour later. She throws me a confused glance, her cute little nose bunching.
“W-Why are we heading south?”
“Big Sur. You up for it?”
She looks at me, skeptical but intrigued. She’s definitely tempted, and I’m finding that tempting this girl has recently become my favorite pastime.
She nods. “Where to?”
“The Post Ranch Inn…have you heard of it?”
She shakes her head and a knowing smile grows on my face. I can’t wait to see the look on hers when
she sees it.
“I’m taking you on a date.”
The bright smile she gives me makes me feel like I did something right, something worthy of that smile, and fuck if I don’t want to keep putting that smile on her face.
“A date?”
“Correct––a date. Put another check on that list of yours, babe.”
The ping of an incoming text comes from her phone. “Eyes on the road, Ramos,” I tell her when her gaze dart back and forth. “Want me to check?”
She nods, and I palm the phone, glance at the screen. “It’s Bailey. She says she’s having a great time with her parents and no, she hasn’t heard from Rea.”
Staring out at the open road, my favorite redhead looks thoughtful if not a little disappointed. “I was hoping…”
The text casts a pall over us. Rea’s the elephant in the room that we all pretend isn’t there, a stark reminder that you should’t get attached to anything or anyone because shit always goes wrong.
“C-Can I ask you something,” I hear her say in a small voice a short while later. My gaze moves from the stunning scenery out the window, from the craggy coastline and the chain of thunderheads hanging out to sea, to the beautiful girl in the driver’s seat.
She’s wearing jean shorts and a white sleeveless top. Both show off the freckles I’m going to carefully chart with my tongue later tonight. The image gets me half-hard already and I shift in my seat.
“I’m an open book, Kitten. Go ahead and read me.”
Her full lips kick up on one side, but shortly after her expression sobers. “Do you…” I watch her lick her lips nervously, then chew on the lower one. If we weren’t traveling at sixty miles-per-hour, I’d kiss her senseless but I’m not about to miss tonight’s primetime show.
“A-Are you s-s-still in love with her?”
I recoil. It’s a gut punch I never saw coming. My attention turns to take her in. Staring ahead, chin held high…She’s driving all over California in search of herself with a guy she barely knows. One who has a well-deserved rep for not being dependable. She’s got more courage than she gives herself credit for.
The answer comes to me loud and clear. “No…I haven’t been in love with her in a long time––and it’s a good thing.”