Page 56 of Poetry By Dead Men
Fuck. Me.
My mouth goes dry and my skin ignites. The heat of the sun is nothing compared to the heat coiling in my stomach. Bobby’s steps falter as he notices me in the front row, his eyebrows raising in surprise. His throat bobs as his bright blue eyes slide down my body, which, if I’m being honest, isn’t much more covered than his. With the heat index of a hundred and twelve, I’m wearing the shortest shorts I own and a top that's more sports bra than tank.
My hair’s up in a messy bun to get it off my shoulders, which shows off my neck and collarbones. Bobby recovers quickly, coming to squat down in front of me. He tips up his bottle of water, taking several glugs so deep the plastic crinkles, before dumping the rest on the back of his neck. Water trickles down his chest, and suddenly the heat index feels closer to two hundred degrees.
I know that Bobby did it because it’s trulythathot out here, that it has nothing to do with turning me on, but it feels like a dirty move. I look down, pretending to take some notes, when really, I'm just writing my favorite colors in order. But even looking away, I'm pretty sure his physique is burned into my vision. I close my eyes for a moment, willingthe image away, but all I can see are his perfectly toned pecs with a sprinkling of chest hair between them and many,manyabs.
Ones I could certainly wash clothes on.
Or eat dinner off of.
“Jesus Christ,” I say under my breath, suddenly hating myself. Am I really this weak?
“I thought you were going to skip this one,” Bobby says, plopping on the edge of the stage and swinging his legs over the side.
“Got a job to do, remember?” I still don’t look at him.
“It's the same soundcheck every show,” he answers, grabbing another bottle of water from the front of the stage and tossing it to me. “Except this one is hotter than Satan's sauna.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I think that makes it pretty different, don't you?” I joke, but in truth that's not the only reason this soundcheck is significantly hotter. “Plus, it shows off your dedication and professionalism and your…” I clear my throat again.Get it together, and whatever you do, donotsay abs.“Ab…ility to withstand extreme temperatures.”
Shit.
Bobby must notice my eyes avoiding looking anywhere near his tan, glistening skin. He twists the cap off another bottle and grins. “I can go get a shirt, if you’d like,” he says, teasing me.
“It's not you. It's Johnny,” I reply. “He's aged like fine wine.” I wiggle my fingers at Johnny, who's standing not too far away from us, clearly eavesdropping.
He throws his head back and laughs. “Ihaveaged well, thank you. Does this mean you’re finally agreeing to a date with me after all these years, Bethy?” Johnny asks, raising his eyebrows. “I think there's an Applebee's down the road.”
“Applebee's?” I ask, my forehead wrinkling in confusion.
“I don't know, they're always getting it as a reward on Survivor. And they seem so excited. Must be amazing,” Johnny shrugs. “Plus, I don’t need fancy dinners. I havegame, you know.”
“Actually, Beth's busy this afternoon,” Bobby interrupts, hopping back up to his feet.
“I am?” I ask.
“You are,” Bobby confirms. “And you,” Bobby points his water bottle toward Johnny, “messed up your solo. Again.”
“Creative liberties, man.” Johnny throws his arms out as if insulted.
“They're only creative liberties if they’re played in the right key,” Bobby responds, crossing his arms. “Maybe some practice before the show would be good?”
“I was born with a guitar in my hands. Maybeyouneed to practice that key change. Sounded a little pitchy to me.”
Bobby picks up his water bottle and throws it at Johnny, and I settle back to watch them.
It’s just like old times, their playful energy, the constant ribbing. It makes my stomach sink to witness the way their lives have continued on together so seamlessly when I was so crudely cut out.
Bobby slings an arm around Johnny’s shoulder, and the flash of pink appears again, but now that he’s closer, I can make out the shape.
It’s a single flower, roughly the size of a baseball, tattooed on the inside of his left arm.
A wild rose.
I suck in a breath, and a wave of dizziness passes over me, almost knocking me sideways.
The tattoo is for me. I know it the way I know my own name.
