by BB Easton
Dropping my skirt, I turned back around and found Trip on his knees before me, doing the We’re Not Worthy bow from Wayne’s World. I laughed and pulled him up off the stage as the other girls stopped dancing in defeat.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” Trip yelled into the mic, pulling me to the front of the stage by my hand. “This is a Phantom Limb first. The winner of the high kick contest didn’t kick one fucking time. I hereby crown”—Trip lifted my hand above my head and twirled me around so that I was facing backward—“BB’s booty!”
I laughed and turned to look at Hans, who was smiling like he’d won the contest. And, in a way, I guess he had.
“Oh shit. Do you guys see what I see? It looks like our winner has already picked her poison. LDH, you ready, man?”
Hans spun his bass around so that it was hanging upside down on his back and spread his arms apart in a silent invitation. He was cool, calm, and collected on the outside, but I saw his throat bob as I began to walk toward him. Saw his tongue dart out to wet his lips. Saw his pulse throbbing in his neck, just as fast and hard as mine.
Hans wanted to kiss me too.
“Uh-uh-uh,” Trip said into the mic just as Hans’s hands reached for my hips and mine wrapped around the back of his neck. “I didn’t say BB won. I said BB’s booty won.”
You have got to be fucking kidding me.
The crowd went insane as Hans dropped his forehead to mine. Taking a deep breath, he gave me an apologetic shrug, then used his hands on my hips to rotate me away from him. I was now facing Trip, who was laughing his goddamn ass off, as Hans’s hands ghosted down my arms. I shivered despite the steamy, sweaty air. When they got to my wrists, they disappeared, reappearing on my calves, just above my boots. I held my breath and glared at Trip, trying not to let him see how much Hans’s touch affected me, as his fingertips danced lightly up the sides of my knees, my thighs. You could have heard a fucking pin drop as Hans’s big, rough hands disappeared under my skirt, sliding up my hips, inching the plaid fabric up with them. My panties were soaked. My cheeks were on fucking fire. And my heart shuddered to a stop as soon as I felt the hot, humid air caress my exposed ass. Squeezing my eyes shut in mortification, I held my breath as Hans fucking Oppenheimer pressed his perfect, pouty lips against my right cheek.
And then my left.
As soon as my ass was covered and Hans was back on his feet, the crowd exploded into hysterics, and my face exploded into a supernova of a smile.
Hans wrapped his arms around me from behind and whisper-yelled into my ear, “Sorry about that. I’ll beat his ass for you later.”
I giggled and was about to tell him I didn’t mind having his lips on me anywhere when Trip’s voice boomed through the speakers. “How does it feel to have your ass kissed by a rock star?”
Hans and I flipped him off in unison as Louis, the drummer I’d met at the monster-truck rally, stomped on his kick drum pedal three times and banged his sticks together in the air. The guys responded immediately, grabbing their instruments and joining the intro of “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails.
I gave Hans one last longing look, then hauled ass to get offstage before Trip decided to torment me further. I got plenty of high fives and unwelcome ass grabs as I made my way back to Juliet. She smiled bigger than I’d ever seen and pulled me out of the clutches of some greasy douche bag with an undercut and a ponytail.
“Holy shit, that was hot!” Juliet screamed in my ear. “I can’t believe that just happened! I need to leave the fucking house more!”
I pouted. “I still didn’t get to kiss him though!”
Trip’s voice rumbled through the floor beneath our feet as he humped the mic stand and snarled about wanting to fuck someone like an animal.
Juliet looked at him and then back at me. “Why the fuck is he so sexy?”
“Right?” I cackled.
Trip must have known we were talking about him because he pointed right at Juliet and hissed that he wanted to feel her from the inside.
She rolled her eyes as I laughed and elbowed her in the side. She was trying to act hard, but I saw the grin threatening to break free from her scowl. For possibly the first time since she’d gotten knocked up, Juliet was having fun.
I glanced over at Hans, ready to engage in some serious eye-fucking, but the look on his face doused my libido in ice water. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were narrowed to slits, and he wasn’t even looking at me. He was looking at someone behind me.
Glaring actually.
I turned and saw the source of his sudden anger—the douche bag with the undercut who’d grabbed me. I hadn’t even given him a second thought. I’d been to enough concerts and clubs to know what to expect. Guys touched girls whether they wanted it or not. They came up behind you and rubbed their semi-hard dicks on your ass. They grabbed your arm and yelled in your ear with their stank beer breath. They followed you to the restroom and cornered you as soon as you were separated from your friends. That’s just how it was.
As soon as the song was over, Hans unplugged his bass and walked offstage while Trip announced that they had one more jam for us. Evidently, it was their big hit because the second he spoke the title, “Apparition,” the crowd went nuts. Hans was back just in time to start a deep, ominous bass groove that the rest of the band layered their clanging, industrial sounds on top of. I loved it. I absolutely fucking loved it. It was heavier than what I typically listened to but somehow beautiful and catchy at the same time. I was so into it that I hadn’t even noticed that a jacked-up bouncer had grabbed Undercut Guy and hauled him off until I saw him being escorted through the fire-escape exit to the right of the stage.
I snapped my head back to Hans, who was watching me again. A hint of a smile played on his lips. Then, a wink.
A crackling warmth roared to life in my stomach and spread through my extremities like wildfire.
Hans might not have used his fists or his boots or a baseball bat, like Knight would have. And he damn sure hadn’t pulled out a gun, like Harley. But he’d protected me. His way.
I liked his way better.
After the show, Juliet and I sat on the rusty fire-escape stairs behind the building, smoking and watching the band load their gear into the back of Baker’s dad’s panel van. Baker—Phantom Limb’s stocky guitar player who liked to hide behind his Kurt Cobain-esque shoulder-length blond hair—was the quietest and quite possibly most essential member of the band. He drove the van. He booked the shows. He played some mean guitar. And, most importantly, he was the only one old enough to buy beer.
Once everything was loaded up, Baker pulled a blue-and-white plastic cooler out of the passenger seat and opened the lid.
“High Life?” Trip scoffed, looking inside. “Bitch, you know I don’t drink Miller fucking High Life. Where’s the Korbel?”
Nobody laughed, except for me.
Trip pointed at me. “BB knows what I’m talking about. We’re all sophisticated and shit. Where’s my bubbly, bro?”
Baker peeked through the slit in his hair curtain as he plucked a can from the icy water inside. “It’s all the way at the bottom, motherfucker,” he mumbled. “Go fish.”
I decided I liked Baker.
I liked him even more when he handed the can in his hand to Juliet.
Hans reached in next, pulling out two cans for us. As he walked over to where Juliet and I were sitting, I began to panic. I was at a total fucking loss. I didn’t know how to greet him. How to act. What to say. I’d spent an entire weekend cuddling with this guy. I’d let him publicly grope my body and literally kiss my ass. But what were we? Friends? Even if we were more than friends, I wondered if I should pretend like we weren’t since he had a girlfriend. Although Trip didn’t seem to give two shits about her when he was telling Hans to stick his face under my skirt. Maybe Trip didn’t like her. The thought gave me hope.
“Hey,” Hans said, giving me his shy one-dimpled smile.
“Haaaay,” I said back in a stupid singsongy voice th
at I regretted immediately. “One of those for me?” I nodded toward the can in his left hand.
Hans’s eyes twinkled. “Yep.” He tucked the beer I’d been eyeing behind his back. “But you’re gonna have to come get it.”
Okay. Definitely more than friends.
As I stood, Hans held his right hand out to the side, welcoming me back into his arms. Dopamine flooded my bloodstream immediately, the same way a dog salivates at the sight of food. It had been exactly six days since Hans had fed my need for affection, and I was fucking starving.
Unable to play it cool for another second, I wrapped both arms around Hans’s waist and rested my cheek on his chest. I even inhaled the aroma emanating from his warm skin. Hans smelled like rock and roll.
Just as he pulled me in and rested his chin on the top of my head, the unmistakable sound of an entire cooler full of ice being spilled onto concrete crashed behind him.
Hans and I spun around to find Trip delicately plucking a no-longer-submerged bottle of champagne out from inside the no-longer-upright cooler. A sea of ice cubes and chilled water spread in all directions as cans of Miller High Life rolled to freedom across the cracked concrete.
“What the fuck?” Baker said, only slightly louder than his normal mumbled voice.
“That’s what you get, asshole.” Trip pulled the foil off the top of the bottle and shot the cork at least ten feet into the air with a flick of his thumb. A small volcano of frothy white bubbles followed. “You know the only thing I’d stick my arm elbow-deep into ice water for is Leonardo DiCaprio’s cock. And I’m talking Titanic Leo. Not some bullshit What’s Eating Gilbert Grape Leo.” Trip shuddered in disgust, then tilted his head to one side. “Now, What’s Eating Gilbert Grape Johnny Depp? Shiiiiiit. I’d go balls deep in a snowman for a piece of that ass.” Trip humped the air a few times for emphasis.
The entire crowd burst into laughter, including Louis and Baker, who usually looked like they were competing for the title of most apathetic. Hans’s chuckle was quiet and rumbled in his chest beneath my cheek. I felt the vibration between my legs and was considering wrapping them around his waist for a little more friction when Trip chugged his champagne straight from the bottle and belched loud enough to trigger a car alarm.
Leave it to Triple X to sufficiently ruin the mood.
I turned my face up to look at Hans and mouthed, Is Trip gay?
Hans shook his head. “No! That’s why it’s so fucking funny.”
I looked over at Juliet, who was laughing so hard, a black tear rolled down her cheek.
“Everybody fucking knows”—she sniffled—“that Romeo + Juliet Leo was the most fuckable Leo.”
“That’s true,” I said, snatching Hans’s hidden beer out from behind his back and popping the tab. “That’s just fucking science right there.”
Trip huffed and stomped his foot. “But I want him to draw me like one of his French girls!”
I spat my first sip of beer onto the ground. Holy shit, I laughed so hard, noises weren’t even coming out of my mouth, just convulsions and hiccups. While Juliet and Trip continued to argue about which of Leonardo DiCaprio’s characters’ cocks was most worth suffering a partial ice-water submersion for, Hans pulled me over to a crumbling three-foot-tall concrete wall on the edge of the loading dock. I was about to hand him my beer, sling my purse behind my back, and try to get a running start so that I could scramble up the side of it, but Hans did the honor for me. One second, his big hands were around my waist; the next, I was sitting on top of the wall with my feet dangling off the ground.
Hans hopped up next to me effortlessly. I don’t even think he set his beer down. He was surprisingly graceful for a big dude. And gentle. And funny.
“So,” he said, bumping my shoulder with his, “Romeo is the most fuckable Leo, huh?”
My heart skipped a beat at hearing the word fuckable come out of Hans’s mouth. Then it skipped three more when I realized that he might be a little jealous.
I smirked and rolled my eyes. “Duh. I mean, it’s Romeo. He would literally die for me.”
“So that’s your type? Guys who would die for you?”
Hans’s expression remained playful, but there was a tone of seriousness in his voice that I couldn’t quite get a read on. Surely he wasn’t insinuating that he would die for me. I mean, we’d just met. Maybe he meant someone else? Like an ex.
Knight would die for you.
What the fuck, subconscious? You’re gonna bring him up now? Really?
Sorry. My bad. He would die for you though.
Yeah, and he almost killed me trying to prove it, so…what’s your point?
No point. None at all. Shutting up now. Enjoy your night.
Oh shit. Hans is looking at me. Say something, dumbass!
“No.” I rolled my eyes. “My type is guys with tattoos who would die for me. I have standards, okay?”
“Okay.” Hans smirked and took a sip of his beer, but his eyes never left mine. “You’re wrong though.”
“About what? My type?”
“No, about Romeo being the most fuckable Leo. You’re wrong.”
He said it again!
I waited for my heart to sputter back to life before taking the bait. “Don’t tell me you’re on Team Jack too. Listen, I get it. He was adorable in Titanic, and yeah, I guess, technically, he did die for Rose, but you and I both know that door was big enough for two people.”
Hans’s pouty little mouth split into a two-dimple grin.
Damn.
He was all white teeth and black eyelashes and sweat-spiked black hair, and I had to stifle the urge to lick his skin just to find out how salty it was.
Hans held a hand up, laughing. “Dude. Don’t get me started on that fucking door. No, not Jack. Jim Carroll, from The Basketball Diaries. Hands down, most fuckable Leo.”
I threw my head back and squealed, “Oh my God! I totally forgot about that movie! A drug-addicted future rock star! You would say that! How perfect!”
“What?” Hans asked with a shrug. “You don’t have a thing for musicians?”
Hans’s gaze was too intense. His question too loaded. I broke eye contact and began digging around in my purse, trying to find a cigarette and a better response to his question than, I do now.
I popped a Camel between my teeth and looked back up at him with my cool partially restored. “Only musicians with tattoos who would die for me,” I joked.
Ooh. Nice save.
Hans smiled as he produced a black lighter from his pocket. When he sparked the flint, a tiny flame appeared between us. I leaned into it, noting the way the flickering light softened Hans’s harsh features. He leaned in as well. His eyes were on my mouth. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip. Adrenaline shot out to my extremities. Hot smoke filled my lungs. Then, he pulled away.
Tucking the lighter back into his pocket, Hans said, almost to himself, “I can work with that.”
As I exhaled a shaky stream of smoke and tried to process what the fuck Hans had just said, the face of his wide black leather watch glinted in the streetlight, catching my eye.
“Shit.” I grabbed Hans’s thick wrist and turned it so that his watch was facing me. “I’m supposed to be home by midnight, and I have to drop Juliet off on my way. I have to go.”
Hans’s face fell, but he nodded in understanding. Hopping off the wall, he turned and stood between my legs. For the second time in twenty minutes, I had to resist the urge to wrap them around his waist. Hans put his big hands on my bony hips and blinked up at me with long black lashes. My panties were officially ruined.
“You want me to walk you to your car?”
No. I want you to lean forward a few more inches and fucking kiss me. I want you to pull my skirt up again and bend me over this wall. I want you to tell me I’m beautiful again and sleep in the same bed as me again and take me to Las Vegas and fucking marry me already.
“Nah,” I said, holding my cigarette above my head so that the smoke woul
dn’t get in our eyes. “Old Willy on the corner has my back. We’ll be fine.”
Hans’s dark eyebrows shot up. “Please tell me you’re fucking kidding.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that?”
Hans lifted me easily by my waist and lowered me to the ground. As soon as my feet hit the gravel, a pain sliced through my heart. The night was over.
Hans and I retrieved Juliet, who was already on her third beer and cheering wildly for Trip. He was moonwalking while balancing an empty bottle of champagne on his forehead. That guy was never not performing. Before we could drag her away, Baker, Louis, and Trip all came over to hug us goodbye.
Juliet was not a hugger.
Juliet was not a peopler.
But Juliet was full of surprises. Not only did she hug all the guys, but she also draped an arm around Trip’s neck and planted a big, wet kiss right on his cheek. Then she mumbled something incoherent into his ear.
I turned to Hans and whispered through my giggles, “Did she just say, ‘Stay gold, Ponyboy’?”
Hans chuckled along with me. “I fucking hope so,” he said, tucking me into his side. “He does kinda look like Ralph Macchio.”
I looked around at all four guys, overcome with appreciation. They had taken my brash, bitchy BFF and turned her into someone happy. Someone who didn’t hate everyone. Someone who quoted lines from The Outsiders.
The three of us walked arm in arm around the building and up the street as the lights from the Masquerade slowly faded behind us. The top of the hill was bathed in darkness. And free parking. Juliet swayed and stumbled on my right arm. Hans was solid as a rock on my left.
Juliet looked around me at Hans and slurred, “I liked your show. You guys were really good, but next time, you have to play me a Smashing Pumpkins song, okay? They’re my favorite. I’m pretty sure James Iha is my brother.”
“Her last name is Iha, and her dad is Japanese,” I explained.
“You guys do kind of look alike,” Hans said, trying to be supportive of her delusion.