Lover Boy

by Cassie-Ann L. Miller

  “I sent them off by overnight mail. They should be delivered first thing in the morning,” he assures me.

  “I really appreciate this, man. Especially since you’re so busy. You didn’t have to take over the reins of my tattoo parlor while I was in jail. I really appreciate that you did.”

  “It’s nothing, brother. I just wanted to make sure you’d have something to come home to after you got out.” Maxwell literally saved my tail and my business while I was locked up. He’s not a tattoo artist, nor is he a businessman but he made sure to keep Master Ink alive, hiring the best artists and managers to keep the cash flowing in. So, at least my business would be waiting for me when I got out…even though I’d lost everything else.

  The one thing my brother didn’t take care of was the accounting.

  The books are a mess and taxes haven’t been filed in three years. It’s a shock that the IRS hasn’t come knocking yet. Anyway, now that I’m a free man, I’m reassessing everything in my life, including my business. I want to know what my options are. Should I sell the thing or should I just hire someone to manage it while I figure my life out? I need to see the numbers so I can make an informed decision.

  My brother interrupts my thoughts. “While we’re on the subject of things and people that weren’t waiting for you when you got out, the workers tell me that Rhys showed up this week. Twice. And she brought the kid.”

  My blood boils just hearing her name. I loved that woman, but she lied to me, she cheated on me and she ruined my life in the process. I hope we never cross paths again in this lifetime.

  “She’s lucky I wasn’t there,” Maxwell seethes bitterly, “or else I’d probably be making this call from jail right now. Or maybe from my getaway car, halfway to Mexico.”

  That gets me to laugh. Still, I’ve got to remind him of what’s important. “Rhys isn’t worth getting in trouble over, Max. One Masters brother serving time because of that woman is more than enough. You don’t need to stain your record because of her, too. Besides, you’ve got too much to lose.”

  He sighs. “I know.”

  A yawn barrels out of my mouth. “It’s getting pretty late over here. Gotta hit the sack.”

  “Yeah — time zone difference. Right.”

  I set down the scissors and run the towel down my cheeks. “When are you gonna come out here and visit your old stomping ground? I went out tonight. Everybody was asking about you, man.”

  Maxwell laughs and I imagine him tipping his head back slightly, squinting his eyes and pounding the nearest surface the way he always does when he finds something funny. “You’ve been gone for ten days and you already miss me, you big teddy bear?”

  I laugh too but it’s bittersweet. I resist the urge to remind my brother that the last time I left him, I was gone for three years.

  And I do miss him. We’ve missed out on so much.

  Maxwell’s voice sobers. “I’ll come up there…soon.”

  “Alright,” I say. I’m banking on it.

  Chapter 10

  I’m sitting on my bed, a towel wrapping my wet hair. The events of the evening replay in my mind as I smooth coconut-lavender balm onto my legs. I try to not feel the electricity sputtering in my stomach every time I think about the silvery blue of Keeland’s eyes…or the smirk he wears on his full lips…or the thickness of his muscular arms (god, I love those arms)…or the tattoos covering his skin. I try to get him out of my mind but thoughts of him just won’t quit. Finally, I decide to stop trying and just let my fantasies run free. Yes, I still hate him but a little, innocent daydreaming never hurt anybody.

  I’m hopelessly lost in my lusty imaginings when, out of the corner of my eye, I notice the light flick on in the bedroom across the way. Keeland strolls into the room, eyes fixed to the screen of his phone.

  I nearly break my neck as I drop the tub of skin balm and leap across the bed to close my blinds. Keeland Masters doesn’t deserve the honor of seeing me in my ultra-cute, pink satin negligee.

  Now, I’m peeping through my blinds at him. Like a creeper. But dammit, his stomach is a washboard. Plain and simple. And the swirls of ink adorning his pecs and his arms are so damn sexy.

  He sets down his phone on the dresser and leans into the mirror. He runs a palm along his scruffy jaw before letting his fingers glide down his chest to the towel that is secured around his waist.

  And then, he grins.

  He literally looks at his perfect, perfect body in the mirror and grins.

  What a conceited jerk!

  He picks up his phone and he snaps a selfie. He flexes his free arm so that the muscles bulge and snaps again and again and again.

  Ugh — conceited, I tell you!

  I should look away. I’m totally gonna look away. In a few seconds.

  He takes a few more pictures and then pauses, his fingers scrolling and tapping across the face of his phone.

  He’s sexting somebody!

  I feel my stomach twist up. I’m sure that it’s some floozy he met at Flynn and Murray’s tonight. Maybe that waitress who kept staring at him and biting her lip. Ugh! They’re perfect for each other, equally superficial and vapid.

  His attention goes back to his reflection and he snaps a few more shots before doing the unthinkable…He unwraps his towel, aims the camera at his groin and snaps away.

  My blood is absolutely boiling as he taps out another text message. I’m so irate that I’m only vaguely aware of my own cellphone beeping away on the bed next to me.

  I absentmindedly reach for it and swipe to unlock it before glancing down at the screen. Text message from an unknown number.

  Unknown number: We’re contacting you from the Reyfield Entertainment Network to ensure that you’re enjoying tonight’s programming. Please press 1 to say ‘yes’ or 2 to say ‘no’.

  Confused, I toss my phone aside and bring my gaze back to Keeland. Within seconds, my phone beeps again.

  Unknown number: Please take a moment to provide us with valuable feedback that we will use to improve your viewing experience.

  The messages keep coming in rapid succession. I ignore them, my attention riveted to my dirty, salacious, asshole neighbor who is sexting his heart out. But after a while, the constant pinging of my phone receiving a continuous stream of text messages is starting to grate on my nerves.

  I pick up the phone. My fingers stomp across the keyboard like angry little soldiers with a message to deliver: UNSUBSCRIBE ME FROM YOUR SERVICE. NOW!!!

  That’s when Keeland erupts into laughter, bending over to clutch his stomach.

  Unknown number: As you wish. But first, here’s a token of our appreciation for your many years of loyal viewership.

  A picture fills my screen. A bare chest covered in ink. A fluffy pink towel circling a narrow waist. A stubbly jaw. Full lips pulled into a narcissistic smirk. Pale blue eyes glinting playfully.

  Keeland!

  I drop the phone like it’s on fire.

  It was him all along? I peer out through the blinds again.

  And he waves at me! That asshole is still choking on laughter and waving at me!

  It’s only then that I realize that the lights are on in my room. Of course he can see me peeping. The lights are on!

  Facepalm.

  I jump away from the blinds as quickly as I can, nearly tripping over my own humiliation. My bed sheets tangle around my legs as I stumble over to the switch on the wall and flip the lights off.

  I collapse onto the bed, pulling a mountain of pillows over my head. Maybe if I yank enough cushions over my face, I’ll suffocate and die a painless death.

  Either way, it’s decided. I’m staying in this bed until I die.

  Chapter 11

  “Is this one of those art classes where the instructor gets naked so you can paint him?”

  Delores is hunched over in her seat, whispering loudly into Nancy’s ear.

  Nancy shoos her away before giving me an embarrassed look. If Nancy wasn’t African-American, I’m su
re her cheeks would glow as red as a tomato right now. “Hush! As blind as you are, you wouldn’t be able to tell his arm from his man parts, anyway!”

  I bite down a chuckle as I set up my easel and lay out my pencils. Oh Nancy, it wouldn’t be the first time my cock was mistaken for a limb.

  I called the community center bright and early yesterday morning to speak to Faith and express my interest in teaching an art workshop to the senior citizens of Reyfield. I’ve never taught an art class in my life but I’m a renowned tattoo artist. How hard can it be, teaching a group of old folks to draw a sunset? And it definitely beats sifting through the four banker’s boxes of receipts and paperwork that Maxwell FedExed me from California. So, when Faith asked for my availabilities, I said — you guessed it — Tuesdays and Thursdays at 4:30.

  Faith was able to corral nearly a dozen of the town’s feistiest silver vixens on very short notice and they’re all eager about the class. To be quite frank, I’m a little concerned for my safety. Helen Winterbaum asked me for a lower back tattoo a few minutes ago and Betty Greene blatantly grabbed at my package. Twice. And class hasn’t even begun yet.

  I may not be able to leave here with my virtue intact.

  But it’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for Sammie. Not just because it’s kind of fun, seeing her so off-kilter every time I come around, but also because, a part of me really just wants to get into her good graces. She clearly thinks I’m a real asshole, but I don’t want her to keep hating me. I want her to know that, despite everything, I’m a good guy.

  And after my impromptu striptease show in front of her window on Friday night, I might be further than ever from my goal. But I just couldn’t resist. In my defense, I was a bit tipsy and I caught her sneaky ass peeping at me through her blinds, just like she used to do when we were younger. But, we’re adults now. And I’m horny. So I decided to have a little harmless fun at her expense.

  Anyway, I haven’t seen her since that night and I think that she’s deliberately avoiding me. Case-in-point, I spent most of Saturday morning trimming the unruly hedges framing her backyard and mowing her overgrown lawn, but she didn’t show face at all.

  I’ve been out of jail for almost a month now and I still haven’t gotten laid. I’m almost tempted to think that the problem might be me — do I have body odor or something? — but then, I remember that I’m the one who’s been refusing the advances of the many attractive women who’ve shown interest in me since I’ve been in town.

  I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I came to Reyfield with every intention of fucking like a wild animal to make up for lost time, but now that I’m here, now that I’ve laid eyes on Sammie Trotten, it kind of sort of feels like she’s the only woman I want to shove my happy stick into. Damn – that was kind of crude. But that’s just a crazy fantasy because I promised Daniel that I’d keep my ‘happy stick’ away from his little sister.

  After giving basic instructions to my students, I spend the next hour sauntering about the room, peering over their shoulders to offer them constructive criticism and encouragement as needed. I remember to always keep a safe distance just in case one of these sassy, old broads tries to get handsy.

  At 5:28, the door across the hall swings open and a group of lethargic 14-year-olds trudge out of Sammie’s tutoring session.

  I address my class. “Ladies — that’s all the time we have for today. See you back here, same time on Thursday. Thanks for coming out.”

  Before they can even answer, I’ve dashed out into the hallway, trying to get to Sammie before she leaves. She’s standing just inside of the doorway of her classroom speaking with one of the kids. The young girl thanks Sammie for helping with her assignment before informing her that she got a B+ on her last test. Sammie seems genuinely happy for the girl, giving her additional words of encouragement. The student takes Sammie completely off-guard when she throws her arms around Sammie’s middle and gives her a tight squeeze. She laughs, surprised, as she gives the girl a quick pat on the back.

  She’s still smiling as the student says an enthusiastic goodbye and walks away. I clear my throat, approaching her and her smile instantly vanishes from her face.

  “Keeland?” Her eyes are wide and her cheeks go red immediately. Suddenly looking self-conscious, she runs her fingers through her messy, shoulder-length chestnut hair.

  “Hey Sammie.” A grin inches across my face. “Your students really love you, huh?” I tip my head in the direction of the girl who just wandered off.

  She ignores my question and straightens the collar of her kelly green sweater instead. “What are you doing here?” she asks gruffly. She’s still not over Friday night. I can see it on her face.

  “Teaching an art class to the seniors,” I say pointing over my shoulder to the open door behind me.

  Her eyes narrow. “You’re teaching an art class to the seniors?”

  I nod, feeling pretty proud of myself. Women love guys who volunteer and shit.

  “Since when?” she asks in a challenging tone.

  “Since today.”

  She rolls her eyes and walks back into her classroom, bending over to pick up her purse from the bottom drawer of her desk. The hem of her flirty, white dress inches up ever so slightly.

  My cock jerks at the thought of getting a peek at her plump, round ass.

  When she straightens up and turns back to me, I have to catch my bearings…and discreetly adjust my erection.

  Fuck — I want her.

  “Anything I can help you with?” she asks pointedly.

  One side of my mouth inches up. “You can give me a ride home.”

  She furrows her eyebrows. “How’d you get here?”

  “I walked.”

  “Then maybe you should walk back.” Her tone is flat and dry.

  “Well, I figured I wouldn’t need to walk back since my next door neighbor would be here tonight.” I take a step toward her.

  She takes a step back. “So you admit it? You’re here because of me? To continue taunting me?” I can’t stop watching the way her red lips pout. I can’t stop imagining them around my cock.

  “Me? Taunt you?” I say innocently. “I’m just here to volunteer my time and my talent to the fine seniors of Reyfield.”

  She grunts. “Whatever.” She slips her bag onto her shoulder and slinks past me, out the door.

  That little prank I pulled in front of the window is starting to backfire on me, because since I stripped bare for her, Sammie is the only woman I’ve imagined being naked with.

  “So, how about that ride home?” I ask.

  She glances over her shoulder at me. She bites her lip and I can tell she’s looking for an excuse. “I’ve got to go to the grocery store before I head home. That’ll take a while.”

  “Ah — that’s perfect. I need to go to the gro—”

  “Y’know what?” she interrupts me, walking over and sliding her arm around Delores’ shoulders just as she and Nancy come ambling out of my classroom. “These lovely ladies would be delighted to drive you home, Keeland.”

  I open my mouth to protest but the old wench grins and lands a heavy, open palm on my ass. She grabs me by the elbow, dragging me toward the exit. “It would be my pleasure to take you home.” She gives Sammie a wink before turning back to me. “Come on, cowboy!”

  Chapter 12

  The rays from the street lamp shine into the kitchen as I slip out of my sweater. I prop my hip up against the kitchen counter and sort through the mail.

  Mine.

  Mine.

  Not mine.

  Mine.

  Not mine.

  Not mine.

  Not mine.

  I used to think that our mailman is blind, but now, I think that he either can’t read or he just doesn’t give a fuck whose house he delivers which mail to. Regardless, he has a serious problem because half of the mail that pops up in my mailbox doesn’t belong to me. I constantly find myself running around Thornbush Lane delivering letters to their ri
ghtful addressees.

  Not tonight, though. I’ll deal with the mail in the morning.

  I drop the envelopes that don’t belong to me into a pile on the kitchen table, grab a frozen pizza out of the freezer and shove it into the microwave. While my dinner warms up, I turn on my computer, hoping hoping hoping that someone somewhere has invited me for a job interview. I know the economy is bad but I’m desperate now. I’ve gone four months without a job and I’m not eating freezer-burned pizza by choice. I’m quickly blowing through the severance pay I received when I lost my job.

  Next resort? Max out my credit cards. Not a good look.

  The microwave dings, informing me that my pizza is now scalding hot and soggy. I pout as I take it, along with the newspaper sitting next to the mail and head over to the kitchen table.

  I open my email. Nope — no job leads here.

  Sigh.

  Meanwhile, my hard-earned certified internal auditor designation sits and wastes away in a drawer.

  I browse the major job search websites again and leave a few applications but it really doesn’t look promising. Just as I’m about to send in a final resume, my phone dings on the table next to me.

  It’s Keeland.

  I’m still so annoyed that he showed up at the community center today. He deliberately scheduled his art workshop to coincide with my math tutoring. It’s bad enough that he’s in the house next door every single day. I’ve even started doing my meditation in the basement just to avoid him. Now, do I have to avoid the community center, too?

  This whole Keeland’s-back-in-town thing is starting to be too much.

  I want nothing to do with him but the fact that he caught me ogling him through my bedroom blinds like a damn idiot the other day did nothing to convince him of that.

  I grumble under my breath as I grab for my phone and check his message.

  Keeland: Sammie…

  I can almost hear him saying my name in that teasing, singsong way of his.

  Sammie: WHAT?