by JC Szot
The pungent scent of disinfectant rose into her nose. Sean wiped down the entire area then smoothed on the transfer. He slowly peeled it back, revealing his artfully drawn lines.
“That’s how it’ll look.” He held a mirror over her exposed skin. Meg looked at her reflection, then down at her flesh. It was perfect. Sean explained that her skin now looked shiny because there was ointment on the transfer that enabled the needles to move more freely over her skin.
“Ready?” He rested his gloved hand on her shoulder.
“Ink away.” She laughed, her heart thumping wildly.
Sean cranked up the music to ease the buzzing of the needles once he started. Nirvana screamed through the speakers. Sean’s face creased into tight, bold lines, concentrating as he marked her flesh. Meg contemplated how Sean’s expertise made him feel. How many bodies had he marked, and for life? It was a trademark that people would carry with them forever.
It was a searing, scratching burn as Sean outlined Zane’s dandelion. Her experience with Zane would be marked on her body with a permanence she couldn’t achieve with him. She was giving Zane a piece of her body, a patch of pristine flesh that would now always belong to him. She chewed the inside of her cheek as the needles hammered into her skin. Her breath gusted with relief when the humming stopped and Sean snapped off his gloves.
“Let’s take a break. The worst is over. The color’s the fun part.” He patted her knee. “Can I get you a drink?” Meg shifted her weight, her muscles tight from tensing. She accepted his offer for an iced tea.
As she sipped her Snapple, Sean showed her the tray of ink tubes that he had laid out for the color and filler. He told her that he would now be using a different set of needles for the shading and that it would go very quickly.
Unlike the outline, Meg was able to watch Sean do the coloring and shading. It was amazing how the color seeped into her skin, bleeding into her pores, coloring her skin like an artful bruise. The needles now only felt like a warm prickling as they moved over her flesh.
The day’s light descended, painting the front windows of the shop with a blinding, orange glow. When the buzzing of the needle finally ceased, silence rang in her ears.
“This is stunning, Meg.” Sean rolled away from her, still seated on his stool. He spun around, holding the mirror for her again. She marveled at the sharp detail, the colors bright and dazzling. Bold lines leapt off her skin. The dandelion sprinkled new seeds on her skin with what would be its new life in another time. It was absolutely flawless. Heat rushed to her face. She met Sean’s rich-mocha eyes.
“I love it.” She giggled, a bit delirious now that it was over. “You’re amazing.”
“No regrets?” He grinned.
“Not one.”
Sean asked her if he could take a picture of her tattoo, wanting to post it up on the wall with his other work. Meg pulled her jeans out of the way as Sean snapped a few pictures.
“This one’s different than any others I’ve ever done, believe it or not.” He circled around the chair, snapping one more shot before turning off his digital camera.
He gave her the aftercare instructions. Meg needed to keep a dressing on her tattoo for two days and clean it with antibacterial soap for five.
“Don’t freak when it starts to scab over. It’ll heal real nice, just don’t pick it.” He waved a finger at her. “Hey.” He extended his hand. “Welcome to the family.”
Chapter Nineteen
The fact that Meg hadn’t come around after he’d given her the plant spoke volumes. He had his answer. He’d blown the wad this time. The one girl who displayed her loyalty through thick and thin with her selfless actions had slipped through his fingers. It was his own fear and stupidity.
Zane sifted through his sketches. The one he’d done of Meg’s face was incredible. He usually didn’t boast about his work, but this one particular drawing was the best he’d ever done, and he was sick as a dog at the time. It had been a dark day, his head hanging in the toilet for hours, sick from the chemo. He had walked back and forth, to and from the bathroom, sketching her out in between, working off her image from a snapshot at the bottom of the Holistic Hut’s newsletter.
Blazing, tousled curls framed her glittering eyes, her cheekbones hollowed but sexy as hell. He’d made her lashes long and dramatic, her lips feminine and shapely. His chest sank. The idea of never kissing her or touching her again had him in pain, mimicking his cancer.
Would he let his pride win? Wasn’t she worth it? Could he crawl back, apologize for not trying to know her, not asking questions? He’d catered to her physical needs but had been a shitty friend from the start. He needed more than a plant to convey his feelings. His heart was telling him that he wanted more, speaking to him in a language it never had before. Now he needed to admit to it and, most of all, surrender to it.
* * * *
“It’s tastefully done.” Nora knelt in front of Meg, inspecting her tattoo. “Why this particular image?” Nora stood, her eyes questioning. Meg explained the dandelion’s connection to Zane. Nora’s lips parted. Meg waved her hand dismissively.
“I know.” She turned away. “I’m being ridiculous.”
“You’re in love.” Nora’s words were clipped. “Have you seen him?”
Meg shook her head. “I’m going out of my way to avoid running into him.”
“Did you approach him after he left the plant at your door?”
Meg shook her head again. “I can’t,” she muttered. Meg’s feelings were real, but she was still battling her embarrassment. What had started as a bet had turned into a mission for Zane, just as his illness had become hers. He wanted to be “the man” who was known for satisfying her. For her he’d become “the man” who had finally stirred up her ability to love, nurture, and heal, and be successful at it. He was so “it” for her, this dark, often-sarcastic tattoo artist. Who would’ve thought?
“But he doesn’t know how you feel, with the exception of what I said to him.” Nora’s hands rose, begging.
“What’d you tell him?” Meg ran her hands through her hair, pulling her fingers free from a disarray of curls. Her stomach burned with a hunger she didn’t think she’d ever be able to satisfy without him.
“I only told him to be honest with you, and himself. He needed to know what happened at the street festival and how it affected you.” Nora pressed her point. “I can’t stand to see you like this.”
“Well”—Meg took a breath—“it doesn’t matter. He hasn’t tried to talk to me.”
“You’ve also been avoiding him. This isn’t over,” Nora grumbled. “The tattoo is very becoming, especially on your nice, flat tummy, but this isn’t over by any means.”
* * * *
The balmy evening breeze rippled her long, black skirt. Sean watched it swish around her ankles. Meg was locking up. It wasn’t too late to take the plunge. He’d considered it the night he’d done her tat, but something held him back. Zane had given him the go-ahead. Screw it. He strolled up the sidewalk, jamming his hands into his pockets. His footsteps had her turning to face him. Her lips curved into an easy smile. She tucked a few strands of blowing hair behind her ear.
“Hi, Sean. Flying the coop for tonight?” She slung the long strap of her purse across her chest, letting it rest near her hip. A copper-colored sweater made her skin glitter under the streetlamp, her lovely face decorated in gold shadows.
“Hell yeah.” He laughed. “It was busy as hell today. You must’ve started a new trend. I had a lot of new customers today.” They stood on the sidewalk, the night settling around them. He flirted with danger again, risking his friendship and partnership. He really wanted to ask her to go for a drink. He didn’t even know if she did drink. Zane was always making cracks about her healthy habits. Too bad there wasn’t a juice bar around. His invitation spilled from his mouth before he questioned himself again.
“Hey, what d’ya say to a drink over at the Redbone?” Sean checked her expression. Her eyes moved b
etween his. Uncertainty knitted across her forehead. He hastily filled the gap of silence that had him drowning in a pool of pending rejection. “If you’re beat, I understand.”
“No, actually that sounds good.” She gazed up and down the street, unsure of the location.
“It’s just a few blocks down, around the corner. I’ll walk you back.”
“I’m not really a drinker.” Her soft laughter liquefied his insides. “Think you could rustle me up a cup of coffee?”
“I’m tight with the bartender.” Sean reached for her, his hand on her curved shoulder. “I think I can arrange that.”
“Great.” She smiled up at him. Sean took her elbow, steering their steps toward the bar. The warm weather had small groups congregating on the corners. Sean weaved them through a cluster of smokers standing out in front of the Redbone. He held the door for her. He knew Zane wouldn’t be here. Since his diagnosis, he’d backed off the booze. Sean missed their routine of beers and darts, but tonight was one night he blessed Zane’s absence.
“A seat at the bar, or would you prefer a table?” Sean couldn’t resist sneaking in an eye tour as Meg scanned the tables. The creamy flesh of her chest rose with each breath, her cheeks flushed from the night air. A sterling-silver bracelet glinted on her thin wrist. Her slender fingers were decorated with polished silver rings.
“Will a table cramp your style?” Her gaze caught his.
“Not at all.” He laughed. He took her hand and pulled her back into a dark corner of the tavern. The heads of a few regulars that Sean mingled with turned, all eyes on them. He waved, a sly grin curving his lips. He read their knowing stares like a cheap novel. Once he had her seated, he excused himself and went up to the bar to get their drinks.
* * * *
Meg scanned the two rooms, the light dim and swirling, ashen with smoke. Sean leaned against the bar, reaching for his wallet, the heavy, linked chain hanging from his belt loop. The Rolling Stones’s “Ruby Tuesday” rang from the corner jukebox. Masculine howls and feminine screams reverberated from the back room, where a game of darts was getting heated between competitors.
Argumentative thoughts began firing through her mind. What am I doing here? What are his intentions? Well, why not? If Zane wanted me, I would’ve been going home to him. Sean smiled as he made his way back to their table. He slid her coffee across the table, setting his beer down. He shrugged off his leather jacket, draping it over the back of the chair. An indigo-blue button-down pulled across his broad chest, the sleeves cuffed above his wrists. His sleeve of ink peeked out beneath the material, glowing like a neon sign. A wave of tension crashed over in her stomach. What the hell were they going to talk about? His deep voice reached for her, his hand an inch away from hers on the table.
“How’s the tat?” Sean tilted his head, his throat pulling the frothy beer down his throat.
“Good.” Meg suddenly forgot to breathe, her head feeling loopy for a second. “I’ve only got a little scabbing in some spots.”
“Good. You were a real champ. I’ve had some bad first encounters, but you were great.” Sean told her a few funny stories about some customers who just didn’t handle the process well. “One girl brought a pacifier in with her.” He laughed, shaking his head. “It did work. She bit down on the thing for over two hours while I tried to ink her.”
“She probably should’ve gone with something smaller, it being her first time and all,” Meg offered, changing the subject. “Ah, does Zane know I got the tat?”
“No.” He tipped his bottle back. “I didn’t mention it, but if he asks about the photo, I don’t know if I can lie to him, Meg.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“I’m glad you’re happy with it. I like the fact that you thought yours out so carefully.” His eyes flashed. The conversation dangled for a moment. He was searching, asking for the meaning behind her tattoo. He knew there was one.
A woman sitting at the corner of the bar, facing their table, pulled at her marginal vision. Meg connected with her stare. It was Leslie from the street festival. Great.
“Is Leslie a regular?” Meg asked.
Sean’s face pinched in annoyance. “She’s a nuisance.” His lips twisted.
“Oh.” Meg sipped her coffee. For being in a barroom, the coffee tasted fresh and nutty. Meg didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t think it was appropriate to ask about Zane. The questions in Sean’s dark eyes continued to nag at her. He and Zane were friends and business partners. This really hadn’t been a good idea. She glanced at Leslie again. Her brows rose in question. Did she think Meg was now moving on to Sean, waving Zane her way?
Who cares.
Sean’s burly hand covered hers, his skin warm.
“How about a walk? This place is too loud for me tonight.”
The fingers of her free hand clenched in her lap. She’d let him walk her back to her building, no harm done. His smile was polite, unassuming, which was calming. Meg removed her hand from his. Sandy strands of hair hung above his eyes. He fussed with the thick, leather bracelet on his wrist.
“Sure.” She stood, waiting as Sean slipped his arms through the sleeves of his jacket. His hand rested on the small of her back as he guided her toward the door. Their footsteps echoed off the sidewalk, the night peaceful around them.
Sean really did make an effort at their conversation. Meg felt inept. She just couldn’t let loose. Zane was overcrowding her thoughts. No matter what she did, she couldn’t extract him from her mind. When they got to her building, Sean pulled her around the corner, away from the blinding lights of the vestibule. Whether Sean could feel her indecision or not, he was still trying. He steered their bodies behind a large evergreen tree. His hands cupped her face. His head then dipped down. Sean’s lips fitting to hers. His tongue lightly sipped at her mouth, grazing the edge of her lips. The bitter taste of his beer hit the tip of her tongue.
Meg’s hands fumbled, slipping inside the flaps of his jacket, feeling she should reciprocate with just the slightest touch. His body was hot, his flesh tightly wrapped around the hard muscle that lay beneath the soft cotton of his shirt. She tasted him but couldn’t give herself over completely to the kiss. His fresh, earthy scent rushed into her nose. He stepped back, feeling her hesitation. His eyes glittered, tapping into her, his raspy words a comfort.
“He’s here with us, isn’t he?” Sean fingered her hair.
“I’m sorry.” Meg looked away. Sean took her chin, guiding her back.
“Don’t be. I just thought I’d give it my best shot.” He smiled.
“And you did.” She laughed anxiously, her palms on his solid chest. He rested his cheek against hers, his growth prickly.
“Let it out, Meg. Don’t let it fester. Do you love him?” He kissed her cheek, backing away to read her face, unsure if the words would come.
She nodded. Tears pricked in her eyes like needles. “I do, but it doesn’t matter now.”
Sean was shaking his head. “Love always matters, Meg. We can all possess it. What matters is what we do with it once it comes.” Meg sank back into the bricked wall, the cool seeping through her sweater. She wiped her eyes. “He’s a tough nut, Zane. I’ve known him for a long time.”
“He’s recovered. I guess he’ll move on to something else now,” she whispered.
“He’s recovered, yes.” Sean dug at his cheek. “But he’s not complete, and neither are you. Before tonight I wasn’t sure where you were at, but now it seems we’ve both got our answer. What the two of you do with your answers is between you and Zane.”
“I don’t want to chase him. It’s not my style, and all it would do is piss him off.” Meg laughed, wiping her eyes.
“Someone’s gonna have to do something, Meg.” His finger stroked her damp cheek.
“I know,” she sighed.
“I’m here, if you need me.”
“Thanks.” Meg hugged him. “I’m sorry.” Her anguished words muffled into his strong chest. His heat sooth
ed her like a warm bath. Sean really was a cream puff. He had a sensitivity that all women hunted for.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I know you’ll never forget me…A girl always remembers her first.”
Meg whacked him, his bicep as hard as a brick.
“I’m talking about the tat, Meg, right?” He nodded, his chest heaving with laughter. He quickly kissed her cheek and was gone, sauntering down the darkened sidewalk until he rounded the corner.
Chapter Twenty
“You have any appointments today?” Zane clutched the phone between his jaw and shoulder. He wrestled with his shirt, pulling the phone away for a moment while he pushed his head through the neckline of a sleeveless muscle tee.
“I’m clear till noon,” Sean informed him.
“Great, I’m coming down. Get your tubes filled. I need a burnt red, like the Crayola color burnt sienna, and a forest green, and—”
“What the hell’s going on?”
“Just listen to me!” Zane’s words pushed through gritted teeth. “I’ll also need a light purple, maybe lavender, but not too light. I’m on my way.” Zane hung up, grabbed his wallet, and bolted to the door. His fingers gripped the knob, his eyes pulled to the clock. He slowed his breathing, hearing the synchronized ticking as the apartment grew silent. The hands were right where they should be as he glanced over his shoulder to compare the time to the digital clock on the stove. It was 9:17. Internally everything seemed to be finally coordinated. Let’s hope it will be with everything that is external. He wanted harmony. That’s what he wanted, everything tidy and harmonized. There were two more things he needed to make that happen.
* * * *
When Zane walked into the shop, Sean was waiting for him, leaning against his work station, arms crossed in front of his chest.
“Didn’t the doctor—”
“Never mind what the doctor said.” Zane yanked off his shirt and tossed it on the counter. He thrust the transfer of his sketch of Meg’s gorgeous face into Sean’s hand. “I want this on the back of my shoulder, upper right.” Zane reclined the chair himself and scooted onto it on his belly, extending his arms over his head, ready and craving the burn he knew the needles would give him.