Rebel Ink

by Laura Wright

  I grin, then turn back to my tray.

  “Maybe you need to schedule your three-ways at six p.m.” Rush continues. “Like, right after the early bird special.”

  “Maybe.”

  “I know this ain’t all about getting laid.”

  “I’m having fun. Remember that? Fun?” I glance over my shoulder. “Don’t hate on us single dudes, Merrick. Not my fault you’re stuck fucking the same skirt every night.”

  His jaw gets tight, and my grin widens.

  “You’re such an ass,” he says.

  Oh, tell me something I don’t know. “And you’re running on a clock now that you’re married and shit.”

  “I’m not married. Yet.”

  “Whatever. This ain’t no brokerage firm, Merrick. No nine-to-five, working lunches bullshit.” I run a hand through my silver-tipped fauxhawk. Maybe it’s time for a shave. “I may miss one of your precious meetings from time to time because, fuck, who wouldn’t? But I never leave a client waiting.”

  I can feel him staring at me. Like, shooting fire daggers into my back. Into one of the pieces he inked. I think he’s taking it all in, wanting to believe what I say—all the three-way boasting—cuz he knows what a whore I am…but he’s not entirely there. And I need him to believe me. Actually, what I need is him to fuck the hell off and let me deal with my…shit…in my own way.

  Fucking women. Lots of women.

  Satisfies the body and numbs the mind.

  Well, it used to.

  Lately…

  I finish mixing my black and gray—start cleaning my tat gun. “I got La Salle coming in five minutes. Lots of shit to prepare. So either fire my ass or get the fuck out and let me do my job.”

  I give him five seconds to speak before I flip on HAVOK and turn the speakers up to deaf.

  “How long are you going to not talk to me?” Addy asks as around us the sky is a perfect blue and the landscape is nothing but desert. “I mean, no pressure or anything. I’m just curious. Like…rough estimate?”

  Once again, I palm my iPhone and type. Then I lift it up and turn it for her to read: Bring me back to Santa Barbara, whore! Now!

  “Sorry,” she says. “No can do. Besides, we’re thirty minutes from home.”

  I huff. She’s bonkers. Again I type: Not my home!

  “For the next few days it will be.” She glances over at me, tosses me one of her serious looks. She’s been doing that a lot lately. “You need this, Lis.”

  What you’re doing is illegal!

  She snorts. “How do you figure?”

  BRIDENAPPING, BITCH! Then I emphasize this with an open-mouthed ‘Seriously!’ stare.

  “So, like, you’ll have me arrested if we stop?” She turns back to the road, grinning. “Or if a cop pulls us over?”

  With a groan of irritation, I give up. The typing is becoming totes tedious, and well, I’m just a talker by nature. I’m too into inflections and air quotes to be suppressed in this way. I turn my body toward her and try to reason. “I have a hundred things to do, Addy. The wedding is five days away. What exactly are you playing at?”

  “Your wedding to Buttons.” It’s all she says. Still staring at the road.

  RUDE.

  “Okay, don’t call him that,” I say.

  “You called him that. As well as ‘The Tongue,’ ‘Life Stealer,’ and ‘Wouldn’t Know What To Do With A Vagina If It Was Staring Him In The Face.’”

  My jaw gets all tight and I turn to face the road too. “That was months and months ago. Before I really got to know him.”

  “So he knows what to do with a vagina now?”

  “You’re gross.”

  “And you can’t be serious about this. About him!”

  “He’s a good man, Addy. Zero drama. You just refuse to see that because he’s simple and uncomplicated and doesn’t have tattoos and wear all black.”

  She snorts. “Oh, yeah, that’s why I don’t see it.”

  “This is not cool, bestie.” I turn and look at her. She’s hurting my feelings now. Not just because she’s insulting the man I’m about to marry, but because she should have my back—no matter what. “This is why I’ve eased up on the texting and the visiting, just FYI. I’m tired of your negativity.”

  She doesn’t back down. I’m a little surprised, but I guess this is the new and kickass Addison now. “Not because you don’t want to face the fact that you invited me without a plus one?”

  “Oh my god,” I say with real frustration. How many times can we go over this? Seriously? “That was not my decision and you know it. My parents took care of the invite list.” Along with everything else.

  Suddenly, she jerks the wheel to the right. I gasp and grip the door handle. She pulls up along the side of the freaking freeway and stops. Just stops. Idles.

  I turn to stare at her. “Well this isn’t dangerous or anything.”

  “Do you actually hear yourself, Lis?” she says, eyes narrowed. “Not your decision?”

  “What I mean is that they’re paying—“

  “On who you get to invite to YOUR wedding? And since when has anything not been your decision? I mean, what the hell? Rush is my fiancé. And I’m your best friend. Or I used to be.”

  “This has nothing to do with you and me. My parents—”

  “Oh my god! What have you become?”

  I turn and face the front, cross my arms over my chest. “A prisoner, apparently.” I don’t want to hear anymore. It’s starting to really get to me.

  “Well, I’m not the one who made you that way. It’s like an alien has taken over your body. First with Buttons—”

  “Stop calling him that. He’s going to be my husband!”

  She slaps the steering wheel. “You thought he was a total goof. White bread served up by your parents. Now you’re marrying him, settling in Montecito a few mansions down from your parents. Hey—and your parents. They’re calling all the shots.”

  “Again, they’re paying, Addy. They get to call all the shots.”

  “This is your wedding!” she shouts. “Your day! Your choice! Your life!”

  “No, it’s not!” I shout back. Then I freeze because I hear what I just said, and it makes me feel a little sick. It’s not like I don’t know what I’m allowing. It’s not like I don’t remember the girl I used to be in college not even a year ago—the drive and ambition and belief I had in myself. But I’ve seen what I’m capable of and what I’m not. I don’t have the thing—the gene, the whatever it is that makes a person able to stand on their own and persevere through adversity. I tried and I failed. No job except the ones that pay minimum wage, and that nearly made me homeless.

  So I quit and went running home to Mom and Dad.

  And Kevin Stanfield.

  Aka Buttons.

  He’s really a decent guy. Okay, he’s weak. Sure. But then again, so am I.

  “Listen,” I say. “If you abducted me in an attempt to reprogram my alien mind and/or get me to call off the wedding, you might as well just drop my hot ass at the nearest gas station and I’ll get home on my own. This wedding is happening. It’s what I want. I wish you could have my back, accept this, and just play along. But I’ll understand if you can’t.”

  For several long seconds, I watch Addy stare out the window as cars and semis whiz past and make the car shiver. Am I going to the gas station? Is she not going to be my maid of honor?

  Then she releases a weary breath. “Okay. Fine.”

  “Fine?” I repeat, surprised.

  She turns and nods. “But I don’t want you to go. Can you stay a couple days?” She gives me a crooked smile. “We can change the abduction to a bachelorette party.”

  The heaviness in my heart lessens. Or lightens, maybe. Whatever it is, I’m just grateful. For Addy’s acquiescence, and for a little time to spend with her. It’s been a lot of months since I’ve been here. I sit up and flip down the mirror on my visor. “Jesus Christ, this won’t do. All I have is my purse. If we’re going to do
this, I’ll need different clothes.”

  “For sure.” Addison shifts out of neutral. “You’re a hot mess in that get-up.”

  I smile at her. My best friend. “Well at least I’m hot.”

  The mess part…well, no one needs to know about that right now.

  She smiles back, then checks her mirror and hauls ass back onto the freeway.

  I’m busted. Two hours of shitty sleep after a fuck session that was supposed to get me five, then a half day spent bent over a dude’s flesh, making sure each line is up to my standards. I need to pass the hell out. But once again my phone’s blowing up. She won’t leave me alone. I’ve changed my number three times, but she keeps calling.

  I push out of my chair and stand, stretch my back. Station looks so clean you could operate in here. Sometimes it feels like I do. I grab my phone off the tray and delete the message without even listening to it because I know what it says. Same thing it’s said for the past six weeks.

  Come.

  Now.

  I need you.

  I miss you.

  Texts, emails, calls to the crib. She won’t call here, to Wicked Ink. It’s my one blessing.

  I head for the couch and fall back onto the leather, toss my arm over my eyes. Maybe it’ll happen here. Sleep, bitch. Maybe I can find a way to turn off the movie screen in my head. The horror flick. Fucking hasn’t done it. Not really. Maybe when I come. Maybe for those few seconds I’m out…

  Pussy. What the fuck’s wrong with you that you can’t just pass the hell out?

  I rip my arm away and stare at the ceiling.

  I hear Janie’s voice in the reception area. It’s all high and girly, which isn’t her thing at all. She’s a pretty tough chick. Like, the kind who can hang with guys like me and not faint or run or want to bone me. Not that I didn’t think about it when she first came here. But then, you know, we made friends.

  Her laughter snakes under my door. What the fuck? Maybe it’s a dude she’s hot for. One of those rockers who wait for-freaking-ever on her list just to get under her.

  Her needle, that is.

  With a grunt and a fuck me, I sit up and get my ass off the couch. No nap for poor little Vincent. Clearly he needs another full night of shagging. With three skirts instead of two. Go long or go home.

  And then don’t sleep. Again.

  I bust out my door. I’m curious who Janie’s talking up, but I also need coffee. Like a full pot, grounds included. I have one more ‘operation’ today. A cover-up—and I don’t fuck around with that shit.

  “Hey, Vincent.”

  Oh. It’s only Addison. The ball and the chain.

  But then I hold on a second…cuz no, it’s not just the BC, it’s also the B—Blondie. And the Pain in my A. And the very hot T’s. And the one chick in this world who has actually said no to me.

  Much respect, yo.

  “You remember Lisa,” Addison says.

  “Sure, I remember.” I stop near the group of three chicks and look the blond one up and down. She’s wearing sweats, a robe, and—good goddamn I hate these things—Ugg-ly boots. It’s like wearing two dirty sheep on your feet. “What the hell happened to you?”

  I expect her to go all shocked and disgusted at my obvious insult. But she smiles kinda like she feels sorry for me. “Ah, yes, Vincent. Such a gentleman.”

  “He’s just tired,” Addy explains. “Rush said he’s out gutter trolling all night long.”

  Janie regards me with curiosity. “But he’s always done that.” She cocks her head. “What’s wrong, pumpkin? What can sissy Janie do to help?”

  “Fuck you, Red,” I grind out, and she laughs. Then I turn back to Addison and give her the death stare—which never works. “Rush shouldn’t be talking to you about me at all, BC.”

  “BC?” Lisa looks at Addison.

  “Ball and Chain,” Addison provides. “It’s his pet name for me.”

  “Awww, that’s so sweet,” Lisa says.

  Addison smiles. “I know, right?”

  I wonder why I’m still standing here. Like, seriously, numbnuts, go get your flippin’ coffee already. And yet, I don’t move. Can’t help myself. I’m curious why Blondie’s back here after all this time. Been nearly a year since that Cali graduation Rush dragged my ass to. And why’s she dressed for bed—well, the bed of a chick who’s pretty much given up and married her cat. For fuck’s sake, it’s like three o’clock in the afternoon.

  “Are you guys going shopping?” Janie asks them.

  “Definitely,” Lisa says. “I can’t be seen like this for much longer.”

  “You ain’t kiddin’,” I say. At least she recognizes there’s a problem. That is step one.

  “Vincent, dearest,” Janie coos, casting me a stop-fucking-with-this-chick smile. “Perhaps you have things to do?”

  “No. I’m good.”

  Lisa rolls her eyes. Oh, yeah. I remember the eye roll. She does that same thing when you ask her to join you and another chick in the sack. It’s real turn-on. Not.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Janie asks them.

  “I don’t know for sure,” Addison tells her. “Strip club? Dance club?”

  “Sex club?” I offer.

  Janie looks like she wants to clock me. “Zip the lip, V.”

  Speaking of lips, Lisa’s top one is curled to the max. As in pissed off. The thing’d look good pierced. I remember thinking that the first time we met. Both the top and bottom are real nice and full. Would take a metal ring easy, and sexy.

  “This all sounds kind of shady,” I remark. I’m just so damn comfortable where I am. “What are you two doing anyway? And does PW know about this?”

  Lisa sighs. “I don’t want to ask. Really, I don’t. I should just ignore it. And yet…”

  “PW is Pussy Whipped,” Addison supplies.

  “Ah. Of course.”

  “But he is, though,” Vincent says. “Right, Blondie? I mean, you see it too?”

  She ignores me. “How about dancing? Since Janie’s busy tonight, the party will just be the two of us, but that’s okay. It’ll be like old times.”

  Addison smiles so damn sweetly at her sad sack of a friend it hurts my teeth. “I wish we could get your other friends from the SB here.”

  “It’s fine.” Lisa digs in her purse and takes out her cell. “They’re barely friends, anyway. They’re actually Kevin’s friends, to be honest.”

  “Who’s Kevin?” I catch myself asking. Why I should give a shit about any of this malarkey is beyond me, but it’s already out my gob, so…

  She’s typing something on her iPhone. When she’s done, she looks up at me. “If you must know, he’s my fiancé.”

  Yeah. Sounds about right. You know, she’s like twenty-one. Genius time to legally bind yourself to someone. “So, you’re getting married?”

  “That’s usually what you do with a fiancé,” she returns with some attitude.

  Hmm. I like this Lisa. I could even get past the sweatpants if this Lisa was on the menu. Course, the Ugg-lies would have to go. Like, permanently.

  “In five days,” Addison tells me.

  Five… Well, shit. That’s done. Off the menu.

  Rush and his client are just leaving his room. Brother’s got a pretty significant Band-Aid on his shoulder. Wonder what the boss laid down on him. Looks like a dragon or a tiger kind of bloke. They say a quick goodbye and then Rush hightails it over to Addison and snakes an arm around her waist.

  “Hey, baby. I missed you in my bed this morning.” While I upchuck in my mouth a little, his lips go to her ear and he kisses her. Then he spots Lisa and grins. “So. The abduction took place.” He squeezes Addison and she gasps. “My sexy little lawbreaker.”

  She glances over her shoulder at him and gives him a smile I’ve never seen. Clearly it’s reserved only for the boss man. And that’s A-OK.

  “I still have the cuffs,” she says. “She didn’t require them.”

  He grins. “Well fuck, I do. Tonight.”
<
br />   “No can do, sir.” She pretends to look sad. Or is that a pout?

  Shit, I shouldn’t be looking. Or caring.

  “Tonight is Lisa’s bachelorette party. We’re about to go shopping for our super-slutty outfits right now.”

  Oh! There it is. I knew I was sticking around for something. “Tell me about these outfits?” I say, leaning against the recep desk, like I ain’t going nowhere.

  Addison laughs. “Nothing as hardcore as the gutter rats you’re used to, Vincent.”

  I turn to glare at Merrick. “What the fuck you been telling your girl, man?”

  “Just the truth as I see it,” he responds, though his eyes and attention are totally focused on Addison.

  “We should go,” she says to him, then lifts her chin. “Kiss me.”

  As Rush obliges, pulling her into his arms and getting right to the sucking face, Lisa glances my way. She nods.

  “Vincent.”

  “Blondie.”

  She presses her lips together. “So not nice seeing you again.” Then she turns and heads for the front door.

  I shake my head as I watch her go. She’s still such a smartass. And she still doesn’t like me. Oh, damn…why do I find that so fucking hot? Smartass and hatred: clearly two of my favorite qualities in a chick. Plus the being hot and having big tits. And a tight ass, of course.

  As I push away from the recep desk that Janie is now behind, running over her schedule on the computer, Rush and Addison practically fuck each other right there on the floor. Hands groping, mouths working. Thank Christ she pulls away before the clothes start coming off. I enjoy a good show from time to time, but watching my friend and his BC get it on in the middle of Wicked…nope. Pass.

  “You got it bad, man,” I tell him as Addison follows Lisa out of the shop.

  Rush adjusts his denim. “No. What I got is a hard fucking cock.”

  This makes me laugh. “So. Come out with me tonight,” I suggest. “I’ll make sure you get that taken care of.”