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Walla Walla ignores the tension and focuses his gorgeous, blue-eyed gaze on me. Despite trying to think of a good conversational topic, I mostly just stare at him and fight my urge to drool.
Breaking up the silence, Goose asks me, “How come your name is spelled wrong?”
“I’m named after the novelist,” I explain and then add, “The author of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ and ‘Sense and Sensibility.’”
Goose rolls her eyes. “Those are school reading books.”
Coco nods. “Yes.”
“And Hunter?” Goose mutters, seeming put out by my name.
“Hunter S. Thompson is my mom’s other favorite author. Plus, she wanted more masculine names for us.”
“Does that mean, if you give Walla Walla a kid, you’ll name it something stupid?”
“No.”
“I don’t believe you. But just know we can’t have more ‘B’ names. Nomad’s got a whole basket of B-named babies. It’s really difficult to keep them all straight.”
“I’ll remember that.”
I don’t know anything about Nomad besides he’s a member of the Steel Berserkers. I’m sure I’ll learn the details once I’m in McMurdo Valley.
“Are you curious about my name?” Walla Walla asks me.
“I always figured it was related to the prison or the Offspring song.”
“You know the song?” he asks, and his eyes light up over how I might not be a total nerd.
“Yes,” I answer, skipping the part where I found the song after looking up his name online. “Is that how you got it?”
“I have an uncle from Washington State. He kept saying if I didn’t stop acting up and learn to fly right, I’d end up in Walla Walla. Then, he would just say the name instead of calling me Martin. In my family, they’d laugh about me spending my life in prison. I decided to take their dig at me as a compliment and started referring to myself that way. The song came out around the time the club was cementing our power. I have an anthem now.”
I don’t dare admit I used to listen to that song and daydream about him. Maybe if we were alone, I’d put my crazy on display. However, I notice how Goose is trying to embarrass me. I don’t think she likes me. Mostly, I sense she’s restless to get back home.
When the food arrives, I nibble at it. Goose claims I’m being “too precious,” so I eat more. Worried I’m coming off too submissive, I stop eating altogether.
Walla Walla watches me changing tactics throughout the appetizers. He casually pops chips in his mouth. Everything he does feels so untroubled. I’m insanely jealous by how he embraces life.
My desire to be more carefree is why I agree to dance after dinner. Walla Walla’s gaze entrances me when he reaches out his hand. I struggle to deny him. Walla Walla deserves everything. However, once I notice those men watching us, I freeze up.
Walla Walla gives me extra incentive to leave the table by whispering in my ear, “Let’s give Goose a chance to work her magic on Coco.”
My friend’s life has been flipped upside down over the last few days. The least I can do is let her spend time alone with the woman making her nuts.
“I don’t know how to dance,” I tell Walla Walla once we’re on the mostly empty dance floor near the bar.
“I usually do that jumpy, tribal dancing,” he says while standing in front of me. “I get drunk and rowdy and don’t give a shit about coordination. Dancing with a beautiful woman is new for me.”
Though his words leave me breathless and excited, I’m also afraid of messing up like I did the night in Canary Basin. I’d been goofing around, getting loud, and shaking my ass to an Aerosmith song. I viewed myself as a rowdy kid. The men viewed my antics as an invitation.
“I’m afraid,” I blurt out to Walla Walla.
“I’m going to keep my hands on your shoulders,” he says and brushes my hair from around my throat. I shiver at the feel of him. “You can put your hands on my hips. But don’t grab my dick in front of all these dull-ass people.”
Walla Walla wags his finger in my face as if I might actually cop a feel. My fear gets tackled by the need to please him. He says I’m beautiful. He looks at me as if I’m what he craves. I want to be desirable to Walla Walla.
I link my fingers in his denim loops. His wide hands rest on my shoulders. We’re barely touching, yet my body’s on fire. I breathe at the same tempo as he does. I’m lightheaded, and my ears feel full of cotton. In any other situation, I’d assume I was about to have a panic attack. Instead, I’m in a wild state of arousal.
