Page 7 of Bottle Rocket
A ladybug landed on Rosie’s shoulder, stark against her skin. She looked like a Disney character—a princess with beautiful creatures flocking to her. He imagined drawing her as Snow White at the well, her peaches-and-cream complexion, her not-so-innocent expression. That type of stylized character art was his bread and butter.
She frowned and brushed the bug off her arm, poised, practical, and unbothered. He would have been excited to find a ladybug on his arm. She’d shooed it off with no fanfare.
All the reasons he’d loved her at eighteen smacked him in the fucking face.
“Whitt!” Dean called out Leo’s nickname in his deep, melodic voice. Both he and Rosie jumped.
Leo waved at his friend, and Dean approached them, a smile on his handsome face. In the past, when Leo passed through town to visit his parents, he usually spent a night with Dean. Their relationship was easy and supportive. Dean knew him, understood him, and Leo suspected today’s interruption had made him incredibly curious.
“Hi y’all. Sorry about the surprise today, Rosie,” Dean said.
“It’s fine. I’m sorry for causing a scene. I’m normally a little more chill.”
Dean’s smile was too excited for Leo’s liking.
“How do you two know each other?” Dean asked.
She paused for an awkward second before saying, “I worked for Leo’s parents at Froth and Forage when we were both in high school.”
Leo bit the inside of his lip, fiddling with the edge of his piercing with his tongue. He hated that that was how she’d described their relationship, but what had he expected her to say?
We lost our virginity to each other over a decade ago.
I told him I loved him when we were teenagers.
He was a fuck up, and I had my shit together.
“Oh yeah,” Dean said. “I love Froth and Forage. We torment his parents by drinking at the bar there when he’s in town.”
Rosie seemed surprised by that.
Yes, Leo was still tormenting his parents, but in incredibly harmless ways, like laughing too loudly at their restaurant with one of his best friends and buying his mother silver spoon knick-knacks from weird places, which she promptly threw in a plastic bin in his old room.
“What about you guys? How do you know each other?” she asked, then glanced at Leo. “I assumed you didn’t come home that often.”
There was that word again.Home. He’d been searching for a place that felt like home for thirteen years. This sure as shit wasn’t it.
Dean gestured to Leo, indicating he should take the lead on this, which Leo appreciated. He didn’t want to blurt out that they’d met at a fuck party six years ago.
“We met through mutual friends in the erotic art world.”
Rosie didn’t react to that. She was a pro at schooling her expressions. Or she used to be. He didn’t really know her anymore.
His heart was fighting him on that point. He knew that at eighteen the best thing he could do for her was leave. He knew that she would move the moon for her siblings. He knew that when she was nervous, she fiddled with the hair behind her ears. He knew that kissing this one particular spot between her shoulder blades would make her wet. He knew that she was stingy with her real smiles, which made each one a precious fucking gift.
He’d been enamored by her at eighteen. Through the years, he’d imagined seeing her again, holding her again, making her smile again. He’d imagined coming back to her as an adult with the full knowledge of his desires and needs and predilections, and in those dreams, she was into it. He inwardly laughed at himself.If only.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re an erotic artist, Leo? What happened to being a musician?”
Dean’s mouth dropped open. “I’m sorry,” he echoed her. “You wanted to be a musician, Leo?”
A beat of silence passed between them before laughter overtook it. The giggles started with Rosie and quickly spread to him and Dean. It was surreal, these different time periods of his life crashing into each other.
“I am an artist,” Leo said.
“A good one,” Dean chimed in.
Leo ignored the praise. “And I ran away at eighteen to busk on street corners, which did nothing except horrify my parents—a plus—and teach me how to handle hecklers. I sucked.”
