by Rebel Farris
I freeze. A cold chill seeping into my bones. I turn to face him; we all do.
“That was her name,” he adds with a wide grin. “The chick from the band on your tattoo.”
I nod in reply.
“Yeah, something like that,” Dex replies. He turns back to face me.
I school my features to hide my panic.
“What’re you doing Friday night?” Holly asks.
I stomp on her foot.
“Ouch, bitch!”
“Don’t mind her. She has a mild form of Tourette’s.” I plaster on a smile. “See you later,” I say as I grab Holly’s arm and shove her toward the door. She cackles wildly.
When we make it to the car, Holly lets loose.
“I don’t get you one bit, woman. You should’ve invited him to your birthday party. What would it hurt? It was obvious that that guy had your panties drenched, and I haven’t seen you look at anyone like that in a reeeeeeeeeally long time.” She shakes her head at me.
“Because, Holly, I’m not even remotely interested in starting any kind of relationship, even something casual. You know that perfectly well. He just makes me… uncomfortable.” I glance back to the tattoo shop but only see the reflection of my car in the windows.
“Does he make you uncomfortable? Or does he get you all hot and bothered, dreamin’ about when you’re like Oh God, Dex. That’s it right there. Faster. Harder. Ooooooh,” she says in a mimicking voice while humping the air in front of her and rubbing her hands over her breasts.
“Oh my God, I’m cutting you off from caffeine for the rest of the day,” I say, covering half my face with my hand.
A guy walking by catches sight of her and almost face-plants into the sidewalk, tripping over the curb.
I bite down on my lip to hold back my laughter because I want to be mad at her, but I just can’t. I burst out laughing as the almost-face-planter adjusts himself before going into the tattoo shop. I put the car in reverse to leave when Holly throws her hand toward my chest.
“Fuck! I forgot my phone. Be right back.” She’s out of the car and in the shop before I can fully process what she just said. She comes out looking at her phone and typing something into it. She climbs in. “Let’s hit it, bitch, or we’re gonna be late for practice.” I scan the parking lot again, and still there’s nothing. See, it was just nerves.
Then
I was looking at the ground, mentally cursing myself when I ran smack into Nic in the doorway. His arm swept around my waist, crushing me to him.
“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you,” Nic whispered to me, his full lips brushing against my ear.
Whoa.
The thing about Nic was that he was a harmless flirt. Well, with me anyway. Gorgeous as he was, with his stylishly messy hair and moss-green eyes, he was a bit of a man-whore. I was pretty sure he’d slept with nearly every girl at our school and some from neighboring towns. Leaving a trail of angry deflowered girls in his wake, he was the likely cause of Lisa being my only girlfriend. He faithfully reminded me that I was the only one of the Three Amigos with boobs through shameless flirting, though he was never serious about it.
“I think maybe you’ve had a few too many, Lucky.” I grasped his dark brown mop of hair and pulled so I could see his face.
“Neddie,” he said, giving me his signature, panty-melting half smirk. “I was looking for you. You want to go out tomorrow night?”
“Yeah? Where are we going?”
“I don’t know, dinner… a movie. I didn’t think that far into it.” He shrugged. “Whatever you consider the perfect date.”
I froze. “Date? What on earth are you talking about? For one, you don’t date. Two, I’m—”
He grinned at me shamelessly. “You’re right. I just figured since you and that dicknugget broke up, you might need a good distraction.”
I stepped out of his embrace. “Broke up? What are you talking about?”
“Yeah, Lisa told me when I saw them going in—” He stopped abruptly, biting his lower lip. He stiffened as his green eyes widened and darted around.
“Going in where?” Anger started boiling in my veins. I knew I wasn’t going to like the answer. “Going in where, Nic?” I said again through clenched teeth.
“Shit,” he said, running his fingers through his hair.
I pushed past him and stormed through the house searching for either Lisa or Brad. After clearing the first floor, I stomped halfway up the stairs until Evan wrapped an arm around my waist, hauling me back against him. I looked over his shoulder and saw Nic behind him.
“Don’t, Maddie,” Evan warned.
“No, Evan. I want to see. I don’t want to leave them room for excuses or lies. Either of them.”
My face was heated, and my hands curled into fists. I pushed Evan’s arm from me and stormed down the hall. It had to be one of the bedrooms.
I opened the door, and there was my best friend with her ass in the air, her face smashed into a pillow moaning, while my boyfriend pounded away at her from behind.
Wow!
I vaguely registered the “Oh, shit” coming from Nic.
As I stared at the train wreck that was my life, I felt oddly numb. I thought maybe I loved Brad, but I didn’t feel jealousy. No, what made my stomach twist into knots and the ache build in my chest was Lisa. Uncontrollable, hysterical laughter bubbled up in my throat.
Brad’s head whipped to the side, and his eyes widened in shock. He jumped back like he was touching a hot frying pan and covered himself while frantically searching for his jeans.
“Baby, it’s not—” I hated that he called me baby. It was gross and so unoriginal.
“It’s not what?” I said bitterly. “What it looks like?”
Lisa flipped over and pulled the blanket over herself.
“How could yo—?” I said to Lisa, my voice catching on a sob in my throat.
“Oh please, you’re only with him because you’re selfish. You just want to keep him away from anyone who actually wants him. Don’t get all high-and-mighty about it.”
“I’m not… Lisa. It doesn’t hurt that he did this.” Tears welled in my eyes.
Evan hauled me back against him and turned us toward the stairs. I could hear Nic yelling something, and Evan was talking to me, but none of it was registering. I just couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t breathe. It felt like someone had put my heart in a vice. Ten years of friendship, thrown away for a cheap fuck at a party. Oh, my God. I pulled away from Evan and bolted down the stairs. I had to get out. I couldn’t face anyone after this. I wasn’t going to let them see me cry because they’d assume it was over Brad fucking Boyd.
I lost my footing on the last few steps, my vision going blurry from the tears building in my eyes. I would’ve fallen flat on my face if not for a strong arm that caught me. I couldn’t see who it was and didn’t stick around to find out. I turned and bolted out the front door, running down the street, around the corner to the end of the parked cars. I landed in the grass on my knees as the dam broke and tears poured down my face.
After I’d calmed down enough to speak clearly, I called my mom.
“Of course I’ll come get you. Just let me put my shoes on. I’ll be right there.”
“Thanks, Mom. Love you.” I disconnected the call and sat down in the grass to wait for her, alone.
Now
I’m sitting at a stoplight. It feels like all traffic lights have declared war on me and are determined to stop me every chance they get. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and look at the time. My appointment with Dex to go over the sketches was five minutes ago. Dammit! I hate being late. I slam the heel of my hand into the wheel and shout at the light to hurry the fuck up already.
I pull into the parking lot of the coffee shop ten minutes late. By the grace of God, there’s a parking spot up front, next to a matte-black Harley with chrome trim. I almost knock the bike over backing out of my car because my st
iletto heel got caught in a crack in the pavement.
I’m a mess. A literal freaking mess. Maybe I need to get laid. Four years is a long time… No, not a good line of thinking when heading in to face Dex.
Just imagining his face if I pulled out that stupid contract my personal assistant, Chloe, forced into my hand this morning makes me laugh. Holly had given Chloe and Bridget, the head of legal at my company, the lowdown on the tattoo artist, and now I have a legal contract to start a relationship. He’d probably run away at breakneck speed, screaming. The mental image makes me laugh. What kind of woman makes you sign a nondisclosure agreement to sleep with her? I’d assume one that’s nothing but trouble, that’s what.
I smooth down my pencil skirt before opening the door. It’s a business-wear day, thanks to several high-level meetings, and my hair is up in a neatly coiffed french twist. I’ve got my power suit on, and I’m hoping I didn’t just scratch the heel of my Louboutin. Yes, in business I wear my money. I worked hard to create a successful record label and want to project the hard-earned respect when I enter a room.
Fortunately, it’s not often that I have to dress like this. I try to lump meetings on the same day. Not that this kind of clothing is uncomfortable, but I’ve always been a jeans and T-shirt girl. The only real treat to business days is the lingerie. Lace, garter belts, and stockings have a magical effect on a girl’s confidence. Well, at least mine. I can pretend to be a sex kitten, even if I’m more the schoolmarm type these days.
Before I can even reach for the door, it swings open and a young guy wearing a T-shirt from my nearby alma mater holds it for me. He whistles low as I pass. I shake my head, purposefully striding past him to the counter to order my tea. I hate coffee—never understood how people could consume that crap, but I do envy their ability to borrow copious amounts of energy from a drink.
I order a black tea with honey from the girl behind the counter and search my purse for my wallet, then remember it fell out of my purse when I slammed on my brakes after being cut off on the way over here. Mess confirmed again. I pinch the bridge of my nose.
“I’m sorry, I just have to run out to my car and get my wallet real quick. Can you go ahead and make it, though? I’m supposed to meet someone here, and I’m already late.”
The poor girl looks apologetic. “I’m sorry, ma’am—”
“It’s okay. I got it,” says a deep voice over my shoulder. “Coffee, black.”
The hairs on my arms stand on end. I know that voice, but I’m afraid to turn around; he sounds like he’s standing close behind me. He tosses cash on the counter and waves a hand at the girl when she asks if he wants his change.
“Meeting someone?” he asks. “Wouldn’t by chance happen to be a boyfriend? Or someone you're considering getting to know a little better?”
Oh God, Dex hasn’t recognized me, and he’s hitting on me?
Awesome.
“Umm… no. And I’m not interested in having a boyfriend or getting to know anyone better.”
“That’s too bad. You should give the poor guy a chance.”
I spin around to face him, forgetting just how close he is. “Why do you—” I lose my balance and start to tip over, and he grabs my hips, pulling my body against his to steady me. When I look into his eyes, he has a half smirk, half pout on his face, which is adorable and dangerous. He knew it was me and was flirting with me. I already forgot what I was asking. How does he scramble my brain like that? My body flares with heat as I become aware of his body pressed against mine.
This is not the right time. This is not the right person. I need to get my shit together.
I step away from him so he can no longer touch me.
Dex grabs our drinks from the counter. “After you,” he drawls and motions to the tables.
After removing my blazer and hanging it from the back of a chair, I drop into the seat as he sits across from me. He looks me over, focusing on the gold cuff bracelet that covers my first tattoo.
“Are you sure you want to do this? Ink isn’t for everybody, and this’s a big piece.”
“Don’t assume that you know the first thing about me,” I snap. I dig the rubber band out from underneath the bracelet and snap it. I can actually feel it as it hits the days-old tattoo. I take a deep breath, “I’m sorry. I’m taking my frustration over something else out on you. Rough day and all that.”
His eyes widen briefly, and some unreadable emotion passes through them.
“I’d like to. Get to know you,” Dex says, and a half smile grows on his face, revealing one of his adorable dimples.
I laugh at myself. Adorable—the guy is about six and a half feet, built like some type of fighter, and covered in most visible places with tats. I’m sure that screams adorable to most sane people.
When I finally snap to, I realize I’m leaning toward him over the table. I’m not sure how that happened. He’s like a magnet, and I’m a pile of metal filings. Parts of me tremble before letting go and succumbing to the attraction. If I get too close for too long, I’ll be all over him. I shake my head as I lean back.
“That’s not a good idea.”
“I’m beginning to like bad ideas,” he says, leaning across the table to recapture the distance. His smile grows to full-blown, and I have to close my eyes.
“Do you have the sketch?” I ask. I need a distraction, now.
I peek open one eye to find him pulling a sketch pad out of a leather bag on the floor next to his chair. With his eyes off me, I feel like I can breathe easier. It doesn’t last long. He opens his sketch pad and places it in front of me. He rises and pulls his chair next to mine and sits so close our arms press together.
Doesn’t he realize what this does to me and that it has to stop?
“I did two. One in black and gray, and another in full color. I forgot to ask which you’d prefer… We can change the colors if you don’t like them.”
He almost sounds nervous. I turn to him, and he's gnawing on his full lower lip. Color me fucking surprised. He is nervous. One corner of my mouth twitches up into a tiny smile at the thought.
I flip back and forth between the two images. They steal my breath. The tattoo is three calla lilies wrapped up in an intricate knotwork of thorny vines. Each thorn has blood dripping from it, and the blood drops transform into music notes that spin around the flowers and vines in random patterns. The way he drew it, you can almost see the movement of the notes. One would think that the color would be more beautiful simply because it was colorful, but the depth and beauty of the detailed shading in the black and gray is equally amazing. He took my simple ideas and made them a work of art. It’s beautiful, though beautiful isn’t an adequate word here. It’s perfect. I feel a lump forming in my throat and squeeze my eyes shut before I make a fool of myself.
Dex clears his throat. “If you don’t like it, I can come up with something else.”
My lids fly open, and I try to see through watery eyes. Here I am, moved to tears, and he’s taking my silence as a rejection. Something about that gets to me. I blink several times to clear my vision.
“No—no, I love it,” I try to say, but my voice is gravelly with emotion. His shoulders visibly relax. I clear my throat. “I know what it feels like to put your heart on display to the public through your work, so thank you. It’s perfect.” I'm not sure why I just said that.
Dex stares at me without blinking, his eyes roaming over my face. Silent. I should’ve just kept my big mouth shut.
I turn my attention back to the drawings and ask, “Can we do the black-and-gray one, because I like all these areas of shading and the lines here, but make the center calla lily and maybe the blood drops red like you have in the color?”
“That’s what I pictured in my head when I drew this up. I just went with showing you the two opposing views to give you options. I think it'll look great.”
“Awesome.” I close the sketchbook and move to stand. “Well, I won’t wast
e any more of your time. I’m sure you have plenty of clients that need their consultations or work done, too.”
He places his hand gently on my arm, halting my movement. “It’s pretty rare that someone puts this much of themselves into a tattoo. I don’t usually meet with anyone outside the shop. You’re an exception to the rule. Can I ask you a question?”
“Yeah, shoot,” I reply without hesitation.
“Why the calla lily? You know in most cultures it’s called the death flower, right?”
“You can’t ask that one. I’ll have my assistant call and schedule the appointment. I’ll see you then.” This time when I stand, he doesn’t move to stop me. Instead, he stands, too.
“Wait, can I see you again?” he asks.
I start to respond that I’ll see him when we do the tattoo, but he raises a hand.
“Not just when you come in for your appointment.”
He’s biting his lower lip again, but he’s looking straight at me. He’s nervous but still not intimidated. I like that. I just can’t imagine asking him to sign the contracts, and Bridget’s right that I need them since any idiot could pull my family and me back into the spotlight with a juicy bit to the paparazzi. Not to mention jeopardizing all that I’ve built at Mad Lane Records.
“I already told you that’s not a good idea,” I say as I turn and start walking toward the door.
He matches my pace and holds the door open for me, leaning in to whisper as I pass him. “It’s an excellent idea.”
I can’t help but grin at his persistence. “I’m sorry, Dex. You seem like a nice enough guy, but I don’t date. And I don’t mix stuff… like business and pleasure, so whatever you’re looking for, it’s not me.”
He turns to a couple around our age walking toward us from the parking lot.
“She says I’m a nice enough guy,” he directs to the guy.
“Ouch,” the guy responds. “That’s rough, bro.”
Dex turns back to me with a dimpled smile. He leans in close to my ear as we keep walking toward my car. “That’s definitely a first for me.”
I arch a brow at him in question.