Cover Up

by L. A. Witt

  “I can’t imagine you being a disappointment.”

  “Get enough booze in me, and . . . yeah. It can happen.”

  “Eh, I don’t think anyone’s immune to whiskey dick.”

  “Probably not. And anyhow, I think that’s God’s way of saying ‘you are too shitfaced to do this person right, so now you don’t get to do them at all.’”

  Nate laughed. “That sounds about right.” He pressed a light kiss to Lucas’s lips. “Good thing we met when we were both sober.”

  “No kidding.” Lucas draped an arm over Nate’s waist. “Especially so we don’t pass out after one round.”

  “Or two. Remember, you might be in your twenties, but I haven’t been for . . . a while.” He smoothed Lucas’s hair. “Can’t promise another round like that quite yet.”

  Lucas laughed. “I’m not worried about it. I can still feel the last one, so we’re good.”

  “Good. That said . . .” Nate drew a finger along the edge of Lucas’s jaw. “Even if I don’t have it in me to get it up again, that doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you.”

  Lucas shivered, sweeping his tongue across his lips. “You tell me you’ll blow me like that again, you might have to take care of me sooner than later.”

  “Well, in that case . . .”

  Chapter 6

  The sketch was driving Lucas crazy.

  His concentration was shot thanks to Nate, but his confidence still wasn’t doing so great, either. That part had nothing to do with the hot pilot. The way his mind kept wandering back to the best first-person porno imaginable? Yeah. That was Nate’s fault. The aches and fatigue had been because of him too, but those were long gone now.

  A week had passed since the night Lucas had spent in Nate’s bed, and it was still at the forefront of his brain. When he worked in the tattoo shop, like now, it wasn’t so bad. He could handle doing the random bitch tasks that always got assigned to an apprentice—cleaning, inventorying, stocking. Sketching and tattooing . . . well, he still struggled with those, but that predated Nate. It was just worse now that he had both Nate and his own nagging professional insecurities to scramble his brain.

  He wasn’t surprised that he was this hung up on Nate. One-night stand or not, Nate had been the first decent lay he’d had in way too long. Of course he was hooked and wanted more.

  Being the idiot he was, though, he hadn’t thought to get Nate’s fucking phone number before they’d gone their separate ways. The only way anything else was happening between them was if Nate came into the shop. Or called the number on Lucas’s card.

  Lucas supposed he could get in touch with Nate through Matt and his boyfriend, but that smacked a little too much of kids passing notes in school. No, he’d be patient. If Nate wanted anything from him—ink or ass—he knew where to find him.

  In the meantime, it didn’t hurt to make some headway on Nate’s tattoo design, in case he did come back. Nate still hadn’t figured out what he wanted to cover the old one—at least, not that he’d said—but Lucas thought a few sketches might help him brainstorm. For the moment, he was trying some abstract designs in various tribal and Celtic styles.

  After he’d finished one, he peeled the tracing paper off the photocopy of the tiger, then prepared to tape another piece in its place. Before he smoothed the thin paper over the top, he paused to look at the original. It really was a shame to cover up such a gorgeous tattoo. Even on a grayscale photocopy, the lines were crisp and the shading was excellent. In person, he’d wanted to just stare at the smooth, flawless shading, especially where the rich orange gradually faded into off-white.

  Movement caught his attention, and he looked up as Colin came into the back with his gym bag slung over his shoulder.

  “Hey,” Colin said. “How’s it going?”

  “Not bad. Good workout?”

  “Brutal, as always.” Colin smiled as he dropped his gym bag on the counter. “So yeah, good.”

  Lucas chuckled. “That girl is mean.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “You’re a better man than I am.” Colin’s personal trainer, Amanda, had one hell of a reputation. Lucas had had a few sessions with her but ended up going with one of the other guys. His trainer was built like a brick shithouse and was hardly kind and gentle, but he didn’t have Lucas begging for sweet death, like Amanda had.

  Colin tapped the edge of Lucas’s sketchbook. “How’s this going?”

  “Um.” Lucas glanced over his design, which hadn’t really progressed much thanks to his mind flipping the channel back to the 24-hour Nate-and-Lucas Porn Network.

  Colin studied him for a long moment. “I think maybe we should talk about what happened.”

  “About—” Lucas blinked, heat rushing into his face. “Huh?”

  “I mean, especially if you’re still having such a hard time with it.”

  The pieces clicked together. Colin hadn’t been talking about Lucas hooking up with Nate. He meant the tattoo he’d fucked up.

  The reminder of that mortifying disaster made Lucas’s heart sink. He put his pencil down and sighed. “Why wouldn’t I have a hard time? I just . . . I can’t believe I did that.”

  “You screwed up a tattoo.” Colin shrugged. “We’ve all done it. Trust me when I say it won’t be the last one.”

  Lucas shuddered. “Great.” He pushed his sketchbook away like a meal that had suddenly become unappetizing. “Maybe I’m in the wrong line of work, then.”

  “No, you’re not. Not at all.”

  “But if screwing up comes with the territory, and that means screwing up something a person will have to wear forever—”

  “Forever if they don’t find an artist who’s exceptional at cover-ups.” Colin inclined his head. “Haven’t you fixed enough botched tattoos to know you’re not the only one?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to be one of those jackasses.”

  “You’re not. That’s just it—you made a mistake because you’re human, and you’re kicking yourself about it because you’re a perfectionist. Most of us would’ve killed for a portfolio as good as yours when we were apprentices.”

  Lucas swallowed. “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. You’re good. You’re really good. You wouldn’t be working in my shop if you weren’t.” Colin paused, forehead creasing. “In fact, I feel kind of guilty still having you as an apprentice. You’re too good for that.”

  “I think I’m good with keeping the title for a while longer,” Lucas said quietly.

  “It’s up to you. And, I mean, I won’t lie—having someone here to guide has been a godsend for me, too.”

  Lucas raised his eyebrows. “Really?”

  “Oh yeah. With Daniel deployed, teaching you gives me something to focus on.” A sort-of-shy smile played at Colin’s lips. “So, you know, I’m not in any hurry to chase you out of here.”

  Oddly, that made Lucas feel a bit better. He knew apprentices were supposed to be inexperienced, and everyone screwed up in their early stages, but it hadn’t occurred to him that their arrangement benefited both of them.

  “Anyway, keep at it, okay?” Colin gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You just need to be patient and get your confidence back. But don’t give up on this.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Good.” Colin started to go, but paused. “For what it’s worth, the first time I fucked up a tattoo, it was half a year before I could work on another one without thinking about it. It doesn’t mean you’re a failed artist, just that you genuinely care about doing it right.”

  Lucas nodded. That actually did make him feel better. Colin was one of the most talented artists he’d ever met. It was no accident that Lucas had come to him for an apprenticeship after his previous mentor had retired. And Lucas knew Colin struggled with depression and shit like that—if he could come out on the other side after a mistake torpedoed his confidence, then so could Lucas.

  “Thanks for the pep talk.” He tugged the sketchbook back toward h
im. “And I guess I’d get further with this design if I knew what the guy actually wanted?”

  Colin cocked his head.

  Lucas sighed. “He knows he wants a cover-up.” Holding up the tracing, he added, “Just doesn’t know what he wants over the top of it.”

  “Wow, that’s . . .” Colin took the tracing and looked it over. “Shame to cover that thing up.”

  “I know, right? But I guess it’s got some bad juju attached to it.”

  “Because that never happens.” Colin handed back the design. “And he has no idea what to cover it with?”

  “No, but I figured I’d put together some abstract stuff. A few Celtic knots and maybe some tribal designs. See if that at least gives him some ideas.”

  “Good plan.” Colin nodded. Gingerly rolling his shoulders, he glanced toward the front of the shop. “Well, my next appointment should be here soon. I’d better get my station ready. Oh, and by the way, let me know when you’ve got your other work schedules for next week.”

  Lucas nodded. “I should have them tomorrow. For both jobs.”

  “Perfect.”

  Colin left him to his sketching, and Lucas glanced at the dry-erase calendar on the wall. The other guys were logging appointments left and right these days. Matt’s dry spell was definitely over—the dude had customs booked six of the next eight days. He was triple-booked on one of those days.

  Hopefully Lucas’s name would soon show up on that schedule. Once his name got out there and his confidence was back and the planets aligned and . . . yeah. He really needed to step up his game.

  There was also that tricky balance between wanting to spend more time here—and thus be available for walk-ins—and needing the paycheck and benefits from his other jobs. As much as he hated the place, he really hoped the tech-support call-center hadn’t cut his hours again.

  Well, he’d deal with that when he got to it. Hunching over his design again, he started sketching some basic curves and lines over the tiger, pulling its stripes into thicker ones so they’d disappear into the final design.

  As he drew, he let his mind shift to Nate again. It was a hell of a lot more pleasant than licking his wounded ego.

  The other night had been the first time he’d met Nate but hardly the first time he’d heard his name. Or his story, for that matter. Though the guys weren’t exactly gossips, there’d been a few rumblings about Nate and his messy divorce. Even before they’d met, Lucas knew some of the basic details, like that the ex-husband had cheated.

  That blew his mind. Like, seriously. Mind blown. What the fuck? He couldn’t imagine how someone sharing a bed with Nate would ever look for sex elsewhere. The man was talented, and insatiable, and considerate, and . . . God, he was everything Lucas had been craving in bed for ages.

  Of course he knew damn well relationships weren’t that simple. None of his had lasted more than a couple of years, including both his marriages, and they’d been crazy complicated. A relationship that had gone on for a decade before ending in catastrophe? Yeah, there was obviously more to the story. The ex hadn’t just tripped, landed dick-first in another guy’s ass, and decided to cheat. Maybe Nate was impossible to live with. Maybe their sex life had dried up after they’d been together for a few years. Maybe the ex genuinely had no idea how lucky he was.

  Lucas could only speculate. Based on what he did know, though—which amounted to what it was like to spend a night in Nate’s bed—he decided the ex-husband was a fucking tool who wouldn’t know good sex if it fell out of the sky and mushroom-stamped his forehead.

  But Nate certainly knew good sex.

  And any time you want to have some of it with me, feel free to hit me up.

  Chapter 7

  Prior to his divorce, Nate hadn’t thought it was possible to feel numb and apathetic in the cockpit of a Super Hornet. Since the day he’d busted Caleb, though, flying had done nothing for him. No thrill. No adrenaline. Nothing. He’d gone up with Jon, done his job as the radar intercept officer, and come down, all without feeling anything except the physical effects of the G-forces. More and more, he’d wondered the same thing he had about his libido—if he’d ever feel anything again.

  Now . . . holy fuck.

  Ever since the night with Lucas, flying had actually felt like flying again. The first time he’d gone up a bird hadn’t been as exhilarating as it had been the morning after Lucas. Back in the beginning, it had been a novelty. Something he was getting a taste of after he’d been dying to do it for years. Now he was getting back something he’d lost.

  Even now, a solid week later, flying was better than ever, because he’d cracked through a layer of numbness. It was like he’d been dead for ages and finally come alive again.

  As he stepped down onto the tarmac, he couldn’t get the stupid grin off his face.

  Jon eyed him and, once they were far enough from the jets to hear themselves think, said, “Someone’s in a good mood today.”

  Nate shrugged as they headed in off the flight line. “That a crime?”

  “No, but come on. Don’t bullshit me. You’ve been on autopilot ever since—” Jon hesitated. “You know what I mean.”

  Nate chuckled. “Guess I just needed someone to fuck the blues out of me.”

  Jon’s eyebrows rose. “So you did hook up with Lucas?”

  “Damn right I did.”

  “Nice.” Jon clapped his shoulder and laughed. “Isn’t he a little young for you, though?”

  “Fuck you. He’s twenty-seven.”

  “Seriously? He looks about fifteen.”

  “Oh he does not.” Nate rolled his eyes. “Maybe twenty. Twenty-one. Somewhere in there.”

  “Still a bit young for—”

  Nate gave him the finger. “Isn’t your man in his twenties, too?”

  “Well, yeah. But at least he looks—”

  “Shut up.”

  They elbowed each other playfully and laughed as they continued across the flight line.

  A pair of jets screamed past, rendering conversation impossible for a few seconds. Nate and Jon both looked up, following the birds until they disappeared past the tree line. As the sound died down again, Jon said, “So did you guys at least make some headway on your tattoo?”

  Nate shrugged. “Not really. He traced the design so he could come up with something to cover it, but I haven’t figured out what I want that cover-up to be. We, uh, didn’t get that far.”

  Jon shot him a look. “Have you . . . You haven’t been back, have you?”

  Cheeks burning, Nate shook his head. As they continued inside and headed for the locker room, he said, “I haven’t, no. I should, but . . .”

  “Yeah, you should.”

  “I know. But . . .”

  “It’s been a week. Why—”

  Their squadron leader picked just that moment to stop them in the hallway and give them a heads up about a briefing at 1530. Jon and Nate exchanged seriously? looks and rolled their eyes. Another briefing. Always fucking briefings. And there was never anything “brief” about them.

  They continued into the locker room to change into their utilities. Normally they’d just go to the briefing in their flight suits, but spring had finally decided to show up, and the day was a hot one. They’d both been sweating out on the flight line even before they’d gone up. Before he did anything else, Nate needed to get out of the sticky suit and take a shower. They could go to their briefing in camouflage—if he had to sit for an hour and listen to the CO or whoever drone on about something stupid, he might as well be comfortable.

  Jon drew his flight-suit zipper down a couple of inches and tugged at the collar of his T-shirt underneath. “So why haven’t you gone back to the shop? I thought you wanted that ink gone.”

  “I do.” Nate sighed, shrugging out of the top half of his suit. “But I . . .”

  “Man, it’s been a week.”

  “Yeah.” Avoiding his friend’s eyes, Nate leaned down to unlace his boots. “Thing is, I know if I go back, I’
m going to want to hook up again. And from what I gathered, he’s a bit of a player.”

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know. He mentioned not getting any decent ass recently and told me about several different failures to launch, and . . .” Nate toed off his boot. “I don’t know if he’s really the type to hook up with someone more than once, you know?” Off with the other boot. “God, I’ve been out of this game for so long.”

  “It’s a worth a shot, though. I mean, worst-case scenario, he says no. Right?”

  “And maybe things get really awkward, and suddenly I can’t stand to be around the one artist who thinks he can do something about this?” He motioned toward the tiger, which was partly covered by his sweaty T-shirt.

  “Hey, it was awkward as fuck with Matt when he was doing my tattoo. I tried to hit on him, and it was . . .” He whistled as he dropped onto the bench by their lockers. “Swing and a miss, let me tell you.”

  Nate laughed. “I remember that. And here I’d thought you were just blushing when I came in because you had your ass in the air.”

  Jon glared at him as he pulled a foot up onto the bench to unlace his boot. “Look, to be serious—I haven’t seen you breathing this easy since the day you busted Caleb.”

  Nate winced.

  “Going back for another hit doesn’t mean you’re proposing to him, you know?” Jon loosened his laces, then dropped his foot to the floor and brought up the other one. “And even if he’s not down for more, well . . . it isn’t like either of you proposed. You fucked. Now you’re getting a tattoo. Doesn’t have to be weird.”

  “Why do I get the feeling that’s a lot easier for you to say than it would be for me and Lucas to actually do?”

  “Might be. But it’s worth a shot. For the ink and the piece of ass.”

  Nate gnawed the inside of his cheek as he peeled off his T-shirt. He couldn’t really argue.

  Jon stood and put a hand on Nate’s shoulder. “Listen, I know the whole casual thing isn’t usually your deal. But right now, I think you deserve whatever makes you feel better than you’ve felt for the last few months. If that happens to be getting laid with someone who obviously pushes all your buttons . . . ?” He shrugged. “Well, why not?”