by L. A. Witt
Jon came out a minute later, walking a little gingerly, but dressed. “So how much do they owe you?” He nodded toward Nate.
“One hundred,” Matt said. “The deposit covers the other half.”
Nate opened his wallet and counted out five twenties. “Here you go.” He grinned as he elbowed Jon. “Totally worth it to make sure you’ve got the 47th’s emblem on your ass for the rest of your life.”
Jon just rolled his eyes.
Matt laughed dryly as he tucked the money into his back pocket. “Well, anyway, make sure you keep some lotion on it. Don’t let it dry out.”
“Right. That’s on—” Jon held up the card Matt had given him with instructions. “All here, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Great.” Jon smiled, and it was obviously forced. Poor guy hadn’t had the best afternoon. He was probably embarrassed from flirting with Matt, and it couldn’t have helped that it had all gone down while he’d been lying there bare-assed. Avoiding Matt’s gaze, Jon picked up his coat and started to put it on.
“Listen, um.” Matt gulped. “Before you go . . .”
Jon turned to him. “Yeah?”
Matt glanced at Nate, who was doing something on his phone. When he met Jon’s gaze again, he nodded toward the side room.
And he was actually surprised that Jon followed him back.
In the safety of the little room, he lowered his voice. “Look, I wanted to apologize. For earlier.” Matt blew out a breath and avoided Jon’s eyes. “I’m . . . I guess you caught me off guard.”
“It’s all right. I’m sometimes a bit more direct than I should be.” Jon hesitated. “After what you said about your boss being hot, and I thought I was getting a vibe off you, and I—”
“You probably were.”
Jon cocked his head. “But you said you’re straight.”
“I’ve been saying I’m straight my whole life. Lately . . .” In his head, he flailed, searching for how to say it. Searching for what he was even trying to say. The whole thing still didn’t make a damn bit of sense to him, so how was he supposed to put it out there for someone else to understand?
Jon did nothing to prod him along and help him spit out the words.
Heat rushed into Matt’s cheeks. “You probably don’t need my life story, but the short version is that I’m . . .” He swallowed. “I’m not sure what I am.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean . . .” Christ. How to explain this without sounding like an idiot. Maybe there was no way. Quite possibly because he was an idiot. Finally, he made himself look Jon in the eye. “I’m not used to being attracted to men.”
Jon held his gaze.
Matt swallowed. Okay, apparently that wasn’t enough of an explanation. “I always thought I was straight. Until recently.” He broke eye contact again and rubbed the back of his neck. “And I’m still not quite sure what to make of it, I guess. Then you showed up, and . . .”
“And came on too strong.” Jon sighed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No.” Matt shook his head, but still didn’t look at him. “It wasn’t that. It’s . . . the thing is, I’ve been saying ‘I’m not gay’ so much my whole fucking life, it’s like a mantra. But maybe I’m not as straight as I thought.” He chanced a cautious glance at Jon, who was watching him with laser-focused eyes. Averting his own attention back to the bright white floor, Matt softly said, “It’s a hard thing to figure out, you know?”
“I don’t know firsthand, but I don’t imagine it’s easy.”
“It’s not.” Matt ran an unsteady hand through his hair. “And then I find myself attracted to someone, and suddenly he’s acting like he’s attracted to me, and I guess I panicked. Like it got too real, you know?”
Jon stayed silent, so Matt looked at him. He wasn’t expecting the wide-eyed stare.
He shifted uncomfortably. “What?”
“I—”
Nate appeared in the doorway. “Hey, we heading out? Caleb wants to meet up for dinner.”
Jon’s eyes darted back and forth between them. Then he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I was just . . . uh . . .”
Matt grabbed a tube of lotion off the counter. “This is the stuff. To put on the ink and keep it from drying out.”
“Right. Thanks.” Jon slid it into his jacket pocket. He glanced back at Nate. “I’ll be there in a second.”
His friend nodded and stepped outside.
In silence, Matt and Jon faced each other.
“Listen, don’t worry about it.” Jon’s voice was cool and even, not to mention mercifully quiet so only Matt could hear him. “No hard feelings, okay?”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Don’t sweat it.” Jon gestured toward the front of the shop. “Anyway, I’d better get going.”
“Sure. Okay.”
Jon started for the door, but hesitated. “And, um . . . this wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The tattoo, I mean. So I might be back.”
“Oh. Well, I’ll be here.” Could he think of a slightly less stupid response?
Jon flashed him another smile, then followed his copilot out the door.
Matt stayed in the room where he’d tattooed Jon, and sagged against the wall. Covering his face with both hands, he let fly a string of muffled profanity. What the hell had just happened? He’d been caught off guard by Jon flirting with him. And he’d stopped just short of saying “please give it another try because you seriously read me right and I am definitely attracted to you.”
But Jon hadn’t taken the bait. He’d accepted the apology and bowed out with a comment about maybe coming back for a tattoo. Yeah, right. With his fear of needles? As tense and sweaty as he’d been for the entire appointment?
No. He wasn’t coming back.
Matt had missed his shot.
Chapter 5
Flying an F/A-18F Super Hornet wasn’t exactly easy, or they’d let everybody do it. Fighter jets were complex as hell to begin with, and that was before Jon had to deal with things like G-forces.
He could manage all of that, though. He loved what he did, he’d been doing it for years, and it was as close to second nature as it would ever be.
But goddamn if it wasn’t all exponentially harder with a healing tattoo on his ass.
Sitting against it was like pressing on a fresh bruise. A fresh bruise covered in bee stings. On top of that, the plane’s vibration made the tender skin itch. And it wasn’t as if he had room to twist around and scratch the little bastard, which he couldn’t have done anyway because his hands were too busy with that whole “flying a goddamned Super Hornet” thing.
Some days he was disappointed at the end of a flight because he was back on the ground. Today was not one of those days. He couldn’t wait to land, get out of the plane, change out of his flight suit, and put some more of that lotion on this stupid itchy fucking tattoo that was this close to driving him insane.
In the locker room, after he’d finally had a chance to soothe his healing ink, he pulled on a pair of jeans.
Nate flopped onto the bench beside him, hair spiky and wet from his shower. “So how’s the ink healing?”
“Why?” Jon shot him a glare. “You want a look?”
“Fumes, I have seen enough of your ass to last me until I die.”
“And yet you keep asking.”
“Shut up. I’m just asking how it’s healing.”
“Fine. It’s healing slowly.” Jon squirmed, resisting the urge to scratch it, and not just because he didn’t need to be scratching his ass cheek in front of half the squadron. “If I’d have known how much the damn things itched, I wouldn’t have made that stupid bet.”
“Yeah, you would’ve.” Nate gestured dismissively. “You were way too confident in your Falcons.”
Jon shot him a glare, but they both chuckled.
“So when are you going to go back and bone that artist?”
Jon nearly choked. “What? What are you talking about?”
/>
“Come on.” Nate shrugged. “I mean, don’t tell Caleb, but that guy doing your ink was hot.”
“I’ll give you that.” And he still didn’t get why Nate was so weird about his husband knowing when another man caught his eye. It wasn’t like Caleb was exactly discreet when he checked somebody out.
Ah well. All the more reason to reject monogamy, as far as Jon was concerned. If he saw an attractive man, he was going to look, and he wasn’t going to apologize for it. Of course he wouldn’t be disrespectful—no brazenly comparing whoever he was with to the person he was ogling—but there was nothing wrong with looking.
As they continued getting dressed, he stole a glance at his RIO. He and Nate were alike in a lot of ways, but they were polar opposites when it came to men. Nate liked relationships and had never been big on casual sex, while Jon would rather chew off one of his own limbs than do anything that resembled “settling down.” Nate was as happily married as Jon was happily not tied down.
Neither of them judged the other for it, though. There was plenty of ribbing and teasing, of course, but when it came down to it, Jon was thrilled that Nate had found someone who made him as happy as Caleb did, and Nate had even been known to find hookups for Jon.
“Anyway.” Jon pulled on his leather jacket and zipped it halfway. “You really think that guy was into me? The tattoo artist?”
Nate smirked. “The way he was checking you out? I’m legitimately surprised you two didn’t already hook up. When he kicked me out of the room, I figured one of you was getting a dick down his throat.”
“What? Seriously?”
“Don’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
Jon glared at him. “I was a little preoccupied with the fact that he was going to be scraping needles all over my ass cheek.”
“Pfft. Details. Why don’t you go back and talk to him?” Nate smirked. “I mean, the dude’s had his hands all over your ass already. Isn’t like things can get any weirder.”
“Except he’s not gay.” Right? Or . . . wait . . . didn’t he say . . .
“Oh.” Nate threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah. He is.”
“He flat out said he’s not gay.” Except there was that part about how he wasn’t used to being attracted to men. What did that mean? Had he just come out recently? But then why would he be so insistent at first that he wasn’t gay and that Jon had read a signal that wasn’t there? “I don’t know what he is, but—”
“When has my gaydar ever been wrong?”
“Besides that night in Bahrain?”
“Yes.” Nate puffed out his chest. “Besides that.”
“And the time you hit on Commander Weathers after—”
“Hey.” Nate wagged a finger at him. “To be fair, Weathers gave off a lot of mixed signals.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. But the fact that he was married should’ve at least tipped you off that he wasn’t available.”
Nate shrugged. “Details. But anyway, that guy at the tattoo shop? He is not straight.”
So he says. Still . . .
“How do you figure?”
“Because I caught him checking out your ass.”
“He wasn’t checking out my ass.” Was he? “He was tattooing it.” Right?
“I mean before that. Hell, why do you think we all decided the tattoo should go on your ass in the first place?”
“Because you’re all bastards?”
“Don’t change the subject. I’m telling you—he was checking out your ass.”
Jon squirmed, replaying the awkward conversations he’d had with Matt. When he’d tried to flirt, and been shot down abruptly. When Matt had apologized and . . . maybe wasn’t straight after all? What the hell?
“Okay,” he said. “So let’s say I go back to the shop. What am I supposed to say? You’ve already felt up my ass, so now we should fuck?”
Nate made an exasperated sound. “Oh for fuck’s sake. You can come up with something better than that. Just, I don’t know, go back and say you’re thinking about another tattoo.”
Jon rolled his eyes. “Are you kidding? He’d see right through me.”
“And? What’s the worst that’ll happen?”
That was a fair question. He could think of a few worst case scenarios that would leave his ego a bit bruised, but the alternative—the best case scenario—made the risk seem worth it. He narrowed his eyes at Nate. “You know, for a guy who’s into all that marriage and monogamy bullshit, you are one hell of an enabler for a manwhore like me.”
“Hey, I have to live vicariously through someone. And besides—I’m your RIO in the air and your wingman on the ground, and I take those duties very seriously. If I see you and a hot guy getting hard-ons for each other, it is my sworn duty”—he thumped a fist over his own heart—“to make your life hell until you man up and hook up with him.”
Jon laughed. He had to admit, Nate was a pretty good wingman most of the time. Plus his gaydar was remarkably spot on, aside from a few semi-disastrous exceptions.
So Nate had gotten a gay vibe off Matt. Jon had gotten one. Matt himself had contradicted his insistent “I’m not gay!” retort. And hadn’t there been some mention in there about being attracted to Jon?
What was he waiting for? He had nothing to lose except a little bit of dignity.
Hell. Why not? Jon made up his mind—he’d go back to the tattoo shop and talk to Matt.
Maybe.
Chapter 6
“Hey guys,” Colin called out. “Quick meeting.”
Matt sat up in the chair behind the counter. He needed a break anyway, and besides, there were no clients in the shop. It was as good a time as any for a meeting. He’d been sketching since he’d arrived this morning, and he paused to stretch his stiff arms and shoulders.
Pete leaned against the counter. Matt straddled the back of his chair.
Colin laid a portfolio on the counter. “So, I’ve got a new apprentice coming in. His name’s Lucas. Talented kid. His cover-up work is amazing.” He pushed the portfolio toward Pete and Matt.
“Wait, so he’s already got a portfolio?” Pete pulled the book closer. “I thought he was an apprentice.”
“His mentor is retiring before the apprenticeship is over, and . . . I don’t know.” Colin shrugged. “Kid’s not comfortable going out on his own yet, so he wants to continue with the training wheels for a little while. Good as he is”—he nodded toward the book—“I’m happy to have him working out of the shop.”
Well, now Matt was definitely intrigued.
Pete flipped open the book, and curiosity brought Matt up to take a look too. He couldn’t argue with Colin’s assessment. Lucas might have been at the apprentice stage, and he might not have had the confidence yet to strike out on his own, but he’d obviously found his calling. His lines and shading were impeccable. His custom work was great. His cover-ups, though? Mind-blowing.
On one page was a before-during-after sequence of a large cover-up. The before image was a terrible tattoo of a lion. The shading was amateurish at best, the proportions looked like something a preschooler would come up with, and most of the lines were blown. The during image showed the purple outlines of a new stencil over the top of the old ink. Surprising—with the harsh lines and shadows of the original, Matt would have encouraged the client to have at least some of the ink lasered off first. In the after image, though, Lucas had skillfully incorporated the lines and shadows into the new design—a richly detailed and colorful tree frog on a leaf—blending them seamlessly. No one who saw only the final image would ever guess there’d been another tattoo there.
Matt whistled. Every tattoo artist worth their salt could do cover-up work. Lucas? His was fucking wizardry.
“What do you guys think?” Colin asked.
“He’s good,” Matt said with a nod.
Pete grunted in agreement.
“Good.” Colin smiled. “Pete, can you add some of his work to the website? I’ll email you his bio, too. I wouldn’t us
ually put an apprentice up on the site, but damn, he’s too good not to.”
“Sure. Can do.”
“Great. Thanks. He won’t be here all the time. He’s got two other jobs we’re trying to work around.”
Another job. Or two jobs. Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. Especially if there was going to be more competition for work in the shop. Of course Matt, Pete, and Colin had dibs on new clients, but if someone liked Lucas’s work—and it was hard to imagine why they wouldn’t—they were well within their rights to request him.
Looks like I better step up my game or look for another gig.
* * *
Lucas showed up around the time Matt and Pete were getting back from lunch, and Colin introduced everyone. The kid was cute. Probably in his early twenties. Maybe a little older. That baby face would probably get him carded for beer until he was forty. He had on a long-sleeved hoodie, so Matt couldn’t see if he had ink, but he suspected the kid had plenty.
“Your portfolio looks great.” Pete eyed him. “How are you still an apprentice?”
Lucas scowled. “Because I thought it was a good idea to go to college so I could get a ‘real job.’” He rolled his eyes. “Should’ve just saved the money and done this right from the start.”
Ouch. Starting out as an apprentice while he was already feeling the squeeze of student loan debt for a degree he’d probably never use. Matt could definitely relate. Poor kid.
Matt still wasn’t sure how he felt about having a new apprentice around the shop. Just looking at him put him on edge. The part he couldn’t figure out was if his edginess was just some professional rivalry, or if there was a personal angle. After all, Lucas was definitely good-looking, and—
And business had been slow lately, so another pair of hands meant more competition. Granted Lucas wouldn’t be doing much for a while. Mostly small tattoos—flash from the wall and simple custom designs. Apparently cover-ups too, since that was clearly his forte.