18
I threw him out of the room and hurriedly switched into a pair of jeans, a nice blouse, and a pair of suede boots, and then walked with him down to the student center.
It was a gorgeous spring day – warm but not hot, and blissfully free of humidity. The dogwoods were in bloom, and everything else was green and bursting with life. People were out biking, jogging, lounging on the grass, basically doing anything to soak up the great weather.
The entire way to the student center I walked beside him, talking and laughing, but I couldn’t stop from watching the way he moved. Even though he was a rocker wannabe, he moved like an athlete – long, powerful strides, confident, relaxed.
I also saw his ass in motion for the first time.
Daaaaaaaaamn.
Let’s just say his jeans were packed in all the right ways, and were tight in exactly the right places.
Added to that, I caught his scent for the first time. Well, the first pleasant scent. Not the dank beer and cigarette smell when he and Shanna came back from the 40 Watt the night before. He’d obviously showered, and he smelled clean. Soap and shampoo, with a hint of some kind of masculine deodorant, slightly spicy and musky.
I had never been so turned on by everyday bath products in my life.
The student center movie theater is a pretty nice one, though they play an odd assortment of films. Foreign movies, independent movies, artsy movies, gay and lesbian movies, old movies – if you’ve never seen it, the UGA student union movie theater has probably shown it. They occasionally show crowd-pleasers, and apparently Eastern Promises was one of them… although it fit comfortably into the ‘independent’ category, as well.
It was awesome. Dark and brutal and sad in places, but romantic and awesome overall.
Viggo Mortenson’s ass wasn’t half bad, either.
Although it paled in comparison to Derek Kane’s… which I hadn’t even seen naked yet.
And I’m never, ever GOING to, I told myself firmly as I walked out of the movie theater, trying to keep my eyes off his rear end.
“You hungry?” he asked me as we walked out into the purple-skied dusk.
I was, but I was going to say ‘no.’ We’d gone to see a movie; that was halfway innocent. But dinner and a movie was a bridge too far.
Only problem was, I didn’t speak up fast enough.
“I thought we could grab a bite to eat and talk about it,” he said. “I always like doing that with friends – going to see movies and talking about them afterward.”
Oh.
Well… if he did that all the time with friends…
I had a stray thought that maybe those ‘friends’ were girls he never called back again, but I pushed it out of my head.
“I could eat something,” I said, and felt horribly guilty as soon as the words came out of my mouth.
19
We went to a gyro place on Main Street, directly across from the college. The place is the rattiest restaurant ever, with decades’ worth of greasy smoke layering the walls. The tables are rickety and never clean, and the place has a scary-ass health rating.
But their gyro’s are awesome, with giant shanks of mouthwatering lamb roasting near the door as you walk in. And the feta cheese sauce they put on the pitas is to die for. And the prices are reasonable, so of course it’s insanely popular with college students.
We waited in line and then ordered. What was interesting was that all the guys working behind the counter knew who Derek was, and shouted out as soon as they saw him walk in.
“What up, bro!”
“Hey man, how’s it hangin’?”
“Yo, D!”
They were all alternative-looking guys, most with scruffy goatees and shaggy hair (which might have factored into the low health score posted in the window). I have no doubt in my mind that they were either in bands, or liked going out to see them.
The only girl working was a waitress, and she looked at Derek, too – but with love-smitten puppy-dog eyes.
I reminded myself not to look like her, ever.
We ordered at the register, but before I could get out my purse, Derek paid.
“I can get my own,” I protested.
“You paid for the movie tickets.”
“Yeah, because I get the student discount. And they were only four bucks apiece.”
“That’s still eight bucks. I got this.”
My guilt was beginning to get the better of me.
Southern guys always pay on dates. If they don’t pay, it’s not a date; it’s a clear ‘we’re only friends, and I’m not looking for more’ message. Or it was a massive faux pas, because it meant the guy was cheap.
Or, I supposed, the guy could just be flat broke… but in that case, it was better to hang out and watch a DVD instead of embarrass yourself.
Even though Derek didn’t have the slightest hint of a Southern accent, he was paying. And if he paid, this was so not just ‘talking about the movie over a gyro’ anymore.
“I really should pay for mine,” I insisted.
He gave me a knowing grin. “Ohhhh, you’re a feminist, huh?”
“What?” I said, taken aback. “Yeah, kind of – so?”
“You can get the tip,” he said, waving me off.
“That’s only 15 percent!”
“Tip more, then,” said the shaggy dude behind the register.
“Yeah, tip more, then,” Derek grinned. He gave his buddy a Laters head nod and then walked towards the seating area.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath as I followed behind him, trying so hard not to look at that perfect ass in front of me.
“Look, I need to pay you,” I said as I caught up to him.
He gave me a look like I was quite clearly insane. “I got it covered.”
“I know that, but I need to pay for my food.”
“Why?” he asked, exasperated.
“Because if you pay, it’s a date. And I can’t go out on a date with you, because I have a boyfriend. And that’s why I need to pay for my food.”
He looked down at me with those sleepy, half-lidded eyes… and I got lost in their green depths again, waiting to hear what he would say.
Like, for instance, Your EX-boyfriend, Kaitlyn. Which means you can do anything you damn well please.
I KNEW that was what he was going to say.
Or, You can tell yourself anything you want, Kaitlyn, but we both know what this is.
Or, Maybe I want it to be a date.
Or, You really think that paying for your food is going to change anything that’s going on here?
Or –
“Okay,” he shrugged.
Oh.
Hadn’t expected that.
“…yeah?” I asked, a little stunned.
“Sure. I understand,” he said, and gave me a friendly smile.
“Oh… okay… cool,” I said, not quite understanding why I felt so deflated.
I reached into my purse, pulled out a five, and held it out to him.
“Yours was about eight bucks,” he said calmly. “With the fries and drink.”
I paused – and then, slightly annoyed, I pulled another three dollars out.
“Plus tax,” he added. “So… another fifty cents should do it.”
I stared at him openly now, even more irritated.
“Fine,” I muttered, and reached back into my purse –
“Jeez, I’m kidding,” he laughed, and pulled the five out of my hand, leaving behind the ones.
Now I really was flustered.
“Hey, I owe you this!” I said, holding out the dollar bills.
“You paid for the movie.”
“So?”
“So you better keep it, or you’d have to tell your boyfriend you took me out on a date,” he said with that insufferable (oh so sexy) grin of his.
Damn you, Derek –
“You’re taking the three dollars,” I said.
“Then you’re going to have to put them in my pocket yourself,” he smirked, and turned and walked off to grab a table.
Gritting my teeth, I stuffed the dollars back in my purse.
And tried really, really hard not to watch his ass as he walked away.
I tried even harder not to imagine myself stuffing the dollar bills into his back pocket… and what it would feel like with my hand in his pants, my palm cupped against his firm ass…
I failed miserably.
20
As advertised, though, we did just talk about the movie.
At first.
“What’d you think?” he asked as our food came and we started to chow down.
“It was awesome.”
“Hell yeah it was.”
“What was your favorite part?”
“Well, we know what your favorite part was,” he teased.
I giggled, then caught myself.
I have REALLY got to stop doing that.
But giggling around him was almost second nature now… though I hated it.
“No… actually, it wasn’t as hot as I thought it would be.”
I didn’t add what I was thinking:
I’ve seen hotter butts.
One in particular.
“Oh, naked guy in the showers almost getting killed by a couple of gangsters wasn’t sexy enough for you?” he laughed.
“It was a little disturbing.”
“That was kind of my point. But, hey, you still got to see his ass.”
“Can we please stop talking about Viggo Mortensen’s ass?”
“Whose ass do you want to talk about, then?” he grinned.
“Nobody’s.”
“What about… Michaelangelo’s David?” he asked. “That’s a pretty great ass, right?”
I walked into the trap before I realized it had been set.
“That’s not the part I’m used to looking at,” I said – and then blushed furiously as he burst into laughter.
“Oh my God, the truth comes out!” he howled.
“Shut up!” I snapped.
“Want to go back to talking about asses?” he asked as he wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.
I decided to go on the offensive.
“What’s your fascination with men’s asses?” I asked with an evil leer.
He grinned and shrugged. “I’m completely secure in my ass-omeness.”
“Your what?”
“Like awesomeness, but with an ass. Ass-omeness.”
“Oh… my… GOD,” I said as I rolled my eyes.
“Hey, I’ve got a great ass,” he said nonchalantly. “Or so I’ve been told.”
DO NOT comment on that, Kaitlyn. Do NOT comment on that –
“What was your favorite part – or was it Viggo Mortensen’s ass, too?”
“No,” he laughed, then settled down into a thoughtful mode. “I liked how it ended.”
“That was the only part I hated,” I said with a frown.
“But it was still beautiful,” he argued. “He had a job to do, and he didn’t want to endanger her. He loved her so much that he let her go.”
“He could have let his job go.”
“It was what he was born to do.”
“Whatever. I still think it sucks.”
“Yeah, well… that was only one of my favorite parts.”
“What else?”
“I liked the tattoo scene, where he’s being interviewed by the gangsters, and his life story is in his tattoos.”
In the movie, Viggo Mortensen is covered in elaborate tattoos, and each one holds a piece of information: where he had been in prison, how long, what he had served time for, what his various roles in the mob had been. The gangsters who are considering making him a ‘made man’ knew the symbolism and could tell everything about his life just by looking at those tattoos.
“That was cool,” I agreed, then added as an afterthought, “I don’t even like tattoos, but that was cool.”
He stared at me like I’d just said I hated puppies. “You don’t like tattoos?”
I realized who I was talking to – and how many he had visible on his arms.
My mind wandered to other places he might have them, too… but I had to immediately stop that train of thought in its tracks.
“I’m just… not a huge fan in general.”
“Away from me, woman,” he said grandiloquently, swatting at the air with his hand.
I grinned. “Well, it would be different if you had cool ones like Viggo’s.”
“Oh, you’d rather I spent three years in a Russian prison,” he said, slowly nodding his head like I seeeee.
“No,” I laughed. “I mean, it would be cool if you had your life story in tattoos.”
“I do.”
I gave him a Bullshit look.
“No, really,” he said. “I mean, not exactly like the movie, but – basically, everything I love. Look.”
He pointed to the inside of his forearm, where there were four tattoos in a line. The first was a cursive word that looked like ‘Zoso,’ whatever that meant. The second was three ovals arranged in a triangle with a circle through them. Another had three overlapping circles, and the final one was a circle with what looked like a feather inside.
“Led Zeppelin IV,” he said, quite seriously. “Greatest rock album of all time.”
“What about the Beatles?”
“Got them here, too,” and he pulled up his t-shirt sleeve and pointed to a tattoo of the band’s name in the world-famous font that everybody knew.
It was on his bicep.
It was a very large, very nice bicep.
“But – the rock album – Sgt. Something – ”
“Sgt. Something?” he asked indignantly. “You mean Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band?”
“Yeah, that.”
“‘Yeah, that,’” he said, mocking me good-naturedly. Then he grew serious. “Fantastic album. But…”
He hesitated.
“The Beatles are probably the greatest pop musicians of the 20th Century, I’ll give them that. I love ‘em, especially the White Album. But except on a few songs like ‘Revolution’ and ‘Helter Skelter,’ they don’t really rock. Not hard. They’re light and happy even when they’re trying to sound like they want to f*ck you up. Even their darker stuff like ‘A Day In The Life’ or ‘Strawberry Fields’ or ‘I Am The Walrus’ is… ethereal.”
“Ethereal,” I said, nodding my head and raising my eyebrows mockingly.
“Is that too big a word for a rock musician to use, Ms. Journalism Snob?” he teased me.
“Just show me your other tattoos, Rock Boy.”
He had a lot of them. I had to admit, the presentation was pretty cool. They were linked in a beautiful, twisting frame composed of sinuous shapes, like those centuries-old Japanese paintings of ocean waves, or a beautiful depiction of twisting vines. And amidst the twisting shapes were individual symbols that appeared like paintings hung in a gallery.
A red hot chili pepper for… you guessed it. A dollar bill on a hook for Nirvana. The Rolling Stones’ famous lips. A union Jack for The Who. An elaborate Celtic Cross with flowers and revolvers for… yes… Guns ‘n Roses. A black-inked portrait of Jim Morrison – the famous shot of him that everybody knows – that was done startlingly well, in minute artistic detail. And all over, woven into the fabric of the design, were quotes from some of the most famous rock ‘n roll songs of all time.
Did I mention that he had to take off his shirt to show me most of the tattoos? The majority were on his back and chest.
Sweet baby Jesus.
I think I ovulated right there on the spot.
His entire back rippled with muscles. When people talk about guys’ arms and call them ‘guns’? Yeah, they were talking about Derek’s. And his skin was perfect… not a blemish at all, just lovely, smooth olive skin. His chest… oh my God, I almost had to sit on my hands to stop myself from touching his pecs. His abs were like nothing I’d ever seen outside of a Dolce & Gabbana underwear ad.
Every girl in the place was staring at him – and most of them were salivating. All the guys with them were glaring.
Well, not all the guys. A few of them were salivating, too.
Derek didn’t care. Didn’t even register. He just kept turning this way and that, pointing to different ones and telling me the stories behind them.
The funny thing was, he was so into his tattoos – like an enthusiastic little boy showing off his Matchbox car collection – that he didn’t notice the effect he was having on me.
At least, I don’t think he noticed the effect he was having on me.
Or maybe he did know, and it was all part of a calculated effect.
Bastard.
Either way, he was passionate about his tattoos, and kept on talking as he pulled his shirt over his head and back into place.
I felt very, very sad as that gorgeous body disappeared from view… but also a little relieved. My lady parts were about to spontaneously combust if the show went on much longer.
“I’m going to add a new one, a special design, for every album I do,” he said excitedly.
“Yeah?” I asked, my voice a little unsteady at first. “Have you added the first one yet?”
He shook his head. “Haven’t recorded an album yet.”
“Do you know what the title’s going to be?” I asked, then took a sip of Coke through my straw.
“Yeah. Spirals Go Inward, According to Kaitlyn.”
I laughed and snorted soda up my nose.
After I had finished coughing – and he had finished patting me on the back (unnnhhh) – I said, “Just call it According to Kaitlyn.”
He paused. “That’s actually a pretty good title…”
“Didn’t Adam Levine do something like that? Like, Songs For Jane? No – Songs ABOUT Jane – ”
“Oh my GOD, you did not just compare me to Maroon 5.”
“What? I like Maroon 5.”
“You just like the lead singer.”
“He’s hot.”
“I’m hot. You like me?” he asked roguishly.
I squinted at him. “You’re conceited.”
“That’s true. “
“I’d think you wouldn’t mind getting compared to a rock group that’s sold millions of albums.”
“Savage Garden sold millions of albums, and I don’t want to get compared to them.” He leaned back in his chair and pointed at me. “I know what you like about Maroon 5.”
“What.”
“That song where he talks about the girl’s so hard to satisfy, and he keeps making her come every night.”
My face immediately turned beet red.
I knew exactly which song he was talking about. One of their first hits, “This Love.”
I actually really liked that song.
And I secretly liked that one line about her coming. It turned me on a little whenever I heard it on the radio.
It turned me on even more when Derek said it.
Unfortunately for me, I was already revved up to 11 by the shirtless tattoo show.
Your roommate missed out BIG time.
The best sex she ever had.
KEVIN – remember KEVIN –
“I told you, I don’t want to talk about sex,” I snapped.
He grinned. “You’d rather do it? That’s fine by – ”
I stood up and walked out of the gyro place.