Sweet Forty-Two(4)

“We can’t stay here for too long, Ceej. I still need to find a place to live.” I slammed my door shut and shoved my hands into my jeans’ pockets.

“Relax, dude. We’ll have a drink or two, I’ll catch up with Georgia, and we’ll go.” He held the door open as if he’d been there a thousand times before.

Stepping in, I was indeed relieved. E’s was a spacious tavern with lots of dark wood. Tables and mismatched chairs painted different colors scattered the floor and a sizable bar wrapped around two sides of the interior. It was a Saturday, but it was only late afternoon, and the place was pretty busy. That was a good sign, and once I spotted the large square stage in the far corner, I took that as a really good sign. South Park just might be my neighborhood after all.

Halfway on our walk up to the bar, I stopped dead in my tracks. CJ was right. I knew her when I saw her. Georgia. Not because I recognized her from somewhere, but because all the energy from the bar orbited around her. CJ’s face lit up a second before the short girl with bleach blonde hair tied up in a red bandana looked up from pouring a drink, and shrieked.

“CJ!”

“G!” The smile on CJ’s face was more honest than I’d ever seen him look. It went all the way to his eyes, and he didn’t even stick out his tongue ring.

Ignoring social convention, this girl gripped the edge of the bar and leapt over it as if it were a pommel horse. The closer she got to us, the shorter she looked. She was a good foot shorter than me, putting her around 5’3”, but her smile and fierce indigo eyes made up for the difference in an instant. She wore a short-sleeved red plaid shirt tied at the waist, which was perfectly positioned to show off a silver belly button ring, and short jean shorts with frayed threads hanging from the hem.

As she jumped into CJ’s arms and wrapped her arms around his neck, I noticed the boots. Black combat boots with an inch or so of red and black striped socks peeking out from the top. I don’t know what struck me as most odd — that she was wearing all of that, or that she pulled it off like she could never wear anything else. CJ swung her around once before setting her down.

“How the hell have you been?” she asked as he patted her head like she was his little sister. A diamond stud in her nose caught the light as her face pulled back into a bigger smile.

“Better, now. Georgia, this is my cousin, Regan. Regan, this is Georgia Hall.” I swear to you he was blushing.

Georgia.

The name CJ scoffed at when I’d asked if he’d slept with her. Given that reaction, I’d assumed she was ... something other than this intriguing girl with amazing curves standing in front of me.

I stuck out my hand. “Nice to meet you, Georgia.”

Looking me head-to-toe once with an intense look in her eyes, she finally stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, too, Regan. I gotta get back to the bar.” Turning on her heels we were left to follow her to the deep mahogany bar. It was then that I caught a black keyhole tattoo behind her right ear.

Interesting.

Just as we gave Georgia our drink orders, the phone rang at the far end of the bar, and she had to answer it.

“So ... Georgia...” I turned to CJ as he continuously drummed his hands on the bar. He never stopped.

“Yep. Pretty hot, huh? How about that ass?” Blushing CJ left, and vile CJ returned with a mock ass-slapping gesture.

I rolled my eyes. “Classy. So, what gives?”

CJ looked genuinely confused. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve known her a long time, she’s pretty good looking ... and you’ve never?”

“Nah, it’s ... complicated. Her mom got sick and left her dad, and then Georgia moved out here ... it’s not important. We’re just friends.” He nodded toward the middle of the bar, signaling Georgia’s return.

“Here you go, boys.” She leaned forward and set our pints of Guinness in front of us.

As she pulled her hand away I noticed a tattoo on the thumb side of her left index finger, running the length of it. I’d assumed the first tattoo I’d noticed was a one-off. A dare. A flight of fancy. More than one tattoo, though, takes guts. Judging by the type and location of the two on Georgia, though, I was betting she had more.

I wanted to know where they were.

I didn’t look long enough to read what it said, because I got distracted. I can’t be sure, but it looked like she’d unbuttoned an extra button on her shirt. Either way, there was a lot of cleavage staring CJ and me in the face. He wasn’t even looking, which made me uncomfortable since he was the pervert, and I was the one who couldn’t look away. I shouldn’t have been looking. Though, I suppose the fact that I wanted to was a good sign of some sort of moving forward.

Or, it was just cleavage.

“Thanks, G. What’s the matter? You look pissed.” CJ took a large gulp of his dark beer, never taking his gaze from her eyes.

“Fuckers,” she muttered. “We had Celtic Cross lined up to play tonight and they bailed. Their drummer can’t hold his liquor, apparently, and is too hung over.”

“Lightweight.” CJ chuckled, drinking more of his beer.

“Anyway — hey,” Georgia stopped her train of thought as her beautiful eyes widened, “you still play, don’t you?”

“Won’t ever stop.” He smirked.