But I don't.
I just feel … empty.
I toss the twenty on the table and lean my head back against the cushions, waiting to feel like a superhero.
“I don't know how to say this without explaining everything,” she says, and her voice sounds so tired that it makes me groggy. I raise my face up until I'm staring at her again and pat the leather bench next to my left thigh. If I don't have sex with this girl here, tonight, then I'm going to stay trapped. It's time to free myself, time to fuck her good and then forget all about her. I'm sure once I do, she'll blend into the endless line of faces and bodies in my memory, become nothing but a distant memory. Bullshit. I ignore myself and watch her closely.
Naomi's so shapely, got a body that won't quit. She's curvy with full tits that aren't saggy at all. They're plump and full and they don't even look like they need a damn bra to hold them up. Perfect chest to hip ratio, a tiny waist, long legs, smooth skin. She's like a fucking dream. Physically anyway. Mentally, she's a mess.
“If you're really going to cut that tat off, it'll be easier with a bit of help.” I roll the twenty towards her. “And maybe you can slice mine off, too, huh? Give us both a clean slate.” I'm joking, of course, but Naomi's moving forward softly, tentatively.
“I really did come here to warn you. There's this girl … ” I smile wickedly.
“There's always a girl.”
“Fuck, Turner!” Naomi slams her palms down on the table and leans in close, so that when she yells, flecks of moisture tease my lips. “This is serious shit. I don't know how far she'll go or what she'll do. I don't even know if she gives a shit about you, but I had to come here.” She pauses and sucks in a deep breath. I watch her chest rise and fall, focusing on the broken heart tattoo between her breasts. I wonder if that has anything to do with me. “Just one more mistake in a line of stupid decisions regarding you.” She whispers this last bit under her breath and snatches up the twenty, scooting in next to me and snorting both lines in rapid succession.
For a few minutes, we sit quietly and stare at one another. The air is still hot and pulsing, begging us to close the distance between our bodies, to wrap around one another. God, if I could get ahold of her, we'd be fucking like rabbits.
When Ronnie and Treyjan climb the steps and find us there, Naomi jumps, acting like she's been bit.
“I gotta go,” she says, standing up suddenly and pushing past them, so she can squeeze out the door before I even get the chance to yell after her. Stuffing a cigarette between my lips, I take off and chase her down before she even gets a hundred feet from the door.
“You gonna spill that shit and leave me hanging? Who the fuck are you talking about?” I light up and let Naomi lead me back to the venue. It's open all night long, so it's still rocking, jumping with a crowd about half the size it was when I was onstage but so fucked up that it feels ten times bigger. I smell another secret, a big one. Smoke trails after me as I keep close to Naomi's heels and slide in the back door behind her, moving past our roadies tangling with equipment and smoking joints, down the steps and into the crowd.
Thankfully, it's dark enough in here that nobody recognizes us, and we blend into the tattooed and pierced bodies, dressed in band tees and black, silhouetted against a dark wall drenched in stickers. The whole place smells like pot and booze and the music that's playing is grainy and barely audible over the screaming and shouting going on in here.
I fucking love it.
I don't love it so much when Naomi bursts into the girls' bathroom and leaves me hanging. I pause for a moment, glance around, and follow her in. The lighting in this shit hole is dim enough that I could get mistaken for a chick. Maybe. I smirk and lock the door behind me.
Neon lights flicker overhead from the crooked piece of plastic that hangs from the ceiling, swinging back and forth slightly with the air from the vent above the stalls. Graffiti and stickers cover most of the yellowing tile, and the rest is stained with God only knows what. I lean back against the door and keep smoking. The coke intoxication is starting to hit me now.
Naomi leans over one of the sinks and lets her blonde hair fall around her face like a curtain.
“Go away, Turner,” she says, but there's no heat behind her words. Well, not anger anyway. I guess there's plenty of … something. Lust, I guess? I'm not sure. I stare at her, let my eyes glide down her body, from the firm set of her shoulders to her round ass, the leather boots that cover up the tattoo of my name. I flick my cigarette onto the floor and start to check the stalls, kicking in the doors as I move down the line. Naomi raises her head and watches me in the dirty mirror. Somebody drew devil horns there in red lipstick and they just happen to line up perfectly with Knox's head. How trippy is that? “What are you doing?”