“We illustrating for children’s books now?”
Quickly, I sketched some headstones and looked up at my friend Wade, who watched with interest.
“You’re a sick fucker, Ava,” he said as he plucked the pen from my fingers and, in a few strokes, had added both our names to the gravestones. “Sweet and innocent on the outside with something sinister lurking beneath,” he teased.
“You know it,” I agreed as I turned the page in my notebook to a fresh one. “What time do you need me tonight?”
“Gig starts at eight. Need your pretty little butt at the van at a quarter to.”
“Cool.” I kicked my feet out in front of me. “I have to go to the print shop to pick up the flyers for next week, but they came out . . . amazing.”
“Course they did, my favorite artist drew them.”
I smiled at the compliment. I met Wade through an online ad last year. He played bass guitar in a country rock band and needed someone to design and distribute his band’s flyers and posters.
He was also the only original member in his band. There seemed to have been a revolving door of band members, but only Sticks remained from the tail end of last year. Sticks was the drummer, obviously. I had no idea what his proper name was — he was just Sticks. Neither of them looked like country rock would be their jam. Wade had a fauxhawk, neck tattoos, and several piercings. His black gauges were usually the conversation starter. I had looked him up on Facebook before I met him for the first time, and had drawn a few samples of heavy metal-themed posters. He had laughed his ass off at my assumption, and we were pretty much friends from then on. Sticks had long hair and also several piercings, and always wore a dog collar on his neck. The dog collar and shorts were the only thing he wore on stage; he didn’t even wear shoes. Sticks was odd.
The band paid for the printing of the posters and flyers I designed for them, and paid me fifty dollars for every new design. They played regularly twice a week in the campus bars and maybe an additional set in Cardinal itself. Because Wade was always looking for variety, he had really pushed my drawing, always wanting something new. He hated the mundane and comfortable. It was hard work sometimes, but it was fun, and we had formed a tight friendship.
Despite Wade’s need for change, one of the things that was steady was his girlfriend, Bea. She was the complete opposite of Wade: long blonde hair that she always wore up, pretty dresses, not a piercing or tattoo in sight. Day and night had nothing on those two, but they were absolutely perfect for each other.
Which gave me hope that opposites did attract and, in some cases, stuck.
“The natives are restless,” I said to Wade as he looked around the class from our usual corner in the large classroom.
“Hey, did you hear? Your favorite quarterback got mugged or something . . . I dunno . . .”
“Dante?” I gasped as my hand flew to my throat in horror.
“No,thisschool’s QB. Something was stolen?” Wade thought about it. “Who really cares?”
“Jett?” I felt my frown as I looked around in confusion. “Who would be stupid enough to steal from a Devil?”
“Dunno, and when did you start calling him by his name?” Wade looked at me with interest.
“I can’t call himcocky assholeall the time,” I mumbled as I resumed drawing. “That girl almost decapitated me last week when she heard me,” I reminded him dryly. The girl was obviously unhinged. No one, I mean no one, should react that violently to an offhand comment that the lead quarterback of the Saints was a cocky asshole who couldn’t throw for shit. I may haveslightlydownplayed his throwing skills, but I was having a private conversation with my friend, not plastering it on social media.
“Don’t tell me . . . you’ve got a crush on the quarterback. Please, Ava, don’t do this to me.” Wade laughed easily. “I refuse to allow you to become just another groupie. Groupies are for my band only.” Wade nudged me playfully. “If ithasto be a Santo, make it the brother or whatever the other big guy is.”
“Cousin. And Ash is the tight end for the team. I don’t know why I have to keep explaining football to you. You’re from Texas, for goodness’ sake, shouldn’t youbleedfootball?”
“Ibleedrock ’n’ roll, as you well know.” Wade plucked my pen from my fingers as he took my pad and flipped the page back to my previous doodle. He added some music notes to the sky, and then beside one of the headstones, he sketched a quick ball. He grinned at his work and proudly handed me the pad back. AnRIPwas under the football, and I slapped his arm in protest.
“You’ll beunderthat headstone if anyone sees this,” I hissed at him.
“Guys and their balls,” Wade snorted. “Bunch of bullshit. Plus, football terms are so sexually driven,” Wade said as he stretched, almost knocking me in the face with his elbow. “Tight end, sack, muff, spearing . . . whoever invented this game was fucking horny at the time and needed to get laid.”
“So, you do listen, but only to the dirty sounding words?” I laughed at my friend. “You’re such a boy.”
“Sweet Ava, you say ‘spearing the tight end’ to me in any sentence, and I don’t give a fuck what you’re talking about, I’m listening.” Wade winked at me before we were both giggling, trying to settle down as the professor came through the doors. She looked frazzled, and as I watched her cross the floor, I wondered why she looked so . . . disheveled. A few minutes later, Ash Santo strolled into the class, and I was pretty sure I wasn’t the only one putting two and two together and getting sexcapade as the answer.
“Only a Santo would fuck the teacher before an assignment,” Wade muttered to me.
“Devil,” I corrected him as I watched Ash take his time to climb the low-rise stairs to the back of the class. His last name was Santo, which meant he and the twins were untouchable. In my opinion, it meant they were dicks.
A dick that I had slept with, and if that didn’t make me the biggest fucking hypocrite, I didn’t know what did.
“Hey, why so sad?” Wade asked me. “I thought I warned you it was assignment day?”
