Hot, Quick & Dirty: 12 Steamy Short Stories

by Cleveland, Eddie

  I don’t even notice that the woman brought over a stretcher. I’m being strapped into it and Sara is just lying on the ground. Lifeless. Alone. My best friend is gone.

  Forever.

  * * *

  Chapter 2 - Ryder

  I Swiffer the floor, it’s the last part of my clean up before I leave for the day. I’m a bit of a neat freak when it comes to my shop, but I refuse to let my place turn into one of those sketchy dives that make you wonder if you’re paying for a tattoo or a lifetime of hepatitis C. No way, I’ve worked too hard for too long to let anything bring my reputation down in this business. And when every guy with a tattoo gun and a portfolio full of prison tats he’s done on his friends can qualify as an “artist,” reputation is everything.

  I always knew in my heart that drawing was what I was meant to do. When I was little, I shared the dream of a million other boys to become a famous graphic artist and work for Stan Lee at Marvel. I poured over homemade comics for hours, working hard to get the shading just right on the villain’s smirk.

  Of course, once I graduated high school, comic book artist didn’t exactly have a clear career path. It wasn’t like there was a building in my town where I just needed to get my foot in the door and prove my talent. So, I went with my backup plan. Travel.

  I glance down to my fingers wrapped around the slender mop handle. The words “Hold Fast” tattooed to my fingers reminds me of the years I spent sailing in the Navy. Hauling lines and making waves, that’s what my other boatswain buddies and I used to say our motto was. A smile pricks the corners of my mouth as a collage of drunken port memories swirl through my mind.

  “Excuse me?”

  I’m not the kind who scares easy, but I jump at the interruption to my thoughts. From the sad sound of her soft voice I inwardly groan. I hope this isn’t some chick who wants her money back because she’s decided her Hello Kitty tramp stamp was a bad idea or something.

  “We’re closed,” I answer too gruffly as I turn around.

  “Oh, uh, it’s just…” but she doesn’t say more. Or maybe she’s talking my ear off and I just can’t hear it. My body must have decided that it only has enough blood to run the essential organs right now and as my eyes desperately try to soak in every sexy detail, my dick is the part that’s getting priority.

  I try to subtly push my hardening cock down, hoping it’s not too obviously filling my jeans. It’s not like I’m some kind of inexperienced preteen. I’ve got my wood under control, thank you very much. I see gorgeous, half-dressed girls in here all the time and it never even twitches.

  But the woman standing in front of me is different. She tucks her flowing amber hair behind her ear and looks up at me with uncertainty dancing in her light green eyes. She’s breathtaking without even trying. The way her shirt clings to her full tits and hugs her round belly only to flare out where it meets her jeans at her hips. Her thick thighs make my mouth water as ideas of licking a trail up the inside of them destroy my ability to concentrate.

  I’m staring. I need to quit that shit. If I keep devouring her body with my hungry gaze this way she’s gonna think I’m the one who’s fresh outta prison with a tattoo gun and some bad pictures of teardrops I etched into my cellmate’s face.

  I manage to meet her eyes. I’m not sure why, but she looks familiar. I don’t see any of my art on her exposed skin. Maybe she’s the kind of girl who likes to keep her tattoos more personal. The one who gets them in secret or naughty places for lovers to discover like little treasures that expose her history one picture at a time.

  “I’m sorry, I know you said you’re closed,” she bites her lip. That perfect, plump pout. I’ve never been jealous of a tooth before and yet, now I’m standing here, frowning at her front teeth wishing I was the one giving that lip a nibble. A nip. A suck. A kiss.

  “I am closed for today, but I can take a look at what you want to get done and fit you in tomorrow, if you want?” I nod to the piece of paper she’s holding in a tight wad in her milky hand.

  “No, it’s just, I really need to get this tattoo today,” she stresses.

  “I can’t, I’m sorry…”

  “Please,” her voice is soft but firm. It’s not so much a plea as it is a demand. I like a woman who knows how to take charge, but I’m not about to open back up after I’ve sanitized every surface because she’s bossy.

  “I can’t tonight. Sorry.” I hold her gaze in a standoff, getting lost wild green jungle of her eyes.

  “Listen, I know you don’t remember me, but two years ago I was in a car accident. It’s really important to me that I get a tattoo today to commemorate my friend.” She explains as the hairs on the back of my neck electrify. “You tried to save her that day, but she didn’t make it. There was nothing you could do, really, you did everything.”

  “I remember,” my voice chokes up as the flashes from that day swirl in my mind like a hurricane.

  “I know your name, but you don’t know mine,” she continues, “I’m Skylar Dixon, and you saved my life.”

  * * *

  Chapter 3 - Skylar

  Silence shrouds us as I stare at the only tattoo I remember on his arm. It’s weird, but after the crash I struggled to remember the details of that day. Most of the time all I could conjure was fragments of images, shattered in my mind like all of the broken glass that was scattered around us on the ground. One image that was clear was his tattoo. I mean, he’s covered in them, but the one of the old fashioned tall ship on his forearm, the one that looks like something the Vikings would have traveled over in, stood out. Sometimes I’ve found my self distractedly doodling it when my mind has wandered off.

  My life has changed a lot in the last two years, but part of me can’t let that day go. I still dream of Sara. I travel back to us singing Drake’s song and laughing only to wake up with a pillow soaked with tears and a hole in my heart that my best friend left behind.

  She’s gone and I need to do something to get the closure that I never got as I sat on the side of the road in shock, not understanding she had already left this world.

  “Skylar, wow.” Ryder finally unfreezes from the spot. “Of course, come in. Take a seat. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?” He leans his mop on the wall and ushers me over to the modern, white leather sofa against the far wall.

  “No, thank you. I’m good,” I sit down beside him.

  “I’ve never forgotten that day,” his voice wavers and he looks down at his hands like they betrayed him somehow. “I can’t believe it’s already been two years,” he sighs.

  “I know, I wanted to come last year. To thank you and to get this tattoo,” I hold up the paper I didn’t realize I crumpled in my hand, “but I couldn’t do it. I wasn’t ready yet.”

  “Hey, I get that. Do you mind if I take a look?” He nods to my sheet and I hand the wadded-up drawing to him.

  Ryder flattens the paper against his thigh, rubbing his large hand over it again and again until most of the wrinkles have been smoothed.

  His steely blue eyes meet mine and I can see clouds of confusion billow in them. “You want a Tinker Bell tattoo?” His voice is tinged with disappointment. He was probably expecting a quote Sara treasured or her favorite flower.

  “Yeah, except instead of making her dress green, could you make it blue with orange trim? Those were her favorite colors.”

  “Yeah sure, that’s easy enough. If you don’t mind me asking, why Tinker Bell?” His dark eyebrows furrow together as his eyes slide back down over the famous Disney fairy.

  I rake my fingers through my long hair and fight the tears threatening to form in my eyes by blinking quickly, “Well, obviously, you know about the show, right? Peter Pan?” I nervously pick at my nails and look up at him. I can feel my heartbeat quicken as I meet his gaze.

  His eyes are so intense, I never did get a proper look at him at the accident. I never realized he was so sexy. For two years, I just remembered him as a tattoo. His dark brown hair is half covered by a grey
beanie that brings out the same color in his eyes. I had no idea he had a beard, maybe he didn’t two years ago, I’m not sure. But now he does and it makes him look rugged. Like he spends just as much time outside building things in nature as he does in his studio. I push away the thoughts, and swallow the lump in my throat hard.

  “Yeah, of course,” he nods.

  “Well, just over a year ago when that Peter Pan song came out I read a description that stuck with me. I just couldn’t shake it. Basically, it said that Peter was the collector of the lost souls of children who had passed away. He brought them to Never Never Land you know, the Lost Boy?”

  Ryder barely shakes his head, listening. “Yeah, so he brings them there where they can spend eternity playing games and having adventures. That’s why they never grow up, because they’re…” my voice cracks and a tear slides over my cheek. I wipe it away quickly.

  “Anyway, Sara wasn’t a kid, obviously, but she was taken too soon. She was spunky and sassy and kinda magical, like Tinker Bell. So, I thought honoring her as with this tattoo, it would be my way of remembering that she never had to grow up and get boring and worn down by life. She stayed awesome, like Peter Pan and the Lost Boys and Tinker Bell,” my voice shakes as real tears that I can’t just brush away, fall from my eyes.

  “Hey, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked,” he rubs my shoulder and the flood gates open up. Tears I thought had long dried up flow down my face. I realize I’m ugly crying. hard, but I can’t stop. I wonder if this pain will ever go away.

  “Shh, come here,” Ryder slides over on the couch and wraps his muscular arms around me. I lean into him, crying against his chest as he gently strokes my hair. “Shh,” he rocks me in his arms.

  I can’t believe how comforting it is to be held by him. It’s like the world and everything bad in it is shut out by his broad shoulders and his thick arms. I breathe him in, his light musk smells like cedar and reminds me of how I can picture him out chopping trees somewhere just as easily as I can imagine him doing tattoos.

  “You okay,” Ryder pulls my shoulders back and looks down at my face. His beard twitches as his mouth turns down in concern and his steely eyes lock me in place.

  “I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

  “Listen, I don’t think you’re ready to sit in the chair yet. How about we go next door to O’Malley’s and grab a drink. Calm your nerves and all that. Then we’ll come back and I’ll do the tattoo. Sound good?” He rubs his hands slowly down my arms and a tingle runs down my spine.

  “I think that sounds perfect,” I sniff and wipe the remaining tears from my face.

  Ryder stands up and holds his hand out to me, helping me off the couch with ease. I can’t help but smile at what a gentleman he is. I tuck my hair behind my ears and follow him to the door. He’s right, a drink will help me calm down. At least about Sara. I don’t think it’ll do a single thing to calm down these flustery feelings floating up inside me that I’m having for him.

  * * *

  Chapter 4 - Ryder

  I lead Skylar over to the table in the dimly lit pub and as soon as we’re settled into our seats the hostess brings us the pitcher of beer that we ordered on the way in.

  I carefully pour us each a glass, careful not to create a huge head of foam to drink through.

  “I’m sorry about all of this. I just, well, I really want to get this tattoo tonight. But, I guess I’m still really emotional,” she looks down at her hands embarrassed.

  “Hey,” I slide her beer across the wood table top and without thinking grab her hand in mine and give it a squeeze, “of course you are. That’s to be expected. Give yourself a break,” I stare at her until she meets my eyes. I watch her shoulders slide down into submission as her tension eases away.

  “Thanks,” Skylar’s pink lips pull up in the corners to a shy smile. “It’s just that Sara and I were inseparable. We knew each other since kindergarten and we were those girls that the teachers always had to separate because we would never stop passing notes and giggling. She always brought that side out in me. Getting me in trouble,” she chuckles and takes a sip of her beer.

  “You don’t seem like the type that trouble finds,” I raise an eyebrow and drink a mouthful of my own frosty brew.

  “No, I’m really not. I’m pretty much a goody-two-shoes,” she gives a half smile. “But Sara was like my opposite. I helped her stay away from the seriously bad crowd and she taught me a lot about living that I would have never learned from inside my little bubble,” her green eyes glaze over as her thoughts slide into memories I can’t see.

  “I’m not buying it,” I tease, “there’s no way you’ve ever done anything too bad. What’s your biggest offense? Broken curfew?” My eyes dance over her round face and I feel warm inside when I see a genuine smile on her lips.

  “Trust me, Sara and I got into some stupid situations. Like, funny stupid, not scary stupid. Anyway, this one time,” she bites her lip and shakes her head, squeezing her eyes shut like she’s pushing away the thoughts rising in her mind.

  “What?” I push her, and take another drink of my beer waiting for her to continue.

  “No, it’s too embarrassing,” she cringes and little lines on her nose crinkle up making her look irresistibly cute.

  “Not possible, whatever you two did I bet I have ya beat on the humiliation front,” I laugh.

  “No, trust me. We were dumb girls who did dumb things. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?” She gives me a look from the corner of her eye as she takes another sip of her drink.

  I could leave it at that. Sure. That’s totally possible. But where’s the fun in that? You never learn more about a smoking hot girl like Skylar by leaving things be.

  “I’ll tell ya what, I’ll tell you my most embarrassing story and you tell me yours. Like I said,” I puff up with confidence, “I know I’ve got ya beat.”

  “Is that right?” She giggles and twists her long red hair around her finger as her eyes sparkle. “All right then, let’s hear it,” she smiles at me with no reservation this time and I’m pretty sure my heart just stopped for a second.

  “Okay, so many lifetimes ago, I was in the Navy. That’s what a bunch of these tattoos are about,” I vaguely point at my arms and knuckles as Skylar’s gaze licks my flesh.

  “Makes sense,” she answers.

  “Yeah, and in the Navy there are a lot of ports where you have to be back on the ship by midnight. They call it Cinderella leave,” I explain.

  “Oh, cause if you don’t you turn into a pumpkin or something?” She laughs.

  “More like you get charged, which means you pay a fine and could lose your privileges in the next port,” I take another drink.

  “Oh, that would suck,” Skylar sympathizes and takes a swig of her own.

  “Yeah, it does. So anyway, it was my first big sail and we went to Melbourne, Australia. Fantastic city, loved it. My buddy and I didn’t really keep track of the time because the clubs are open crazy late over there. So, we get back to the ship and it’s almost two hours after curfew,” I can’t help but stare at her as I tell my story. I can’t convince my eyes to look away from a woman that makes my body feel like an unruly teenager and makes my heart swoon like some kind of newlywed.

  “Oh no, that’s not good,” she tilts her head, “so you got in trouble?”

  The way her mouth is parted, just a little makes me want to sweep my arm across the table and let the beer crash to the ground. I want to grab her and kiss her. I want to pull her up on this flimsy bar table and kiss every inch of her, right here and right now.

  “Huh?” I try to remember what she just said. “Oh, uh, no not at that moment anyway. So, my buddy decided he was gonna cross the brow and take his punishment. Done deal. He fucked up. He pays the price. Not this guy,” I point to thumbs at my chest and shake my head.

  “What did you do?” She blinks her bright green eyes at me and I’m transfixed.

  “I, um, so I decided I was going to sne
ak back on the ship and get to my bunk and claim that the Quartermaster made a mistake and just never saw me come aboard. Remember, I was pretty hammered, so this all made great sense to me,” I continue. “I went to one of the lines tied to the dock at the back of the ship and tried to climb up it. I was doing a great job of it too, I made it right up to the side of the ship and my head hit something hard and cold,” I chuckle at the memory and take another drink of my beer.

  “Was it the ship?” Skylar is leaning in now, eager to hear what happened next.

  “No, no, not the ship. You see, we had these things called rat guards. They’re like these metal sheets you secure around the ropes to keep rats from climbing up onto the ship.”

  “Ewww,” she crinkles her nose again and I can’t help but smile.

  “Yeah, so in my drunken state, I forgot they were there and I got all tangled up in it. I’m trying to climb over this thing but just got twisted in the ropes and the line and am yelling for help when this huge spotlight shines in my face and the ship security guys rush over to me thinking I’m some kind of psycho intruder or worse.”

  “Oh my God, what happened?” She laughs loudly.

  “I fell in the water. Plop!” I hit the table dramatically. “My shipmates had to pull my drunk ass out of there and so I got pulled into the Captain’s cabin, soaking wet, hammered and freezing trying to plead my case.”

  “Did you get charged or whatever?” Skylar seems to forget she’s even got a beer, all of her focus in on me. I can’t say I mind one bit.

  “Oh yeah. But the best part was I earned a nickname that night that stuck with me for the rest of my time in,” I smirk.

  “What?”

  “Rat’s nest,” I admit. “And when I say it was my nickname I mean that’s all anyone called me. Like from my buddies to the Captain, it just stuck. So I always got to remember my most humiliating moment for the rest of my time in the Navy,” I chuckle.