Page 33 of Body Count

Hadn’t anybody taught these sons of bitches about question marks?

It was a nice enough dick.It looked like one of those popsicles you can get from the ice cream truck, thicker at the base and thinner at the top.A bit of a curve—it gave it some personality, I guess.The nine in his profile name seemed a little optimistic.

I closed the apps.

Time to go home, I told myself.

The heavy beat from the club vibrated through my body: my spine, my shoulders, at the base of my neck.

The sound came of a door opening, and light spilled out to break the night.Steady, yellow light—not the lights from the club proper, but some sort of back area meant for the staff, I guessed.When I glanced over, a door in the side of the building was swinging shut, folding the light back inside the club.I caught a glimpse of his face before the dark rolled in again.The slicked-back hair.The glint of silver at his neck.

A lighter sparked.And then the tip of a cigarette glowed.A Marlboro Red, like the one Lola had taken from behind the bar.Ten seconds passed.Twenty.The ember looked a long way off like a red star.Then he came toward me, trampling a path through the overgrown grass.

When he reached me, he looked me up and down.The security lights from the parking light were reflected in his eyes in tiny white slivers.He did that little nod he’d done inside and said, “Hey.”

I almost burst out laughing.“Hey.”

He smoked.I stood there and wondered what I was doing.

“She’s a lot, huh?”

“What?”

He tipped his head toward the club.

“Oh.Yeah.”

The cigarette’s cherry flared.Even in the thick heat of the summer evening, he stood close enough that I could feel the warmth of him.

“Gray,” I said.

He blew smoke out and went back to looking at me.Those little slivers of white made it hard to read his eyes.He stubbed out the cigarette on the side of the building and returned it to the pack.

“Tres butch,” I said.

He stepped in closer.One of his fingers touched the placket of my shirt.

“Is Ricky really your name?”

His hand followed my chest down, and he laughed.

Sweat made my hair damp at my nape.Sweat made my shirt cling under my arms.I wanted a shower.I wanted a drink.I wanted to stand naked in front of a fan.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”I asked.

He curled his fingers over my waistband.He slid them back and forth.And then he undid the button.

I caught his wrist.“A husband?”

He laughed.

“A girlfriend?A wife?”

“Is that really what you want to talk about?”

Under my hand, his arm was strong, scattered with hair, undeniably male.I didn’t know how much of me he could make out in the shadows, but he was still looking at me.

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” I said.

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