Proper Ink (Jaded Lily Book 2)

by Zeia Jameson

  I wait until late afternoon to text her. I don’t want to seem eager and needy. My text is simple and, in my opinion, quite thoughtful.

  I hope your day is going well.

  I run some errands around town. Get a haircut. Meet up with some of the guys, for whom I’d done tattoos, at a pub for a couple of beers. Like the sad, desperate fuck that I am, I keep waiting for the phone to vibrate in my pocket.

  It never does.

  I wind my night down by staring out the window of my apartment, drinking a few more beers and working on a new charcoal drawing. By the time I reach a stopping point, it is well past midnight. I wash up, plug my phone into its charger, and climb into bed. I hit the lights and lie there on my back, hands laced underneath my head, staring at the ceiling. I think about Kerry and what she’s doing right now.

  The sun rises, as do I. I look over to see my phone is blinking. I activate the screen and find one new text message.

  The day was long but productive. A little drama but nothing major. I’d love to tell you all about it soon.

  She sent the text at four o’clock in the morning, only a little over two hours ago. Jeez, if that was the end of her day, I really feel bad for her. Maybe she was just out with Stella again, having a few drinks to end the night on a better note. I was jealous before, knowing she spent time with Stella rather than me. But after thinking about it, that was a stupid knee-jerk reaction to missing her. Stella is her best friend, her business partner. Of course they want to knock a few back after sharing the stress of their jobs. I was quite the immature brat about that whole situation. I’m glad I kept all that internalized and didn’t react to it, especially toward Kerry.

  I type a text back.

  Based on the time your text came in, it seems like you had quite the long night. But I would love to hear all about it soon. Any chance you can get away for breakfast?

  I shower and get ready for the day. I grab my phone and check it. There’s no response, but I assume that since she sent the text so late in the night, she may be asleep. I head downstairs and outside to go grab some breakfast. As I’m walking, I feel my phone vibrate. I have a new text.

  Sorry, no time for breakfast. I’m running purely on coffee right now. Went home to take a quick power nap and back at it.

  I quickly text back.

  I really hope your getting properly compensated for all of this hard work.

  I hit Send and watch the text move up into a sent bubble. I realize my phone incorrectly autocorrected my typing. I send another text.

  *your

  Dammit, it autocorrected again. Son of a bitch. I type again, carefully making sure to select the right spelling in the options list.

  YOU’RE

  And it sent out in all caps. I give up. I call my phone an asshole and walk into the low-country restaurant, Bon. They serve a mean Cajun Eggs Benedict.

  I take a seat and place my drink order, when my phone buzzes again.

  LOL, OMG, you just made my morning! I am so happy to know you are that emphatic about being grammatically correct. Most people don’t give a crap anymore.

  The waiter brings my water and coffee. I thank him, then text back.

  My phone is making me look like an idiot. I can’t let it win like that.

  I’ve eaten half of my breakfast before I hear back from her.

  Good for you. Take control!

  I chuckle. I begin another message, and I have an impulse to ask her to have dinner with me. But that would be a date. I told her I don’t date.

  Because I don’t date.

  Dammit.

  I decide to do it anyway. What’s the worst that can happen? But first, I send a message in response to her last text.

  I do what I can.

  Then, I quickly type out the next words and press Send before I have a chance to back out, and I pray my phone doesn’t make me look stupid again.

  Do you have any idea if you’ll be free tonight? Maybe have dinner? I mean, it’s Taco Tuesday, after all . . .

  I finish up my breakfast and pay the tab. As I head back out onto River Street to decide what else I need to do today before heading back to the shop, my phone buzzes.

  Can I let you know later?

  I tell myself her response is appropriate, only because she’s busy. Not because she’s freaking out about me asking her to go to dinner.

  But then again, why wouldn’t she freak out?

  I don’t date.

  I text her back.

  Absolutely

  And let the cards fall where they may.

  Yes, please, to tacos, but I’m swamped with paperwork at home and I’m starving. Can you come here?

  Sure, what time?

  Anytime is fine.

  She texts me her address. At six thirty, I wrap up my day at the shop. I ask Virgil to lock up whenever he feels ready.

  I head over to Ticky Taco. They have the best tacos. I don’t know what her taco preference is, so I grab a variety of beef, chicken, and shrimp. Crunchy and soft. I get one of each type of salsa they offer.

  I ring her bell. She answers. Her hair sits messily on top of her head. Strands have fallen. She’s wearing glasses, an oversize sweater, and tight black pants. She looks frazzled but sexy as fuck.

  “Hey!” she says, leaning in for a hug. “Thank you so much for coming over and bringing dinner! We are so close to this ball. I just have to make sure all of the paperwork is squared away with the vendors.”

  I walk in and set down the bag of food.

  “Shouldn’t Stella be helping with all of this? Or Rachel?”

  “Padraig didn’t tell you? He talked to his dad and got Rachel taken off the event. And Stella is busy working on finishing up details, head counts, and seating charts.”

  I kiss her. I can’t help myself. Her energy is infectious.

  “Shall we eat?” I ask.

  “Yes, please, I’m starving.”

  “I brought a little of everything. I didn’t know what your favorite was.”

  “I like everything.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Sure, you can help me sort.”

  We sort papers and eat tacos and try not to get tacos on the papers.

  “I have some beer. Would you like one?” she asks.

  “Sure.”

  I have something I want to tell her, but tonight isn’t the night. I have to wait until this whole stress of hers is over. I don’t want to complicate what is already complicated. I decide to keep the conversation light. Because I want to talk.

  “So, your parents live in Isle of Hope?” I ask, remembering from game night.

  “They do. They’ve lived there all my life. It’s beautiful but can get boring quick.”

  “I take it Savannah is more exciting for you?”

  “Let’s just say exciting enough. I don’t think I’ll ever live in a big city like Atlanta again.”

  “So, I guess no Manhattan?”

  “Nooooo.” She shakes her head vigorously. “Not to live. To visit, for sure. I’ve never been. Have you?”

  “I have. I traveled to a lot of big US cities when I was in school.”

  “I have so many questions about that.”

  “You can ask. I don’t mind. I may not answer.”

  “What cities have you been to?”

  “Chicago. Manhattan. Los Angeles. Dallas. Austin. San Antonio.”

  “That’s a lot of Texas.”

  I shrug. “Big state.” She agrees with an eyebrow raise.

  “Boston,” I continue.

  “Oh, I love Boston! I have an aunt who lives there. I spent a few summers there.”

  “And you never made it up to New York?”

  “No. There was always something to do or see around Boston. We always said, ‘Next year,’ and then next year would come and we’d find something else. Plus, she’ll never admit it, but my aunt isn’t really a big fan of New York. I don’t know why, but I think she’s trying to become a bona fide B
ostonian, and to obtain that status, you have to abdicate all things New York.”

  “Does she know if she wasn’t born there, she’ll probably never be bona fide?”

  Kerry laughs. “That’s what I’ve heard, but, like the true Bostonian she wants to be, she’s stubborn as hell.”

  “Your aunt and Boston sound perfect for each other.”

  “You have no idea. She’s from Florida. She’s lived in Boston for a little over ten years. She has the full-blown townie accent and everything.”

  “That’s hilarious.”

  “So. Sorry I interrupted. Were you done with your list of cities?”

  I think about the cities I’ve already listed.

  “St. Louis, Chattanooga, and Phoenix.”

  “Why all the travel?”

  “I knew that when I finished school, I would need an internship. I scouted the country for the best art galleries. Made some connections.”

  “Did Manhattan win out? It must have.”

  “Well, Manhattan did have some pretty great options. But everyone who wants an internship in an art gallery wants one in Manhattan. It was a long shot for me to get in. It was between Austin and Chicago, and ultimately I chose Chicago.”

  “You’re a long way from Chicago, Luca.”

  I pull a swig of my beer. “That I am.”

  I say nothing more. And I sort.

  “Okay. I can take a hint. Am I at least allowed to ask about your family?”

  “Sure. They live over in South Carolina, near Hilton Head. Well, my parents, anyway. My dickhead of an older brother lives here in the city. He’s a cop.”

  “Shut the fuck up! He’s a cop?”

  “Yes. And as I think your aunt would put it, he’s a cawp.” I try my best Southie accent. I may have seen The Departed a few times.

  Kerry laughs and covers her mouth, trying not to let the beer she just drank spill out.

  We sort. We drink. We talk. We go back and raid the stash of tacos I brought.

  Kerry yawns. I look at my phone. It’s past midnight.

  “I think that’s the last of it,” I say, straightening the last stack she has yet to file.

  “Seems to be.” She looks around to verify.

  She yawns again.

  “I should probably get going. Let you get some rest.”

  “Or, you could stay.”

  Or I could stay.

  “Well—” I start.

  “I mean, unless—” she says at the same time.

  I let her continue. “Unless you aren’t comfortable staying here. For some reason.”

  “I don’t think I’d be uncomfortable. You don’t have one of those tiny little princess beds, do you?”

  She stands and reaches her hand out for me to take. “Oh, no sir. Come see.” I allow her to lead me to the bedroom. She flips the switch and the light comes on. Her bed is larger than mine.

  “California King. Cool-comfort-foam contouring mattress. One-billion-thread-count sheets.”

  I only have a king size. I’ve always wanted a Cali King.

  “There’s no such thing as a billion thread count. You know I take pride in my sheets. If a billion were an option, I’d have it.”

  “Well, my point is that this girl takes her beauty rest seriously.”

  “I see. You’ve been slumming it with me.”

  She stands on the tips of her toes and kisses me. “Hardly.”

  I kiss her back and walk her backward into the room a few steps. “I might have to upgrade. Mind if I test out the merchandise?”

  Present Day

  Padraig texts me and asks me to come to the trial dinner his mom and Stella are doing for the ball. I tell him I appreciate the offer, but I have to decline. I have a session scheduled.

  I work on the tattoo, clean up, and head upstairs. I pop open a beer and scroll through Instagram to look for some tattoo inspiration.

  My eyes grow heavy. I look at the clock. Dinner should be well past over by now. I text Kerry.

  If you aren’t too busy, I’d love to see you.

  I wait for a response but nod off with my phone lying on my chest. It jolts me awake when it buzzes. I check the time. I’ve been asleep like this for half an hour. I grumble as I sit up, but the thought of hearing from Kerry has me excited. I’m disappointed when I see who it is. It’s a text from Padraig.

  You should come out. We’re at the Clock Lounge. Your girl is here, looking lonely.

  I huff. This is why I don’t want him in my business. He only thinks Kerry and I have something going and he’s nagging me. If he actually knew, it would be nonstop button pushing.

  Me: I don’t have a girl.

  Padraig: We’re two blocks away. Get your arse over here now.

  Me: I’m busy.

  Padraig: Bullshit.

  Me: It isn’t.

  Padraig: Fine. But think on this. I’m drinking right now. Kerry is here, and I have an itch to tell her all of your secrets.

  Me: Padraig, don’t be a fucking asshole.

  Padraig: Then get your sorry arse here and have some fucking fun for once.

  I don’t respond.

  Padraig: She’s been drinking too. I bet she can tell me what that tat on your rib cage looks like.

  Me: Leave her alone, Padraig.

  Padraig: I’m buying you a shot. If I end up having to take it myself, Kerry and I are going to have a lovely conversation. I won’t be able to help myself.

  Me: Whatever, Padraig. Be a dick. I don’t care.

  I lie back down and close my eyes again. Kerry is two blocks away from me. I should go. Why didn’t she ask me to come out? Did she think I wouldn’t want to go because I didn’t go to dinner? She never even responded to my earlier text. It’s fine. I should just go to sleep.

  My phone buzzes again, and I curse Padraig’s name. I ignore it until it buzzes once again.

  I pick up the phone and see that it’s Kerry.

  Kerry: Padraig is asking about that hot-as-fuck tattoo on your ribs. I know he’s trying to get intel out of me about us. My lips are sealed. Wish you were here.

  Me: I’m sorry Padraig is bothering you. You didn’t answer my text from earlier.

  My skills for topic transitioning are stellar.

  Kerry: Shit. I’m sorry. My phone has been buried in my purse all day. I just pulled it out to text you about Padraig. Didn’t even see your message until just now :( I’m about to leave here. I have to go home. I have a tea to do at ten in the morning.

  A tea? I assume that’s an event.

  Kerry: I’m going to finish my drink and head home . . . unless you want to come by and have a drink with me.

  I tap my thumb to my phone.

  Me: I’ll be there in five minutes.

  “I knew it!” Padraig says when I walk in the door.

  “You knew what?” Stella asks before I get a chance to shut him up.

  He turns to Stella. “Your girl Kerry and my boy Luca have got a thing for one another.”

  I look at Kerry and try to hold back my smile. She doesn’t hold back, however. Stella whispers into Padraig’s ear, and he kisses her. “We’ve got to be going,” he says.

  “But I just got here.” I sit down in the empty space next to Kerry.

  “Right, then,” Padraig says. “Let’s all have a beer and a round of shots!” He stands and heads to the bar.

  I look at Kerry and Stella. I feel as though Kerry may be avoiding Stella’s eye contact.

  “How was the dinner?” I ask no one specifically.

  “It was great,” Stella answers. “You just missed Moira and Phillipe. They left about two minutes ago.”

  I nod and tap the table with my knuckle.

  Padraig returns with a tray of beers and shots. We sit, drink, and talk. I mostly listen because they all keep bringing up the ball and Rachel getting fired from the event and how great Moira’s cooking is—nothing I can really chime in on. If it weren’t for the alcohol relaxing me, I’d be one uncomfortable motherfucker
right now.

  But I’m loose enough, so I laugh when they laugh, and especially when Kerry laughs. We have another round before Padraig and Stella call it a night. He nudges me before they leave, gives me a wink, and whispers that he’s staying at her place tonight. I roll my eyes.

  “I have to go too, I guess,” Kerry says. “I have to get up early and be at the office before I go to the tea.”

  “Would you like for me to walk you home?”

  “You don’t have to. You’re just right there, and I’m way up there.” She’s pointing her finger in all different directions. Her words slur slightly.

  “I have an idea. Why don’t you come to my place, and we’ll set an early alarm? That way, you don’t have to walk all the way home tonight and you’ll still have time to go to the office in the morning before going to the tea.”

  She stands from the booth and stumbles slightly when she bends down to grab her bag. I steady her.

  “I’m not letting you walk home by yourself.”

  She dismisses me. “I walk home by myself all of the time.”

  “I’m sure you do. But I’m not letting you walk home by yourself tonight. You can come to my place or I’m walking you home. Either way, you’re stuck with me.”

  “Okay,” is all she says, without giving me a decision. I choose my place.

  I help her upstairs to my apartment and sit her in the armchair that is positioned in between my kitchen and my bed.