Page 134 of Soul So Dark

In an effort to avoid my childhood home as much as possible, I texted the guys before I boarded my plane. But apparently, Aiden’s somewhere in the Caribbean, Mason’s in New York, and, as usual, Colson doesn’t respond, so I can’t even spend my first night back in town with my friends. So, I had to make other plans.

After a quick scroll through my phone, I head out of downtown to a place near campus to get some food. I wouldn’t normally come to a campus bar like this, with its perpetually sticky floors and low-key stench of stale vomit, but I have specific goals in mind.

It’s pretty crowded, but I manage to find a seat at the bar where I have a clear view of the entire room. I keep seeing people walk back and forth, moving tables and chairs around. Then I realize there’s a group of tables lined up one after another with chairs on one side. But I remain focused, scanning the room for my target.

“Alright, let’s get this started!” I wince at the distortion as a voice booms into a microphone. “Welcome to Marlo’s Third Annual Hot Wing Eating Contest!”

You have got to be kidding me.

Of all the nights, I had to show up here during a fucking chicken wing eating contest. I guess that explains why it’s so crowded. But it doesn’t matter, my goal remains the same, and I keep scanning the crowd as the announcer with a long beard and trucker hat starts reciting the rules and introducing the contestants.

“We have some new blood tonight—an offensive lineman for our own football team and current record holder for the most Slip ‘n Slide runs through the Beta Gamma Phi house…RYAN MASTERSON!”

On any other night, I’d just leave, but there’s no way I’m going anywhere until I find who I’m looking for. I’ll probably have more luck if I move through the room, but I also don’t want to lose my seat in this chaos. I check my phone again, my resolve solidified when I see this bar tagged in a social media post 10 minutes ago.

“Last year’s second runner up, with twice the spice of a Carolina Reaper and half the size…DALLAS LUTZ!”

What.

My eyes dart to the line of tables next to the announcer, cheers erupting again as a girl raises her arms and starts waving her hands at the crowd. At first, I think I’m hallucinating, but she’s unmistakable with her waves of long, ebony hair, flawless porcelain complexion, and big blue eyes rimmed with thick, black, cat eyeliner. Her hair is pulled back halfway at the crown of her head and my breath catches slightly when I see she still wears the same thick-framed black glasses. Slowly, my gaze falls from her silver hoop earrings to her neck, where a vibrant purple jeweled pendant dangles from a delicate silver chain.

My mouth still ajar, I barely hear the announcer finish his spiel while a couple of servers start setting down baskets of wings in front of the contestants. But I know what I’m seeing is real because Dallas is the one whose social media page I’ve been watching. I knew she was supposed to be here. I just didn’t know it was because she’d be eating her weight in chicken wings.

She’s sitting between two guys, one of which is nearly three times her size, and when the announcer starts the clock, Dallas reaches into her basket, grabs a wing in each hand, and proceeds to shove each one in her mouth and strip off all the meat in one bite. She keeps going in a steady cadence, staring down at the table like she’s in a trance. This goes on for four minutes, until the red digits of the stop clock reach the final minute and the crowd crescendos into a countdown. Dallas is still going, her mouth smeared with orange buffalo sauce as she tears the fried meat from each bone.

Amidst shouting and cheering, the clock hits zero and the bearded guy calls for all the contestants to drop what they have. Once they do, he steps to the side, where a girl and two other guys with clipboards huddle up with him.

After a few seconds, he turns back to the table. “We have our second runner-up, with a total of 18 wings…KEENON BROWNING!” The bar cheers as a guy at the end of the table pumps his fist. “And our first runner-up, with a total of 21 wings…RYAN MASTERSON!” The offensive lineman next to Dallas turns to her, shaking his head in disbelief as she grins at him. “And now…the winner of Marlo’s Third Annual Hot Wing Eating Contest and winner of $1,000 plus bragging rights, with a total of22 wingsis…” The crowd waits with baited breath as he pauses. “DALLAS LUTZ!”

The bar erupts in a thunderous roar and Dallas leaps from her seat triumphantly. She turns and yells something at the gargantuan next to her who looks like he’s about to either die of laughter or a heart attack. Even after all this time, I don’t know why I’m surprised. She’s sitting in a shitty bar, covered in chicken bones, surrounded by a bunch of drunk morons, pounding the table with her greasy hands, and somehow, I’ve never been more turned on in my life.

It's fortunate there’s so much chaos packed into this room, or else Dallas would feel the telekinetic energy of my eyes on her. She finally grew up, and although her height hasn’t changed much, her high cheekbones are more defined, her eyes even brighter, and she doesn’t look nearly as timid as she did six years ago.

The last time I saw her.

A sudden and sharp vibration under my hand breaks my concentration, giving me a start. My heartrate skyrockets as my eyes dart around trying to find the source. Sounds mute around me and my tunnel vision engages.

Stay still…breathe in…and out…in…and out…

Finally, the girl next to me reaches for her phone on the bar top, but not before my left pec starts spasming and I wince as the muscle pulls at the wound that’s finally begun to scar. I press my bicep against my body as the spasms move down the side of my torso and grit my teeth as I wait for it to stop.

It’s never going to stop. It’ll keep rearing its ugly head for as long as I live like a perverse badge of honor. In sick irony, I’m only like this because I decided I couldn’t come home yet. And as such, it’s a reminder of what I had to do to get back here. But one thing’s for sure…

Every single iota of what I’m about to do will be worth the pain.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Dallas

I hope I’m not drooling. I’m probably drooling.

I snap my mouth shut when I realize it’s still hanging open and try to refocus. I’d know his dark eyes anywhere, especially cast in shadow beneath the bill of his camo hat. The last time I saw him, I was looking at him just like this, except his smile was covered by the bottom half of a motorcycle helmet.

Jesse.

But, even then, I knew he was smiling from the way his eyes squinted so much that it looked like they were closed. And he’s looking at me just like that right now. The only difference is that his facial features are sharper and more pronounced and he’s gotten more muscular.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, still in state of shock.