“Michael really fucked things up for you, didn’t he?”
“Between him and my brothers, I was royally fucked up by the time I was eleven. And literally fucked at thirteen.” I am telling him too much.
“Thirteen, huh?” He looks more concerned than surprised.
“Yep. Thirteen. And not by my choice either.”
“Jesus, Emma.” Now he looks downright distressed, and I am feeling an overwhelming need to sink my face into my hands. But not because I’m embarrassed. Because I don’t like the way he is looking at me. I need to steer the conversation.
“How about you?” I ask. And his face instantly changes. He looks humored now. Thank fucking goodness.
“Let’s just say I was way older than that,” he says, “and it was totally by my choice.”
“Who was it with?”
“My dad’s secretary.”
“No way. Seriously? Did she go all cougar on you when you were in high school or something?” Oh, sweet mother of God, why did I say that?
He chuckles. “Kind of, I guess. She was a little older than me, but I was twenty, so I don’t know if the whole cougar thing applies.” He was twenty-fucking-years-old? I don’t believe it. By the time I was twenty, I had already screwed more boys than I care to remember. I suddenly feel really, really weird. And self-conscious. Which, of course, is total bullshit.
“Twenty? You’re full of crap,” I say, in hopes of calling his bluff.
“Dead serious. I was twenty.”
“And how old are you now?” I ask.
“I’m twenty-six.”
“So you’ve got four years up on me in age, but I’m three up on you in experience.”
“I guess so,” he says with a shrug. “But there’s really no need to point out all my inadequacies.”
I lift my eyes up from my plate and look him straight in the eye. “David, there is not a single thing inadequate about you.” I know he is flattered by my comment because he looks a bit sheepish and he doesn’t offer a smart-ass kickback. “Not so far, anyway,” I add with a smile.
When we finish eating, I tell David that it’s easily the best Thai food I’ve ever had. He picks up the tab, even though I tell him I’m happy to pay my half, and we are out the door.
As we walk out the alleyway and back towards the car, David tells me we are going to drive to the other side of town and have a few drinks at a bar. Apparently underground clubs don’t open until midnight, and the band won’t start playing until well after that, so for the next two hours we drink beer and talk about everything from carpentry training to where I can get a good white pizza. He tells me about how he got the BMW from an old lady who used to live in one of Carl’s buildings and how he did, in fact, fix it up himself. He tells me about how Carl was once so drunk after poker that he stripped down naked and walked home wearing nothing but his shoes. And they were on his hands. As I listen to him, I realize that David is pretty damn amusing. I find myself smiling a lot at his stories. I tell him a few stories of my own, too, but none of mine seem to be as interesting as his. And, before I know it, it’s twelve-thirty. David settles with the bartender, and we start walking down the street.
Fifteen minutes later, David rings the buzzer next to a large metal door, and after that I hear a clicking sound. My mind is a riot of curiosity. He pulls the door open, and we walk together down a long corridor and then up several flights of stairs. When we get to the top, I can hear loud but muffled music. He opens another metal door, and we walk into a massive warehouse-like room. The room is absolutely filled with people. The whole place is glowing under multicolored lights. I can see immediately that I am the only one here without a tattoo. I am also pretty sure that I’m the only one here without a parole officer. It makes me wonder if David has one.
I glance over at him, and he is watching me keenly. I know he is trying to gauge my reaction to this mass of pulsating, freakish humanity. I narrow my eyes at him and give him a sideways, smart-ass-y smile. We walk together towards a long bar on the left side of the room. David talks with the bartender, and then he presses the front of his body into my back and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close. He reminds me that we can leave at any point. I cannot take my eyes off these people, and right now you couldn’t pay me to leave.
We walk down the length of the bar, through all the people, and up some steps to the left of the stage. A large man is standing on a platform at the top of the steps. When we reach him, he puts his hand out to David and greets him with a handshake and a back-slapping man-hug. He looks at me and smiles and whispers something into David’s ear. They both grin. David takes my hand, and the man steps aside and opens the door for us. As soon as we enter the room, I can see that it’s where the band is camped out. The room is filled with smoke, and there are about a dozen people sitting and standing around, talking and drinking and smoking. Four of the guys stop what they are doing and come over to us immediately. David greets them with more back-slapping man-hugs and then introduces me.