Make a Move

by Meika Usher

  I narrowed my glare. “You deliberately made my client uncomfortable.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” She pushed away from her desk and stood. I was always surprised by how imposing she managed to look at only five foot four. “I didn’t know we were in the habit of lying to our clients.”

  “I’m not saying you should have lied.” I straightened to my full five-ten and glared. “But you could’ve been a little more comforting.”

  “Look, Bird. It’s not my fault your clients don’t trust you to tell them how much their tats are gonna hurt.” She raked her gaze over me. “Maybe it’s time you let me tattoo that virgin skin of yours.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. Three years of this. Three years of Veronica trying to convince me to let her put her mark on me. Three years of telling me it makes me somehow less good at my job to not have a tattoo. “Never.”

  “Oh, come on.” Veronica sidled closer to me. “I promise to take good care of you.”

  The underlying meaning in her words did not escape me.

  Four years ago, Veronica and I were a thing. I’d walked into this very shop with my best friend, Chad, to get our first tattoos. Walked out that night with no tattoo—there was nothing I could commit forever to—but Veronica’s number was scrawled across my wrist.

  If calling her had been my first mistake, falling for her was my last.

  “No, thanks,” I said again, ignoring the way her gray eyes traced over me. I wasn’t interested. Not in her long hair or her lush, full lips, or her tattoo-covered body. And not in the way she’d made me second-guess everything about myself, every second of our seven-month relationship. Some things, you only needed to learn once. Some things, you wished you hadn’t learned at all.

  For me, Veronica was both those things.

  It’d taken me so long to find myself. So long to learn how to stand up for myself and go after what I wanted and not bend just to make others happy.

  It’d taken Veronica a matter of months to undo all that.

  I fought my way back, though. And there was no way I was going to let her brand me.

  “Hey, Roni.” Julian popped his head around the corner, cutting off whatever Veronica was about to say next. “Your guy is here.”

  Her guy. The guy she’d been working on for the last year and some change. She was in the middle of an elaborate back piece based on the Greek myth of Hades and Persephone. To be honest, it was sick. And I was jealous as fuck of Veronica for landing the gig.

  Not that I’d ever tell her that.

  I stomped away before I could see Veronica’s completely nonplussed expression. Because nothing I ever said bothered her. I could walk out that door today and never look back, and she’d simply raise a dark brow, shrug, and tell Shelly—the shop owner—she needed to find a new artist.

  In part, that was what I liked about this job. No tethers. I could walk if I wanted. Some days, I wasn’t sure why I didn’t.

  Today was one of those days.

  As I passed Julian on my way back to my station, he glanced up. “Where’s your girl?”

  “Veronica spooked her.” I sat down in the computer chair and spun. “It’s fine. It’s not like I need to make a living or anything.” I’d just be picking up an extra couple of shifts at Heathcliff’s, the bar I moonlighted at, this week. Who needed sleep?

  Julian let out a low whistle. “How many times does that make?” He kept his voice low, so that Veronica wouldn’t overhear. Not that I blamed him. He’d managed to stay on her good side for a while and he wanted to keep it that way. Especially since he’d hired me as his apprentice after I dumped her a couple years ago. If she could’ve figured out how to dispose of the body, she’d probably have killed him.

  Lucky for both of us, Veronica wasn’t big into true crime.

  “Six in the last eight months,” I said in answer as I picked up a pencil and began doodling on a scrap of paper. It didn’t sound like a lot in the grand scheme, but each time put a significant dent in my bank account.

  “Fuck.” Julian sat back in his chair, arms propped behind his head. “Maybe you should just—“

  “If you say let her tattoo you, I’m gonna kick you in the balls.” I glared his way. I’d let Julian tattoo me after a dozen shots of tequila before I’d let Veronica come near me with a gun.

  “I was gonna say let her fuck you,” Julian drawled. “But the tattoo thing might help, too.”

  I threw my half-empty water bottle at him, taking satisfaction in the whoosh thud sound it made as it soared through the air and hit his chest. “You’re a pig.”

  “I’m just calling what I see.” He bent to pick up the bottle, unscrewed it, and took a sip.

  “Or you’re just gross and you want us to live out your porn fantasy of two hot chicks getting it on.” I crossed my arms over my chest and lifted my chin, waiting for him to deny it.

  He didn’t.

  “What can I say?” He shrugged. “You’d make my teenage dream come true.”

  And before I could tell him, once again, that he was a disgusting man pig, he vanished through the doorway to collect his next client.

  On the other side of the shop, Veronica was getting her client, Cal, settled in. He’d taken off his shirt and was lying on his stomach while Veronica busied herself with setting up supplies and choosing ink colors. I would never admit this to her, but she was damn talented. The last time Cal was in, Veronica had added three luscious, red pomegranates across his shoulders. Tonight, her focus was Persephone, just below, hand outstretched for the fruit.

  Again, jealousy bit at me. Veronica was good, but I was better. And I could’ve done so much more with Cal’s concept.

  I whirled my chair around so I couldn’t see the demon in question, Shelly’s words echoing in my mind.

  I really think you’d get a lot out of another year here.

  That wasn’t going to happen as long as Veronica kept getting in my way.

  Maybe it was time to move on.

  13: Nate

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  I looked up from the laptop I’d been vacantly staring at for the last fifteen minutes. I hadn’t typed a single letter. I hadn’t even opened the Word doc containing the Zombitch plot outline. Just...stared at the desktop, with its picture of Sunny and I at our last Big Deal Con.

  Her family had surprised her that weekend by driving down to Chicago for the day to show their support. It’d been a big deal—Sunny spent years keeping Zombitch to herself, afraid they wouldn’t get it. In the end, she told them, and they were proud and it was all rainbows and sunshine.

  Well, as much of that shit as the situation would allow. It was still Sunny, after all.

  Anyway, all the way to the left of the shot, stood Birdie. Short skirt, long legs, sheer black top with a hot pink bra beneath. Looking hotter than I remembered her looking that day. I mean, of course I knew she was hot. I wasn’t blind. But...I never let myself really pay attention. There was no point. She was a) my best friend’s little sister, and b) way out of my league.

  Now that I knew how those legs felt wrapped around my waist as she—

  “Nate!”

  I jerked my gaze away from the computer to find Sunny glaring at me.

  “What?”

  “I said, what’s wrong with you?” Her blue-gray eyes narrowed. “You’ve been useless all morning. And now, you look like you just ran ten miles with a zombie on your ass.”

  Clearing my throat, I randomly clicked the word program open. “I’m fine,” I said, staring hard at the worn-out N key on my laptop. “Just didn’t sleep well last night.”

  Or any of the nights since I’d left Birdie’s place a week ago. But I wasn’t going to tell Sunny that. Something told me she wouldn’t be thrilled to know that I’d...done things with her little sister.

  To her little sister.

  And that I hadn’t called after. Or, hell, even texted.

  It’d been a week.

  I was an asshole.

>   I just...didn’t know how to handle this situation. Drunken half-hookups weren’t really my thing. I’d tried to make them my thing a few times. Always ended with me blurting the words I’m a virgin, and watching my would-be partner walk out the door.

  I didn’t tell Birdie, though.

  Why didn’t I tell Birdie?

  Probably because I had just come in my pants like a horny goddamn teenager and didn’t want her to know.

  “Well, I’m gonna need you to pull it together,” Sunny’s voice cut in before I could trudge down that depressing thought procession. “We’re on deadline.”

  “Right.” I nodded and readjusted my glasses. Then, I finally opened the Zombitch outline. “So, were we still doing the whole Rowena’s twin sister randomly shows up as a bad guy storyline?”

  As I said it, my stomach went hollow. Used to be, new plot twists invigorated me. Used to be, working on Zombitch invigorated me. But it’d been a long time since I’d felt anything but dread when it came to our rage-y heroine and her mission to save what was left of the world. But I soldiered on. I had to. This was our job, after all. The thing that had put us in front of thousands, maybe millions, of people. The thing that had opened up so many doors.

  I was being ungrateful. I needed to get re-grateful.

  Clearing my throat, I straightened in my seat and forced all my attention onto Rowena and her evil twin.

  My angst could wait.

  THREE HOURS LATER, Sunny had blocked out the next sequence and I had written some rough dialogue. Very rough. But it was more than I’d managed in days. Weeks, even. And so I counted it as a win.

  “All right,” Sunny said, tossing her sketchbook into her backpack. “Next time, I need you to bring your A-game. You were super unfocused today.”

  I pulled my coat on and began buttoning it, but I didn’t say anything. What could I say? She was right. Between my Zombitch block and...other things, I was a useless sack. When I wasn’t staring at the blurred text on my screen, my brain was traitorously dragging memories of Birdie to the forefront, like a cat dropping a bird carcass at its owner’s feet.

  Except, you know, not gross.

  Well, kind of gross, considering how it ended.

  I winced at the memory that would not stop playing on loop in my brain. I was never going to be able to look Birdie in the face again.

  “What’s going on with you, anyway?” Sunny asked as she pulled on her own coat. “I’ve seen you after a bad night’s sleep. I’ve seen you after no sleep. This isn’t it.”

  I paused, my fingers on the last button of my coat. I wanted to tell her. I wanted to talk this through with her. The block. The Birdie. All of it. Secrets did not exist between Sunny and me. But this...all this felt like something I couldn’t tell her.

  And I hated that.

  I also hated what I was about to do next: lie.

  “Aidan’s been on me about opening a second Floppies,” I said, pulling my bag over my shoulder. “He thinks it’s the perfect time to do it, considering the Zombitch success. And...well, I’m just not sure.”

  It wasn’t a total lie. I wasn’t sure about Aidan’s idea. But it also wasn’t what had been distracting me all afternoon.

  Sunny tilted her head and studied my face. She had a pretty good lie detector. Helped that I was a shitty liar. Which was why I went with a half-lie. Maybe it’d throw her off the scent of my actual problem.

  She seemed to mull over my words for a long minute, trying to decide if I could be believed. In the end, my reputation for never lying to her won out. She nodded. “I can see how that would be stressful.” Turning, she started toward the exit, weaving around the tables. “But it’s not a bad idea.”

  “I know.” I followed her. “But there’s a lot to consider.”

  “Oh, for sure.” She pushed the door open and held it while I walked through. “But you’ve kicked ass with the first Floppies. I have no doubt you’d be successful with a second.”

  The certainty in her words stopped me short. I looked at her, wide-eyed, and instantly felt bad for my half-lie. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She socked me on the arm and stomped ahead. “Of course, none of that is going to happen if you don’t get your shit together with Zombitch.”

  I laughed, relieved to see normal, cranky Sunny back in control. “I promise, next time, I’ll be hyper focused. You won’t be able to keep up. You’ll rue the day you told me to get my shit together. My shit is going to be so together you—“

  “All right. I got it.” She turned long enough to glare at me. “Sometimes, I just don’t know why we’re friends.”

  “Because I was the only one willing to put up with your cranky ass,” I shot back, bracing myself against the cold. Gah, I hated the cold. I hated the cold more than I hated the existence of Buffy’s little sister. And I hated Dawn. “At least until Ben.”

  “That’s fair.” Sunny grinned, then extended her left hand, admiring the new addition. The streetlight caught a glimmer and her grin widened. “I think I’m going to keep him around for a while.”

  Huh, I thought as we stopped at my Honda. Never thought I’d see the day Sunny Oliver got moon-eyed over a piece of jewelry.

  Then again, never thought I’d see the day she’d get engaged, either. Always assumed she’d spend forever repelling everyone with her prickly exterior and that we’d die alone, side-by-side. Her, too snarky to keep anyone around. Me, a ninety-six-year-old-virgin who’d perfected the art of scaring women away.

  Well, at least that last part was still likely to happen.

  An old, familiar pang radiated in my gut. The I’m-gonna-die-alone pang. The very pang that led to a drunken humping session with my best friend’s little sis.

  Ugh.

  I scrubbed my hand over my face and shoved that thought way, way aside.

  “You know,” Sunny said as she settled into the passenger seat beside me. Someday, she’d be a grown-up and get a car. In the meantime, though, she zoomed around town on her not-so-shiny Vespa. And it was way too cold for that thing now. Hence, my knightly chauffeur act. “I know a few single girls if you’re interested.“

  My head shot up. Why was it that, as soon as people got all happy and settled in a relationship, their first point of business was to set up their single friends? Sunny’d never offered to set me up, even when she and Ben first got together. I thought she would be the exception.

  Turned out, she was just waiting for a ring.

  “No set ups.” I jammed my key into the ignition. “Thanks, though.”

  “Have it your way,” she said as her seatbelt clicked. “Just figured you’d like to get laid eventually.”

  “Well, yeah. Obviously.” I started the car and pulled out of my parking spot. Sunny was one of the only people who knew about the virgin thing. One of the only people I trusted enough to a) not make fun of me, and b) not judge me. If I told either of my brothers, or, fuck, my parents, they’d grill me with questions while being simultaneously worried I was somehow damaged.

  Is everything okay? my mother would ask, concern on her face.

  What’s wrong with you? Dad would chime in. Does everything...work right?

  And then my brothers. Neither one of them would be able to wrap their brains around this...anomaly.

  I shuddered and redirected my attention back to Sunny. “I just...don’t want to do it just to get it over with,” I said as I eased my foot on the gas pedal. And it was mostly true. On one hand, it’d be a relief. On the other...

  “Yeah, I get that.” Sunny twisted in her seat so that she was facing me. Not the safest riding-in-a-car position, but I couldn’t tell her that. And so I didn’t. “It should mean something at this point. Not just some drunken fling with a stranger. You’ve waited a long-ass time, man.”

  I aimed my car toward her neighborhood, but didn’t say anything.

  It should mean something at this point.

  The words rolled around in my brain like errant marbles. Used
to be, that was how I saw it. That was why I’d waited with Lucy. I loved her. I was willing to wait with her because she meant something.

  After Lucy and I broke up, I lost sight of that. I was this twenty-seven-year-old virgin who’d been dumped for someone new. I was angry and hurt and...determined to shake this thing that she’d stuck me with. In the last few years, there were dates that went nowhere. There were heated nights that screeched to a halt. And there was the word. The word that turned every almost into a never.

  That was why I hadn’t told Birdie. Birdie, who was basically the hottest woman I’d ever seen in real life. Birdie, with unshakeable confidence and sex appeal. Birdie, who could reel in anyone she wanted—and she did, all the time. What the hell would she want with a thirty-one-year-old virgin?

  Nothing, was what.

  I could feel Sunny’s eyes on me as I slowed to a stop for a red light, but she didn’t say anything. The wheels were turning in her mind, though. I could hear them. Side effect of being best friends for basically forever. I glanced her way. “Spit it out.”

  “It’s just...” she sighed and shifted in her seat. “I worry about you sometimes, you know?”

  “Why?” I frowned in her direction. “I’m fine. I’m good.” I shot forward as the light turned green. “Great, in fact. No need to worry about me.”

  “But I do. It’s my job as your best friend.” She sighed. “I just don’t want you to end up some ninety-six-year-old-virgin, living all alone. I mean, I’ll keep a room for you in my basement, or above the garage, or whatever. But, still. I’d prefer it be for emergencies only.”

  A laugh sputtered out of me, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Sunny’s brows lift in surprise.

  “I don’t know why that’s funny,” she said.

  “Ninety-six-year-old-virgin.” I laughed again. “How the hell did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “I had that exact thought earlier.” Another light turned red ahead of me. I slowed. “Exact.”

  “Why were you—“