After dinner, we left the restaurant. Devinand Sebastian shed their jackets and ties, and Kylie switched out her heels fora pair of flip flops she pulled from her bag. With love in his eyes, Devin heldher shoes and her hand, while Sebastian walked along beside me with his handsstuffed in his pockets. He tipped his head up and back, taking in the lightsand sounds.
“Ifucking love it here,” he commented quietly, beneath the breath of the city.
“Whydon’t you live here, then?” I asked him.
“BecauseI think that feeling this small all of the time would drive me insane,” headmitted, pursing his lips.
“Oh,God, imagine that. Something that couldactuallyhumble you,” I teased,poking him in the side, and he brushed me away.
“Baby,Iamhumble,” he insisted. “Arrogance is just part of my charm.”
“Uh-huh.”I rolled my eyes playfully, while silently agreeing.
Wefound a bar. A little dive a few blocks from the restaurant. The bartenderdidn’t bat a lash at the expense of our clothes, not caring about who we wereor what we did, and without a word, set out to pouring beers and makingmartinis. While the guys waited, Kylie and I selected a table toward the backof the bar, illuminated by one overhanging light and then haloed in a darknessthat could swallow us all.
“So,how long have you guys been together?” I asked Kylie and Devin, and they smiledthe way long-term couples do. Thattoo long, not long enoughglancetoward each other.
“Rumorhas it,” Sebastian said, tipping his beer to his lips, “Dev’s been in love withher for,howlong? Twenty years?”
“Close,”Devin chuckled, wrapping an arm around Kylie’s shoulders. “But we’ve only beentogether for, what? Five years?”
Kylienodded. “Something around there, yeah.”
“Youguys make that second kid yet?” Sebastian grinned suggestively, and Kylielifted her martini with a smirk. “And I’ll take that as a no.”
“Ithought I’d knock her up again sometime in the beginning of the tour, so thatby Thanksgiving, she’ll be completely miserable and ready to murder me byChristmas,” Devin grinned, and I couldn’t help laughing. He pulled Kylie intohis side, kissing her temple as she rolled her eyes beyond the light and towardthe ceiling.
“Heloves to say shit like that to show off,” she grumbled. “You should hear himwhen we’re alone.”
“Oh,I know,” Sebastian agreed. “Don’t forget my bunk’s right next to your room.” Kickinghis voice up a few notches, he mocked, “Oh, Kylie, you’re my favorite dream toever come true. Let me buy you a thousand daisies and name each of the petalsafter—” A loud thud jostled the table and Sebastian responded with anoof.“Ow, dude. Totally unnecessary.”
“Wedon’t need to know what else you’re listening in on, you perv,” Kylie grumbled,laughter lighting her eyes.
“Oh,don’t worry aboutthat.” He shook his head. “When you guys startnecking, I kick the music up. Idorespect your privacy, believe it ornot.”
Devinand Kylie hung around for another half an hour before declaring the night overfor them. They were beat and needed to head back to Connecticut early the nextmorning. With warm hugs and cheek-kisses, they bid us farewell. But, beforethey left, I took note of Devin pulling Sebastian in for an extra hug. Hewhispered something to him, and my curiosity ran wild.
“Whatdid he say to you?” I asked as Sebastian sat back down.
Acrimson flush flourished over his cheeks. “Just that he likes you.”
Iknew he was leaving something out, omitting minor details to keep me fromoverthinking, and so I left it alone.
Wefinished our second round of drinks and ordered a third. I’d always been firmabout not being a drinker, but tonight was different. Tonight felt like aspecial occasion, and what was I celebrating?
Freedom.
Nogrief. No kid. No work. Just life, in the big city, with this guy who drove mecrazy in the worst ways, while also making me wild in ways I could barelyunderstand.
“Ithink I’m drunk,” I declared, finishing off my third martini and placing theglass on the table. I reached across the table and grabbed his bottle of beer, tippingthe mouth to my lips and finishing that too.
“Roundfour?” he offered, folding his arms on the table. His shirt sleeves were rolledto his elbows, the colorful works of art on full display.
Ignoringthe question, I took his hand in mine, pulling his arm toward me, and peeredthrough bleary eyes at the ink etched into his skin. “I’ve never asked whatthey all mean.”
“Theydon’t mean a whole lot of anything, actually,” he admitted with a shrug. “I gettattoos because I want them. I find something I like, or I get an idea that Ithink is cool, and I get it done.”
Evenhis body art was a testament to how he lived his life. Reckless and in themoment.
