by JA Huss
My heart starts beating fast. Sweat begins to bead on my forehead and I get a little dizzy as the reality of what’s happening sinks in. Vivi leaves the room to go get something.
“Law,” I say. “Maybe you shouldn’t do this.”
“What?” He laughs, sitting down in the tattoo chair. “It was your idea!”
“I know,” I say. “It shouldn’t be my idea, it should be yours.”
He reaches over, places a hand on my cheek, and says, “It is my idea. I’ve always wanted one, it’s just… I was told to look professional, ya know. And that was Bric’s idea of who I was, not mine. And now my whole life is about to change. In a few days I’m gonna meet up with those Home TV people and after it’s all done, I’ll be a different guy. The guy I’ve always wanted to be. The guy I always thought I was. Maybe… maybe that’s my problem? Maybe I’m having an early mid-life crisis because I turned into who Bric wanted me to be, not the guy I wanted to be?”
“And this guy you envision yourself being… he has sleeves and a chest piece? Because that’s what this will be by the time you’re done.”
“Why not?” he says. “I mean, if I was happy being this guy I’d just keep doing what I’m doing. I’m tired of being this guy. It’s never felt right, ya know? It’s always felt fake. Like I forgot who I was and where I came from. And I feel like if I get this piece then there’s no way I’ll ever forget again.”
I smile at him. Tentatively. Almost convinced.
“And besides. We need to get that Hanna Harlow bitch and once she sees the new me, she’ll fall right into our trap.”
My smile falters. He wants to make me happy, which, for some reason, makes me sad instead.
“You’re gonna stay?” Law asks, pulling me out of my building panic. “Or go do something? She says it’ll take a few hours, at least. So don’t feel obligated to hold my hand.” Then he winks at me. “I can take it.”
I wheel an extra doctor’s stool up to the chair where he’s sitting. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m with you.”
Vivi returns and gets down to business. Going through all the motions of prepping his arm, then getting all her needles ready, loading one into her machine. She lines up all her inks and then puts on her headgear that directs a bright light down onto her canvas and begins.
Buzzing fills my ears. Lawton jokes, wincing as the needle carves out his design, but watching too. Fascinated with the changes he’s making to his body.
For me.
Jesus Christ, Oaklee. You’re so wrapped up in yourself. It takes some kind of ego to think this guy would endure pain, mark up his body, and pay a thousand dollars for a tattoo if he didn’t want it.
At least I tell myself that. The whole time Vivi is working her magic.
Because that’s all I can tell myself.
Because if I’m the only reason Lawton Ayers made this decision I won’t be able to live with myself.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN - LAWTON
Oaklee eventually leaves the rolling doctor’s stool and makes herself comfortable in an overstuffed chair in the corner. But she never takes her eyes off me. Her expression is a mixture of sadness and fear. But every time she sees me staring at her—it’s hard not to stare at her—she smiles at me. Like she’s putting on a brave face.
I know she’s worried about this Hanna situation. And she has every right to be because this shit is way more serious than either of us first realized.
I could write it off as some kind of egotistical paranoid delusion—the whole Hanna wants to be me thing. But that’s not what Hanna is doing. I think that’s pretty clear. She’s targeting Oaklee. For whatever reason, she wants to either steal her life or take her down.
Why though? I wish I knew.
Vivi doesn’t talk much. She’s one hundred percent focused on her design. I watch for the first hour. Carefully. Making sure she’s doing what I envisioned. And it hurts pretty bad. Feels like a knife carving through my skin.
But eventually my arm grows numb and my trust is complete. Oaklee was right. If you’re going to get a tattoo, this is definitely the best place to be.
My phone chimes a text—Eduardo, who tells me he’s upgraded her security panel and ordered a metal accordion door to block the entrance to her apartment. I’m about to text him back and tell him thanks when I remember my idea from earlier. So I text back another request too.
“Got somewhere to be?” Vivi asks, not taking her eyes off her work.
“Nope,” I say, looking over at Oaklee. She looks drowsy and still a little bit sad. “I’m present.”
“Good,” Vivi says. “Because I’m gonna need about three more hours before I’m ready to let you go today.”
Oaklee stands up and walks over to us, peering down at the work-in-progress. Then she smiles at me, but again, it looks forced. “Are you hungry? I can go grab us some burgers from the bar.”
“No beer,” Vivi says.
“No beer,” Oaklee repeats. “I know. Lawton? Food?”
“Nah,” I say. “I’ve got plans for us later. Better save our appetites.” And then I wink. Which makes her smile again, and this time I think it’s real. And I so much want her to feel better about things, I decide to make more of an effort to include her.
“So… this upcoming beer festival,” I say. “What day is it?”
“Next Sunday.”
“What are you entering this year?” Vivi asks, joining in.
“A secret beer,” Oaklee says. “Something I’ve been working on for a while now, but no one knows about.”
“To keep Hanna Harlow from stealing it?” Vivi asks.
“What?” Oaklee says. “How did you—”
“Give me some credit.” Vivi laughs. “I drink beer. Anyone who didn’t notice that Buffed Up was just a knock-off of Bucked Up is an idiot.”
“Right!” Oaklee exclaims. “How do people not see that?”
Vivi stops working and looks up at Oaklee. Her headlight shines in Oaklee’s eyes for a moment, which makes Oaklee put up a hand to shield them. Vivi adjusts her light and says, “I dunno. It’s weird, that’s for sure. And I heard she came in here earlier bitching about Shrike Bar not putting it on tap.”
“What happened?” Oaklee asks.
“The usual Hanna meltdown. Lots of drama. Lots of promises. Lots of bullshit.”
“So what was the decision?” I ask.
Vivi smiles. “No way is that cheating bitch gonna get her foot in this door. She just wants our tap because of the TV show.”
“What TV show?” Oaks and I ask at the same time.
“The new Shrike Bikes show. My cousin Oliver decided to take the Biker Channel up on their offer to do a show. Spencer did one years ago and got tired of it. But now that Oliver’s in charge, looks like he’s in.”
“Interesting,” I say. I guess I’m not the only guy in Colorado who wants to shake things up.
“Very interesting,” Oaklee echoes. “I had no idea people were so into doing these reality shows.”
“People?” Vivi asks, back working now. I sorta hate it when she stops. Like… I get used to the constant pain, so a break makes it worse once she starts up again. “Who else is doing a show?”
“Lawton,” Oaklee says. Smiling down at me.
“Both of us,” I remind her.
“Really?” Vivi asks. “Tell me more about this new venture, Oaklee. You didn’t mention it last month when I saw you at that party.”
“Oh, this is all Lawton,” Oaklee says. “He needs a partner and I needed a favor, so we decided to team up.”
“It’s for Home TV,” I say. “They like partners, ya know? And Oaklee is like the perfect local girl to host with me.”
Vivi looks over at me, her drawing paused. Then she looks at Oaklee. Back at me. And says, “Yeah, you two are like the perfect couple. I can totally see it. But Home TV? What the fuck kind of show would a beer heiress and a—what do you do again?”
“Real estate,” I say.
She laughs. “For real?”
/>
“Yeah, why?”
“I dunno. I’d have pegged you as a musician or something. You look like a rock-star biker. What’s up with that?”
I glance at Oaklee and she sighs.
“It’s a long story,” I say. Because I can tell Oaklee doesn’t want to talk about our little boyfriend game. “But my pitch to the Home TV people is about selling multi-million-dollar mountain homes. You know, the great escape dream and shit like that.”
“Because why?” Vivi asks.
“Because I’m tired of selling houses. I want do something more… colorful, I guess.”
Vivi stops again, looks at me, moves her headlight so it’s not shining in my eyes, and says, “So you woke up one day and said, ‘I think I’ll be a TV star?’”
And then she laughs again. This time a full-on guffaw.
Which makes me laugh, because it is pretty ridiculous. And then Oaklee joins in.
“I know,” I say. “I get it. But I’ve been planning this for a long time. And the meeting with Home TV is this Thursday. This is the big one, ya know. The one where they come see me in my natural habitat and decide if I’m a good fit.”
“So you need a partner in crime?” Vivi asks.
“Exactly,” I say. “And Oaklee is that perfect partner.”
“How long have you guys known each other?” Vivi asks. “Not long, from my guess, because you’ve never mentioned him before and I’m not hitting on you or anything, Law, but you’re hot. She’d have mentioned you.”
“It’s recent,” Oaklee says. “But it’s perfect.” She smiles at me. “I have something he needs and he has something I need and so it’s… just… perfect.”
“Wait,” Vivi says. “What do you need from him?”
Vivi is a smart cookie. She gets that the nervous glances Oaklee and I are trading are a clue that there’s more to this story than we’re telling.
“Come on,” she says. “What the fuck is going on?”
Oaklee sighs. Loudly. Then pulls up the rolling stool and says, “OK, but if I tell you, promise not to laugh at me.”
Vivi crosses her heart with one black-gloved finger.
“I’m playing Jordan’s Game with him.”
“What?” Now Vivi—who is probably not a chick you can shock easily—looks shocked. “You two are playing a sex game?”
“You know about Jordan?” I ask. Probably the wrong question for this particular sideways conversation, but I’m so fucking curious.
“Everyone knows about that deviant.” Vivi laughs. “One of the showroom guys tried to buy a game from him a few months back, but he couldn’t afford it. So how much you paying for this?” Vivi asks Oaklee.
“That’s not the point. And it’s not a sex game. It’s a get-even-with-Hanna-Harlow game.”
“So you two aren’t…” Vivi makes a rude gesture to indicate fucking. Oaklee blushes bright pink. Which has Vivi guffawing again. “You are! You little sex kitten.” Then she looks at me. “I’ve tried to set her up with a dozen guys to get her out of this funk she’s been in the past couple years and she’s turned me down every time. So good on you, Lawton. Way to go!”
Where to take the conversation from there?
Never mind. Moot point. Because Vivi is now quizzing Oaklee on our plan to take down Hanna.
Which, after much cajoling, Oaklee cops to.
Thirty minutes later, Vivi, apparently satisfied she’s gotten all the dirt while she’s been drawing on my arm with a needle, says, “It’s not a great plan. You need more, you guys. You need a class in advanced take-down methods. Baiting her to fall for Lawton?” She glances at me. “No offense, Law. You’re totally hot and I’d gladly fall into your trap. But I’m a bit of a slut and not nearly as suspicious as Hanna. She’s never going to take the bait, you guys. You need to like… break into her place and find her recipes. That’s the kind of proof you need.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I say, laughing off her dumb suggestion.
But when I look at Oaklee, she’s quiet.
“You’re not considering this?” I ask.
“Of course she is,” Vivi says. “Ridiculous is how Oaklee rolls. Listen now, here’s a plan you should consider…”
And that’s what we do. We listen to Vivian Lee Vaughn, pink-haired tattoo artist extraordinaire, tell us exactly how to earn ourselves three to five years in state prison with a plan so crazy, it’s not even worth mentioning here.
I stay quiet. Mostly because Oaklee is quiet too. And also because once you get Vivi talking about her crash course in how to become an outlaw, it’s hard to interrupt her.
“That’s what I’d do,” Vivi says, once she’s finally done. And then she rolls back on her stool, takes off her gloves with a loud snap, and says. “So… what do you think?”
“About your crazy plan?” I ask, still dumbfounded at what I just heard.
“No, dummy.” She laughs. “Your tat. It’s done. For now. You’re gonna need to come see me again in about four weeks and we’ll do the other arm. Then we’ll start on the chest and back pieces. Let me get you some aftercare stuff.”
With that she stands up and leaves the room.
I look at Oaklee. She looks back at me. I say, “We’re in agreement that her plan is insane, right?”
Oaklee nods, and even though I’ve only known her two days, I can see those crazy wheels spinning in her head.
“Oaklee,” I say. “This isn’t an April Fool’s joke. This isn’t some prank. This is one hundred percent not happening.”
She nods her head, still quiet. Then finally, she says, “Agreed,” just as Vivi comes back in talking about how I should take care of the tattoo.
Which is fabulous.
It’s a group of five people. Teenagers I might’ve hung out with back in the day. Leather jackets, punk hair, tattoos tattooed on their bodies. All hanging out in a decaying urban setting. The building behind them has broken windows. The old brick crumbling. And on the side of the wall is a spray-painted anarchy symbol in red and blue. All done up in photorealism.
I have to admit, the artist might be insane, but her work defies any opinion I have of her moral compass.
It occurs to me though. The irony that what she just inked on my body is a testament to who I was. And I have to wonder, as I watch her wrap my arm with special tattoo wrap, then get up, listen to her instructions, and pay her a thousand dollars on my credit card, if I have any room to judge.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN - OAKLEE
“I’ll walk you home,” Law says, once we get outside Shrike.
“Of course you will,” I say, smiling at him. “You’re a true gentleman, Law. And I’m sure you’ll walk me to my door again, won’t you?” I do one of those wink-wink things. To indicate I’m thinking about sex.
He gets it.
“I’m definitely walking you all the way up. I need to show you the progress Eduardo made on your security system today.”
“Is that the only reason?” I joke.
He just gives me a sly grin. But it’s enough. And it’s not that I really even want sex with him tonight. I mean, that would be a bonus, of course. I just want him to stick around. It’s been nice having someone to divert my attention away from all this Hanna bullshit. Even going up to Golden yesterday for the beer thing at the Opera House was funner with him there. And today… well. Wow. We packed a lot into today.
“I’m actually pretty tired,” he says, jolting me back to the conversation we’re having. “So I’ll probably just drop you off and we’ll figure out where we go next tomorrow.”
“Oh,” I say. “OK.”
“I have clients tomorrow,” he says, trying to explain. Because my reaction was clearly disappointment. “I have three houses to show and the inevitable paperwork that will come with those since the market is hot and all three of them are interested in putting in offers.”
“That’s fine,” I say. “I have a ton of things to do tomorrow too.”
Which is a lie. I don’t really d
o anything at the brewery. I mean, it’s not like I tend bar or wait tables or anything important like that. I have paperwork. There’s always that. But none of it is pressing. In fact, most of my days are spent doing busywork. Some beer testing. I do that almost every day just out of habit. I chat with customers at lunch or dinner. I work on new recipes, and new label designs, and new beer names, and new beer recipes. Which is all the fun stuff that comes with running a brewery. And yeah, that’s all critical stuff, but… I have no labels to design, or beers to name, or recipes to come up with because I employ fifty-two people for a reason. So they can do all that stuff for me.
So I spent a helluva lot of time thinking about Hanna Harlow. Way too much time thinking about that bitch.
Maybe I’m having an early mid-life crisis too?
It’s not like anyone ever asked me if I’d like to run a brewery. It was just assumed. By me, not just my dad. I never even considered another career.
Is that weird?
“Ya know,” I say as we cross the street and head towards the front door of the brewery, “I’m looking forward to this TV show interview thing. In fact, I think it would be fun to work with you on this project.”
“Yeah?” Law says.
“Yeah. I might be bored, Lawton. Meeting you might’ve highlighted some deficiencies in my life.”
“Social?” he asks. “Or professional?”
“Both.”
“You’re falling for me, aren’t you?”
I laugh as he opens the door to the brewery and holds it for me. “Maybe a little.”
He follows me in and then beats me to the elevator to press the button.
But the little button doesn’t light up. “Oh, my God, did Eduardo forget to turn the elevator back on or something?”
“Nope,” Lawton says. And that’s when I notice there’s a little panel in the stainless-steel button cover. “Now you gotta press a code to even open the doors.”
He presses the code on the keypad, the doors open, and we step inside. Then he repeats the code again to make the penthouse floor light up and the doors close.
“It might be overkill,” Law says. “But it’s a good idea to have too much security rather than too little.”