I nodded, but inside, I was already feeling that new sense of otherness. Like I didn’t belong anymore. Both of my friends were getting ink that had something to do with football, with their position, their power. Why the hell was I out with two football players when I’d never be part of their team again? I’d never jog onto the field with them, stand on the sideline and put my hand over my heart for the national anthem. I’d never celebrate a TD with them in the end zone or commiserate in the locker room. That part of my life was over, and I had no business pretending it wasn’t by hanging out with dudes who were still in the game.
“How about you, Noah?” Zeke asked as the car slowed in front of a shopfront replete with neon lights. “What’ll you get?”
I shrugged, working hard to disguise my glumness. “Never thought about it. You have any ideas?”
They didn’t answer right away, and as we climbed out of the car—me going last and grunting as I stretched out my knee—I wondered if they were sorry that they’d gone to the trouble of talking me into going with them tonight. If they’d been on their own, they’d be having more fun. They wouldn’t have the guy who was lame—literally and figuratively—slowing them down.
But before we opened the door to go into the tattoo parlor, Zeke spoke up. “Maybe you could get an angel. On your chest. You know, over your heart.”
“An angel?” I frowned. “You mean because I think I’m so special and pure?”
Zeke scowled. “No, man. Because of . . . Angela. For your wife, I mean. A symbol of her always being in your heart. Part of you, no matter what.”
A thin thread of gratitude wrapped around me, mixed with remorse for the things I’d been thinking of these two. I coughed to cover the emotion.
“That’s actually a fucking great idea, Zeke.” I slapped his back. “Thanks. I think that’s what I’ll do.”
He grinned, his whole face lighting up. “It’ll be like she’s your guardian angel. Keep you from getting into trouble, you know, since she’s not here to smack you upside the head in person.”
I laughed. “She’d love that. Yeah, Angela would absolutely love that idea.”
August made a small noise in his throat. “Are we going to stand out here and have heart to hearts, or are we getting inked up?”
I gave a small bow. “We’re going in. Lead the way, guys. Show me how it’s done.”
* * *
“Nobody toldme how much getting a tattoo fucking hurts!” I moaned from the back of yet another YouRideIt. This one was a mini-van, which meant that I had room to extend my leg at least. But since we’d hit two other bars between leaving the tattoo parlor and now, and I’d had enough tequila to start my own cantina, I was slightly, vaguely worried that being in the back might not be great for my stomach. I was pretty drunk, but not so much that I wasn’t concerned about causing our driver inconvenience by hurling in his vehicle.
“Stop being a baby!” Zeke ordered. “It doesn’t hurt that much. Man up and suffer in silence. Like August here and me.” He flexed his biceps and affected a stern expression. “No pain!”
For some reason, that was extremely funny to all of us—well, except the driver—and we were laughing our fool heads off when the van slid to a stop. I peered out the dirty window, frowning.
“Where the hell are we? This isn’t your house, Zeke. It sure as hell isn’t mine. Is this your place, August?” The pretty purple house looked oddly familiar, but I was positive I didn’t know anyone who lived here.
“Not my place.” August smiled and wiggled his eyebrows up and down. “It was Zeke’s idea. This is Juuuuuliet’s house. He thought we should stop by and just, you know . . . say hello.” He started laughing all over again.
Juliet. My inebriated, mixed-up head was confused. Why were we at her house?
I didn’t get a chance to protest. Before I knew it, Zeke was out of the van, sliding open the door for me, and August was handing me my crutches. I managed to get them underneath my arms and was just trying to remember how they worked when the front door of the purple house flew open.
“What the ever-loving fuck are you idiots doing on my front lawn?” Juliet stood in the doorway, framed in the backlighting, her arms folded over her chest, and even though I was wasted, I could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath her gray T-shirt. Her full breasts strained against the material. I swallowed and glanced away, but my dick, not being the gentleman that I was, strained against my pants, wanting a better look.
“Juliet, Juliet, wherefore art thou, Juliet?” August slapped a hand on his chest and fell to his knees in what I assumed he thought was a Romeo pose. On the other side of him, Zeke chortled.
“We came to talk you into having fun with us tonight!” Zeke called to her. “C’mon out, sweetness. Let’s go get a drink.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind? It’s almost one in the morning.” Juliet peered furiously to her left and right at her neighbors’ houses. “Someone’s going to call the cops on y’all. And if you don’t shut up right now, it just might be me.”
“Awww, honey, don’t play us that way,” August begged. “We’re your willing love slaves. Just put on some shoes and let’s go!” He turned around and pointed to where the mini-van had been a few minutes before, but that driver had gotten the hell out of Dodge. Probably a good move for him, but now we were stranded here.
Juliet dropped her head back, staring up into the velvet black of the night sky as if praying for us to vanish. After a long moment, she shook her head and stepped out.
“I’m not going anywhere, but you fools—get your asses inside. Now.”
We were all three man enough to realize when a woman meant business. We filed obediently into her house one by one, heads down and mouths shut.
“I don’t know what you were thinking coming here.” She slammed the door behind us and flapped her hands in agitation. “Of all the houses of all the people you know, why mine? Why me?”
