Taking the hem of my shirt into my hands, I pull it up and over my head in one swift move.
A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
“You haven’t seen it all. It goes all the way up my ribs.” The birds stop ‘an inch below my bra line.
“Fuck.” Adam’s eyes aren’t on the side of my body. He’s staring at the center of my chest. “I’ll do it.”
“Like hell you will.” Shawn grabs my elbow, pulling me away from Adam. “Put your fucking shirt back on.” His face is on fire. I’d laugh, but I’m not trying to piss him off; at least not in that way.
“The lady wants a tattoo. The lady shall get what she wants.” I twist, or attempt to, in order to face Adam. He’s saying everything I want him to say.
“What part of no do you not understand?”
“Shawn, stop.” My voice is stern. He needs to know how serious I am. “I really want this and if you aren’t going to—” He cuts me off.
“Fine.” Shawn throws his hands up. “If you’re determined then it’ll be me that does it.”
“Thank you. That’s all I wanted.” I smile up at him as I wrap my arms around his neck. Shawn closes his eyes for the briefest of seconds, as if savoring the moment. I know he’s not. That’s only wishful thinking on my part.
He sighs and pulls away from me.
“You know this is going to hurt, right?”
“Probably.” I’ve seen every expression imaginable in this place. Tattoos bring some to tears. Others seem to experience pure bliss. There are even those whose whole being seemed locked in terror. “I’m guessing needles poking into my skin hundreds of times, over and over again, won’t feel peachy.”
“Peachy?” Shawn shakes his heads, but he smiles. “Get in the chair. You want this, let’s do it.”
I walk backwards a step and sit down swinging my legs onto the seat and lean back.
“Put your shirt back on, please.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier if I—”
“Tara, please.” It’s a plea.
“Fine, whatever.” I sit back up and pull my shirt over my head.
“Tuck the right side into your bra.” I do as he says, but I still think it would have been easier to leave it off. “Are you really sure about this?”
What’s a girl gotta do to get a damn tattoo tonight?
“Yes, Shawn,” I force out as I fall back into the chair. Why is he making such a big deal about this? His work is flawless and beautiful. The moment my eyes landed on this design I knew it was the one I wanted.
“Then relax. We’re going to be here about an hour.”
That hour turned into two. Apparently my threshold for physical pain isn’t as high as my capacity for mental pain. The needle jabbing into my hipbone and rib cage was enough to bring on the waterworks. Shawn eventually had to get Adam to come over to talk me through it, because he couldn’t do that and concentrate on the tattoo process. Adam not only talked to me, but he let me hold onto his arms too, never complaining once.
He’s a great guy like that. I don’t think he could have stolen from his own company. I don’t see that in him at all.
It’s been a week since I inked the book tattoo on Tara. The morning after she freaked and when I say freaked out, I initially thought she regretted it, but then realized she thought something was wrong with the wound. When I discovered it was a little plasma leaking, I laughed. She didn’t find the same humor in the ordeal that I did.
She was okay once I explained what happening was perfect normal a few hours and sometimes even the following day after getting a tattoo.
I have to admit her hysteria was cute.
It’s a Friday night and like any other Friday night after work I’m at Mac’s Pub. Eventually I’ll make it out to a club if I don’t find a prospect here.
The two jackasses standing at the bar catch my attention. They were having what looked to be a pissing contest when I walked in the door half an hour ago. Doesn’t look like their conversation will be mellowing anytime soon. Mac needs to get his ass out here and end this shit.
This may be a local whole in the wall bar, but it’s a good place to chill after a long day. Drama doesn’t have a place here. These two old fuckers either need to take their shit outside or go sit at the opposite ends of the bar, away from each other.
“Hey man, that was a pretty cool piece you did on Calvin’s leg.”
My attention on the two dunk middle agers at the bar arguing is interrupted by my now ex-boss. I’m now the proud owner of the tattoo studio in which I work at. We haven’t made the announcement yet, and I don’t plan on it until I found out who is stealing money from the company. Adam and I had it out on Monday morning. He swears up and down he’d never do something like that. I believe him and we both find it laughable that Tara would think either of us would think she was capable of something like that.
“Yeah, I thought it turned out pretty good too.” I glance in his direction momentarily before turning my sights back onto the bar. Calvin’s been a client of mine since my first week at the studio here in Oxford over three years ago. I’ve been fortunate enough to do every bit of ink he has on his body. It’s a cool feeling to know someone’s trust you enough to permanently mark their skin.
The old fucks conversation is starting to escalate and Mac is still nowhere to be seen. He doesn’t stand for BS in his bar. People come to drink and chill out from a stressful day at the jobs.
Honeysuckle blonde waves catch my eye. I glance a few feet around from the confrontation, seeing Tara and Holly talking. Tara looks frustrated. She can’t stand Holly and the feeling is mutual for Holly.
At a distance you might think their looks are similar. Holly has blond hair, too, but it’s straight and bleached. She’s of average height. Tara has an inch or two on her. They are both well endowed, but where Tara’s tits are real, Holly’s double D’s are enhanced with silicone. Tara is all curves with a plump ass whereas Holly has no ass, or waist or even legs for that matter. Up close, Holly is a big ole mess.
Something about Holly’s stance is off though. Tara clearly wants away from her, but Holly grasps onto her elbow. Yet, she is looking past Tara. I glance in that direction, turning my eyes on to the men I was previously watching. They have in fact escalated their argument into pushing and shoving each other. I glance down noting the glass item in one of the guy’s hand. He’s holding it too tight. I don’t register my quick movement in their direction until a body crashes into my chest. At the same time a beer bottle crashes into my shoulder blade making me clench my fist around blonde strands. A quick intake of air is pulled into Tara’s mouth, followed by a soft moan.
“Son of a bitch.” I shout as I release Tara’s hair. She steps a fraction backwards, looking up at me in confusion.
“Oh fuck.” I hear a tone of fear from behind me. Tara looks past me and I pivot around with what I’m sure is the fear of death coming from my eyes. The guy I’ve only seen in here on a rare occasion releases the remaining broken bottleneck of the beer from his hand. “I...I...I’m sorry, man.” He stutters.
“You’re sorry,” I push out. “You’re fucking sorry doesn’t cut it.” I walk forward, grabbing a hand full of dirty t-shirt, shoving him backwards. “Had I not seen what was happening, you would have hit her in the face with a beer bottle instead of me.” I jut my finger out, point in Tara’s direction. Everyone looks at her. The asshole looks ashamed, but I don’t care. His carelessness almost hurt Tara.
“I’m sorry,” he says again, but it’s directed to Tara. She stands there not knowing what to do.
“Get out of my bar.” Mac’s voice comes out loud and fierce from somewhere behind the bar. “I don’t want to see either one of you back in here again.” Both men leave without another word. The guy that swung the bottle has his head lowered as he walks out. He may regret what he did, but that doesn’t change what almost happened.
I take a deep breath. The pain in my back is starting to make its presence known. I
turn around and when I do, looking past Tara, I see Holly’s mouth is a gap. That little scene didn’t play out like she wanted. I know she doesn’t like Tara. I know why she doesn’t like Tara. Me. But I never thought she would out right try to cause Tara harm. That pisses me off further. “Get out of my sight.” She knows it’s directed at her. She huffs, but does as I say, stomping off.
“Your back.” Tara’s voice is a whisper. She looks more distraught than I do and I’m the one with blood running down my body. “Come on, I’ll fix it.” Tara grabs my hand and tugs me along. When we reach the back, she pushes through Mac’s office and I shut the door behind me.
“Um, sit down and remove your shirt.” She releases my hand then walks over to a metal cabinet behind a wooden desk. I take a seat on the coffee table in the middle of the small office. Pulling my t-shirt over my head, I take in the torn material on the back. Its trash now so I toss it in the trash can off to my left.
Tara walks back over holding up another t-shirt. This one is white whereas the one I tossed was black. It’s folded neatly displaying the red emblem of Mac’s Pub on the front.
“You can put this on after I clean and bandage you up.” She places the shirt on Mac’s desk His desk is in the corner of the room next to the office door.
Tara walks over to stand in front of me. She lowers to place the Band-Aids, alcohol, and paper towels next me on top of the table I’m sitting on. She pulls my shoulder forward, making me lean into her. My palms wrap around the edge of the table and I turn my head to the side trying to not breathe in her scent.
You’d think with her working in a bar that she’d smell awful. I can assure you she does not and I really don’t need her this close. Hopefully she’ll hurry this up so I can get out of here. Looks like I’m going to make it to Level sooner than I thought.
“It’s kinda deep, Shawn, you might want to get it stitched up so there isn’t a big scar.” She pulls back and looks down at me the same time I look up. I shouldn’t have looked up. Fuck, she is beautiful. I look back down, but when I do her tattoo catches my attention. It’s pocking out between the gap where her jeans and tight shirt meet.
“Just handle it.”
Unlike most of the wait staff here, Tara doesn’t dress as skimpy, but it’s almost worse. Tara leaves a lot to the imagination. Her blue jeans are ripped up one leg showing a little of the tan skin of on her thigh. They are also torn on the backside at the knee and a small tear under the cheek on the left side of her ass. Her white t-shirt, which usually doesn’t show the skin of stomach, is exposed because she is wearing her pants lower due to her tattoo still healing and doesn’t need the restriction of tight clothing. The shirt is also fitted and stretched across her chest and Tara has a very nice size rack. The sexist thing about this attire, are the rips at the top of the shirt that reveal a hint of her cleavage if you look close enough.
To me this is worse than if she was in short shorts with a low cut top because I’m wondering what she’d look like without a stitch of material covering her body. I’d be willing to bet every man in here has thought the same at some point tonight.
The stinging sensation of the alcohol catches me off guard. My hands come off the table and wrap around her thighs, squeezing the burn away. Tara takes in a quick breath of air and tenses before releasing a moan.
Fuck me, if that sound didn’t turn me on and cause a small discomfort in my pants. I release the pressure, but I don’t remove my hands from her jean-clad legs.
To sit the bottle down she has to lower herself and lean over me. Tara’s movements quicken, as does her breathing. All thoughts of what’s happening above her waist cease to exist in my brain because my eyes close as I pull in a long inhale of her powerful scent.
The way I grab her when she poured rubbing alcohol on my back has her turned on.
I can smell it.
I bite down on my tongue. I’m trying to stay still so I don’t do something stupid, but there is no use reasoning with myself when my dick takes charge.
I feel the bandage seal over my wound and in the next second I’m standing. I’m don’t know if I’m trying to run or what.
Tara looks up at me and that’s my undoing. The decision is made without my consent even if I’m the one in motion. I pick her up by the thighs, moving my hand under her ass and the other I use to make her wrap her leg around me. She moves the other around me next. In one long step forward I have her back against the door and my lips slamming against her mouth.
My movements are fast. There is nothing slow about the way I’m handling her. I run my free hand up under her t-shirt. Tara has one palm resting on my bare shoulder and her other is in my hair, running her fingers through the strands.
She moans again for the third time tonight causing her mouth to open and my tongue to enter. She tastes sweet, but it isn’t a mellow kind of sweet. It’s divine and if I could get my tongue down her throat I think I would attempt it to gain more of her taste into my own mouth. Tara’s tongue starts to mold with mine. She is kissing me back. My hand glides up her stomach and over her bra. Her nipple is hard and it’s something else I want to savor.
Her fingers tighten through the strands of my hair. I move from her mouth, down to her jaw. Tara lifts her head toward the ceiling, allowing me access to her neck. I kiss downward and my hand not only squeezes her ass, but the other constricts around her breast.
“Oh, hell.”
At the sound of her voice I stop all movement. It’s as if reality smacks me in the face. What am I doing?
Tara isn’t the girl you fuck in a bar, no matter if it’s behind a closed door in an office that I doubt anyone’s going to walk into. Tara is the kind of girl you make love to in a bed and the simple fact is, I don’t do love. I certainly don’t fuck in a bed. I haven’t since high school. I’m after the quickest release from the easiest woman I can find.
That isn’t Tara.
Tara needs and deserves a man that can cherish every inch of her mind, body, and heart.
I’m not worthy of the last two.
“Shawn?”
I release her legs and they fall to the floor. I can’t look her in the eyes so I grab the t-shirt she got for me, pull her from the door and then leave. I walk out without looking back at her.
What the fuck did you just do, you stupid motherfucker? I berate myself as I walk back into the bar.
I don’t stick around. I get the hell out of there as quickly as I can. The bartender has my credit card on file. There is no need to settle up, he’ll charge my tab before he closes out at the end of the night.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Stupid.
Holy cow that kiss!
My lips are still tingling from his mouth being on mine even though it happened half an hour ago.
His erection against my stomach was solid as a freakin’ rock.
I always knew one simple kiss from Shawn would knock me sideways. Yet, it wasn’t a simple kiss at all. It was a kiss that defies all kisses that have ever came before him. Not that I’ve been kissed a great deal, but still his kiss was like, silky smooth chocolate, spiced with habanero peppers; sweet and tasty, but oh so burning hot.
Thank God Mac let me leave an hour before my shift was supposed to be over. After Shawn put a quick end to what was happening in the back office then walked out without saying a word, I had to get out of there, if only to think clearly. Which, if I’m honest with myself hasn’t really happened since I left the bar. Thinking that is. It’s like my brain blanked out after that kiss and I don’t know what happened or if I imagined the whole thing.
When I walk in the front door of my house, it dawns on me that I drove from work to here and I don’t even remember starting the ignition let alone the drive home. God was surely watching out for me tonight. As usual, I’m hit with loud music and I smile telling my body to relax and not over think things. After all, Shawn had been drinking, probably had a long stressful day at work and I was in the right place at the right
time for once in my life.
Luck was on my side, that’s all it was.
I want to go straight up to my room so that I can soak in a hot bath, but before I’m able to make that happen, I’m grabbed by the arm and dragged through the hall and into the kitchen by Amanda. “Hey, look who I found coming through the door.” She turns and smiles at me. It’s fake. I’ve known Amanda Clayton long enough to know she has an agenda. I eye past her to my best friend, who happens to be her boyfriend. I love Matt. God knows I do and not in the, I want him for my boyfriend kind of way. I’m not jealous of her in the least. I love Matt because he’s my best friend and has been since the first day we met, but I don’t get what he sees in her. Sure, she is skinny and hot I guess, but that’s all. The only thing underneath her skin is bitch topped with more bitch.
“Get over here, Taralynn.” Matt chimes in. “I would like to introduce you to my new buddy.”
Great, him and bitch Barbie are playing matchmaker. Why my BFF thinks he needs me to date I do not understand. He thinks I’m hopelessly in love with one of our roommates; he’s not wrong, but he wants me to get over it already. I slug my way toward him, but obviously Amanda doesn’t think I’m walking quickly enough. She loops her arm through mine and practically tosses me onto the guy standing next to Matt.
Awkward.
For a short prissy little thing, she’s got power. Guess cheerleading did make her somewhat of an athlete. “Hi.” I say as I force myself to halt a few feet away before Amanda shoves me completely onto this guy.
“Hello,” he greets me back. And please forgive me for this, because I know it’s wrong to judge a person before you get to know them, but immediately I don’t like him. It’s his voice. It makes me think of a slithering snake. I hate snakes. They are the devil and I want nothing to do with them. So that pretty much makes me want nothing to do with him, either.
It’s not just his voice though. It’s the whole package. His hair is dark and slicked back onto his head. The easy look isn’t doing him any good unless he’s going for the unclean and dirty thing. I’m not sure if you know me well or not, but I like cleanliness. He’s not. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans. The t-shirt is too large on him. He’s not a small guy, but he’s about Matt’s size, in height and build putting him about two inches taller than me. I’d say even my friend here that hates the inside of a gym has a little more strength on him than the creep in front of me does.
More Than Lies Page 11