Chapter Three
Marty
Marianne squealed, “There she is!”
“Alright, spill the beans,” Clara said.
“Which one was he? Was he the one with the tattoos?” Alyssa swooned.
My mind was still reeling with everything that had happened, but I was trying to keep my shit together. This night wasn’t about me, it was about my best friend and her pending nuptials. They didn’t need a sappy sad story of my high-school boy drama, and quite honestly, I really didn’t want to talk about it. But before I brought myself out of my own startled mind, I felt the card Jax had given me being ripped from my fingers.
“Alright. Who’s Jax?” Rebecca asked. She held it up and waved the side that had his number scrawled on it, and I saw Marianne’s eyes widen with excitement before she ripped the card from Rebecca.
“Oh my god! You got his number!” she smiled.
“Holy hell,” Clara breathed.
“You should bring him to the wedding,” Rebecca smirked. “Hey, we could get him to provide some entertainment!”
“Well, was he the one with the tattoos?” Alyssa whispered.
“Yes,” I breathed. “The one with the tattoos.”
“Alright. Let’s get out of here. I want to hear all about it over some cosmos!” Marianne chirped.
She took my hand and dragged me out of the club, and a part of me was elated to be gone. Encountering my high school sweetheart who my parents had wholly ripped to shreds back when I was seventeen was bad enough, but feeling how easily my body still caved to him was nothing short of frightening.
We all held hands as we made our way back to the limo, and the driver was all smiles before he opened the door.
“Alright. Before I figure out where we’re going next, I want to hear all about your private little show,” Marianne smiled.
“You mean we’re just gonna sit here in this limo?” I asked.
“Yep! So, start talking, sister. Was he packing? What was that tattoo of, anyway? God, he had some muscles,” Marianne groaned.
“Jesus!” I laughed.
“Hey, I’m not married yet!”
“Honey, I look and I’ve been married for 7 years,” Clara quipped.
“You would,” Rebecca murmured with a smile on her face.
“Let’s be honest,” Clara began, “you need a man, Marty. After Marianne gets hitched, you’ll be the only single one of us.”
“And why’s that so terrible? I’m just career-minded, that’s all.”
“But you can’t always be that way,” Clara groaned. “Don’t you want to wake up to some prime man meat throbbing between your legs?”
“Alright, Marty; time’s up. Give us the details, already!” Marianne breathed.
“Okay, fine. Well, he was hot; I’ll give him that.”
“Well, duh. Come on, Marty,” Alyssa whined, “you know what we want to hear.”
“God, you sound like a dude,” I murmured.
“Don’t make me beat it out of you.”
“Okay, his package was huge, alright? I’m not so sure it wasn’t a sock stuffed down there, but it hung pretty high and tight in that yellow dick sling of his. And that back tattoo is not the only one he has, though it’s very impressive.”
To be honest, it was impressive in high school. He’d started the tattoo when he was sixteen, courtesy of a friend at a tattoo parlor who wanted to practice his craft. His friend was pretty good, but I could see that Jax had gone somewhere later in life to get it touched up and filled out.
“What were the other tattoos like?” Alyssa breathed.
“He had one on his chest that looked like a tribal something or other. And the tattoo on his back isn’t just a bunch of geometric shapes; it all comes together in the face of a skeleton wearing a queen’s crown.”
“I kind of wanted to sink my teeth into the tattoo on that huge bicep of his,” Marianna smirked.
“Mari!” I shrieked.
“Well, I did!”
“Did he touch you?” Clara smirked.
It took me back to how my body felt when his hand wrapped around mine. It had been years since I’d even thought of the shock that ran through me because of Jax, but it seemed as if my body hadn’t forgotten at all. I felt my blood turn to raging lava and I knew a blush was staining my cheeks, and Clara clapped and whooped like a drunk man at a football game before I rolled my eyes and groaned.
“She got groped!” Clara yelled.
“You are so lucky,” Alyssa breathed.
“I need to tell Tom to nail you more,” I giggled.
“Alright, alright. I know where I want to go for our next round of drinks. Driver?”
The limo screen rolled down and his flushed, laughing face came into view. I could only imagine what he was thinking, and I saw him wipe his eyes before he finally answered.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“There’s a bar up the road a few miles called Fuego. Could you please take us there?”
“Ma’am, I’ll take you anywhere you wish,” the driver smiled.
“Now, that’s a man,” I pointed out.
“But he won’t give you a lap dance,” Rebecca grinned.
“Oh, shut up!” I yelled before I threw my purse at her.
My mind was preoccupied all the way to the bar. The girls were chattering about wedding plans around me, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Jax. Yeah, he was good looking and ripped and had new ink I’d give anything to study up close, but why the hell did he become a dancer? He was a dead set on becoming the best mechanic in town the last time we talked. He said he wanted to make his father proud by making a living wage on the one thing that he could do with his dad.
But dancing? On a stage? For horny, drunk women and gay men?
That didn’t seem like Jax at all.
Granted, a lot can change over a decade. Our ten-year class reunion was last year and I didn’t go because of work, but he loved working on cars. The Jax I knew would’ve driven himself into massive debt before giving up on a dream inspired by his dad.
But a question Marianne asked me ripped me from my thoughts.
“Didn’t you date a Jax once?”
My eyes slowly panned to hers and connected with her curious gaze, and the pause I gave was just long enough for her eyes to widen.
“Yeah. It was our sophomore year,” she said. “We were grocery shopping and you randomly dragged me out of the store. I remember because I friggin’ lost my pants tripping over myself in the parking lot and one of my professors recognized me the next morning.”
“That’s a hell of a story,” Rebecca murmured.
“You told me when we got in the car that your ex, Jax, was in the store and that you didn’t want to see him…” Marianne trailed off.
The limo lurched to a stop in front of the loud, packed bar with a flickering neon sign. As quickly as my blood burned, I felt it morph to ice, and I could feel that nervous blush quickly fade to white as the girls’ eyes started to widen.
“Oh. My. God,” Marianne murmured.
“Did you know him?” Alyssa squealed.
“Wait, you dated the dancer?” Rebecca asked.
“So, you know how big his package is!” Clara squealed.
“Alright, alright, alright! Look, the dancer with the tattoos is Jax Weatherspoon. We dated in high school, I gave him my virginity, things went sour after his dad died and I never spoke to him again.”
“Until tonight,” Rebecca smirked.
“Until tonight,” I breathed.
The girls fell silent as the limo idled in front of the bar, and just before I went to go grab the door and throw it open, an utterly stupid idea fell from Marianne’s lips.
“You should bring him to the wedding.”
“You’re really drunk,” I murmured.
“No, really. You should bring him! I mean, you don’t have a date anyway, and he friggin’ offered you a private dance. Who knows? Maybe you’d get lucky.”
“I don’t need to get laid!” I yelled. I was getting tired of this banter and I just wanted to go inside and drink away the memory of how warm and hard his body felt against mine.
“I still think he could dance at the reception,” Alyssa said.
“I’m not bringing him to the wedding, alright?” I snapped.
“I’m just saying, Marty…if you did, I wouldn’t object,” Marianne soothed.
I felt bad for the outburst. This was her special night and I was slowly ruining it with my memories of a stupid boy who broke my heart in high school.
Scratch that…a stupid boy whose heart was broken by my parents.
“Are you gonna call him?” Clara asked lightly.
I sighed and sat back into my seat before I looked down at the card that had fallen to the floor. I groaned and bent over, picking it up before I slowly turned it around.
It was right there. My chance to just see how he was doing was right there.
“I think so,” I grinned lightly.
“You should message him inside so we can see what he says,” Marianne grinned.
“Would that make up for my emotional outburst?” I asked as I panned my gaze up to hers.
“Marty, you’re my maid of honor,” Marianne smiled as she reached over and squeezed my hand. “I’m just glad you’re feeling something; you’re always so serious. It’s nice to see something knock you off your logic-laced pedestal.”
“Or someone,” Rebecca murmured.
“God, I need a drink,” I sighed.
“Then let’s go get one!” Marianne whooped.
With that, we all piled out of the limo and squeezed our way into the bar.