Omega Artist: A Hero Club Novel

by Hope Irving

  “Huh?” I put my mug down and my shoeless feet up on the glass coffee table.

  “I see what you’re doing, you know. I love you, but I don’t care about the stand-up comedians or the karaoke or any soccer player. What I do care about is what you buried in the middle of a sea of mundane information.” Uncomfortable, I run my fingers through my wavy hair and avert her gaze. My cheeks burn. “Tig, look at me.” Her hand reaches for mine and I comply. She squeezes it a little. “I don’t recall you telling anyone about Delia. It’s a huge step… Nah, it’s a major step.”

  I rub the back of my neck, suddenly feeling exposed. I stare at my empty cup, then at the cake, debating whether to take another piece to keep my mouth full. I let out a heavy sigh. The silence between us isn’t awkward. What is, though, is hearing myself admit, “The weight on my shoulders is mostly gone.” I have no reason to be embarrassed, especially with her. “It feels... good.”

  “Oh, Tig,” my friend faces me and pulls me into a hug.

  Soraya releases her hold on me, and her eyes capture mine from her place beside me on the couch. “I’m really happy for you. It’s about time you found someone that you care for.”

  “You’re right. I do care for her.” I started it, so I might as well be honest. “The thing is that she terrifies me… and I told her so.”

  “That’s funny.”

  I stiffen at her words. “Oh, is it?” My tone is unintentionally bitter.

  “If you’d let me finish…” She swallows painfully. “What I meant was it’s funny because Graham told me the same at one point… and look where it got us!”

  “I’m no Graham.”

  “And why wouldn’t my best friend deserve a second chance at love?”

  “It’s not love, Soraya. It’s lust, at most.”

  She waves her hand dismissively. “Enough…” She lets out a frustrated growl. “Like I said, it’s a major step. I didn’t think it would ever happen. I knew that you liked Alie… We all love her, by the way. Stop denying your genuine affection for her, dammit.” The elephant in the room is getting bigger by the second, but Soraya never disappoints. At once, her hand covers mine, and she straightens her posture as her eyes dart to mine. “I miss Delia every single day, Theodore.” She hasn’t called me by my given name in over a decade. Her tone is soft, but it feels like a slap in the face. “A part of us died the day Delia did.” I fidget, my front teeth worrying my lower lip. Every time I hear her utter my late wife’s name, my heart lurches. We haven’t mentioned her in so long. God, I miss Delia so fucking much! “Listen, I saw how you looked at her, but this…” Her hand lifts to cover my broken heart, and my eyes follow the movement. “It’s still beating, just like mine is. We’re alive. Delia would want us to be happy… She would want you to be happy. Look at me…” I swallow the lump in my parched throat and comply. “You’re a good person, Theodore Ian Gregory. You deserve happiness. It doesn’t mean that you’re betraying Delia… Give it time and allow yourself to experience this.” My stomach churns.

  Before I realize it, tears are rolling down my cheeks. Aside from the time that I let a silent tear fall in front of Alie, this has never happened… because, you know, boys don’t cry, right? But I don’t care anymore. Crying quickly turns to weeping. Weeping quickly turns to sobbing. Sobbing quickly turns to bawling. Soraya scoots my way, her arm circling my broad shoulder as I break down, my forehead resting on her small shoulder. The sorrow that I’ve kept bottled up for years escapes with my tears, until I have none left.

  Sooner or later, Lorenzo helps me to regroup by making us aware that he’s awake. His mother gets up from the couch, and I snag her wrist to mouth a thank you before she leaves to attend to him.

  “Anytime.”

  Later that day, Alie texts me to suggest going to a movie after work. I closed the shop from the inside after Claire left about an hour ago. Whenever I’m alone in the shop, I make my rounds to check that everything is set for the next day. I’m on my way back to the front when I notice that Alie’s knocking on the glass door.

  Both pleased and surprised, my breath catches at the view. I wasn’t expecting to see her here; we agreed to meet at the theater. Besides, she’s hot as fuck. Licking my lips, I pause to take her in before moving to unlock the door.

  Today’s been a typical spring day in Manhattan. Sunny weather. Blue sky. Warm air. Since she’s dressed lightly, I can tell that the early evening chill that sometimes threatens hasn’t set in yet. Her cream-colored leather jacket is folded over her forearm. Her cropped khaki pants that match the color of her jacket fit her curves as if they were made for her. Her basic black V-neck tee-shirt hugs her ample rack in the most appealing way and shows off her flat stomach. Albert gets the message, loud and clear.

  Yeah, lust is definitely part of the equation.

  “I was early, so I figured that it was easier to find you here.” Her smile is infectious and I smile right back, intertwining my fingers with hers as I guide her inside. “That way you can give me the grand tour.”

  “My pleasure.” I lock the front door, not letting go of her hand, and she takes a few steps into the entryway. She’s quiet, squinting her eyes and scrutinizing everything. The beat-up brown chesterfield sofa. The earth tone paintings. The modern counter. “Come here.” My voice is huskier than usual as my heated body gently presses her back against said counter. I grind against her and steal a scorching kiss that she gladly returns. My body hums with wild desire, and suddenly the scary movie doesn’t sound appealing anymore. Enthralled, I barely hear the thump next to us. When Alie’s embrace tightens around me, I grasp that she dropped her beloved black purse, although I’ve noticed that she never lets it touch the ground. Before my need for her eliminates what’s left of my common sense and I fuck her on the counter for everyone to see through the glass door, I reluctantly tear my mouth from hers and articulate a breathy, “Why don’t I give you the requested tour?” I separate my body from hers and instantly miss it. But then again, no tour will happen if I keep grinding my cock against her core.

  My hand in hers, I stand beside her behind the counter and flip through the catalogs that we keep on hand for people who need inspiration. There’s drawings and pictures of my art as well as Claire’s. She works her way through a few specialized magazines that are also laid out on the glossy countertop, sharing her opinions regarding the designs as she goes.

  “I had no idea that each artist had their own area of expertise,” she acknowledges after a moment. Her eyes widen. “The variety is amazing.”

  “Sure is. For example, I don’t do colored tattoos. The color fades faster, so it has to be touched up along the way.” I point out some of my own work as we discuss my art for the first time, really. The conversation is easy, and I’m glad that she popped up so that we could spend some quality time together before the movie starts. “You like this one?” I inquire when her hand splays on the page in such a way that one particular tattoo shows through her fingers. A cage. A bird. A key. Her breath hitches for no reason, and I tilt my head to peer at her. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. This tattoo… brought back a memory that I wasn’t prepared to be reminded of.” She shakes her head. “Do you mind showing me the rest of the place?” And with that, she saunters towards the back and gestures for me to join her. Her blonde hair has grown a bit. I guess she’s had enough of the pixie cut. Her face is so well-proportioned that both suit her.

  Man, you’re falling hard for this girl. Soraya’s right. Tell her!

  That’s my angelic side talking, and it’s my turn to shake my head in disbelief. Almost immediately, my inner demon chimes in.

  She’s longing to be thoroughly fucked. Go to the back. Do it!

  Our eyes lock and from the raunchy once-over that she shoots my way, I know which part of me has the accurate version. I make a point to ignore the fact that they’re not mutually exclusive.

  Well aware of why we ended up here, we play cat and mouse for a bit longer. I have a
strict rule of not bringing hookups to my workplace. I broke it once when I was too desperate to bury myself in any hole I could find. I shouldn’t have done it. The woman in question didn’t listen to my warnings regarding my commitment issues. The woman in question didn’t understand why I broke up with her after seeing her a couple of times, breaking yet another one of my rules. The woman in question didn’t let it go easily, and I caught her following me everywhere for a while.

  This is different. Alie’s different. I’m different. And Alie said it herself: she’s not most women.

  I guess I’ll have to get to work earlier tomorrow morning to sanitize my station.

  This is my sole thought as I slide into her from behind after my tongue and my fingers tease her pussy. Her upper body is bent over the massage table by the tattoo chair, where clients lie or sit when I ink on their bodies. Her shapely legs are spread as wide as possible in a sexy stripper stance. Her glorious ass is on full display for me to admire.

  There are expletives. There’s friction. There are orgasms. One for each of us…

  Panting, she turns to face me, her eyes half-mast, a wicked grin on her face. Her cheeks are rosy from our workout. Blissed out, I ignore the fact that I look ridiculous with my pants and boxer briefs bunched around my ankles, once again, and discard the condom in the nearest trash can. Subsequently, I swivel to grab some items from the nearby sink area to clean us up. I proceed in silence, catching my breath. She moans in appreciation, guiding my every move. We stare at one another, waiting for our high to subside.

  “We missed the movie.” She shrugs, buttoning her pants.

  Standing in front of her, I kiss her forehead. “We sure did. Anything else in mind?” I pause, then add, “As eager as I am for round two, I need some time to recover after that.” That makes her giggle. It’s a girly laugh that contradicts both the tone of her voice and the raw pleasure that we gave one another. My gaze is drawn to her chest that I can’t help but ogle, and I smile sheepishly when she catches me.

  “I have something in mind.” She leans back and settles in the tattoo chair. My filthy mind assumes that she wants more, despite my warning, but the timid expression on her face contradicts that. “Come here.” She pats the seat. Before I know it, the side of my butt is awkwardly propped on the chair. I caress her cheek with my thumb, and her eyes flutter shut under my touch. The bashful smile transforms into a serene one. I wonder what’s on her mind. She sighs and reaches for my hand. With her eyes still closed, she guides my hand over her shirt and across her upper body. My fingers tremble when she stops them over her hardening nipples. This is sweet torture. I’d love to motorboat her tits. I’d love to lick and suck her nipples. I’d love to slide my dick between her breasts. I do none of these things and behave.

  Her eyes pop open. Her gaze is intense as she laces her fingers with mine and lowers them until they settle on her lower stomach. Under her shirt. On her bare skin. Her breath catches at the same time mine does.

  “I respect your hard limit, Alie. Don’t feel like you have to.”

  “I know,” she hesitates. “But you need to know,” she stutters, flashing a tentative smile as my fingers slide up to her chest. Inch by inch. I can feel her scars, like tiny strands of barbwire, even if I don’t see them. I’ve met enough survivors to piece together her story. A story that she recounts with difficulty. Her voice is pained. Her tone is brave. Her face is glowing. Moments later, her tee-shirt has vanished. Her eyes are filled with tears that refuse to spill over.

  She nods, allowing my mouth to attend to her forbidden area. I get acquainted with her beautiful and broken body. Caressing. Kissing. Nipping.

  “Thank you for trusting me.” My voice is low as my lips graze her earlobe while I continue to tenderly caress her breast. “Your scars are beautiful. You are beautiful, Aliénor.”

  “Make them go away, Tig. Make them go away.” Her plea shatters my heart into a million pieces. Her hand covers mine, and they rest in the valley between her breasts, hiding most of her scars. “Please.” She squeezes my hand, and I don’t miss the way her heart speeds up.

  “You’re upset. I can’t do anything like that with the state you’re in. I wouldn’t want you to regret it.”

  “I won’t.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Scars to Your Beautiful

  Aliénor

  “You’ve changed, you know.”

  I frown, unsure of what Greer is insinuating. “People don’t change, Greer.” My attention returns to the navy-blue sundress that I neatly fold and place in my small Vuitton bag. This long dress is perfect. Its neckline is revealing, but it’s a classic. What I love the most about it, though, is the fact that the front opens with a zillion buttons, and I can’t wait to watch Tig lose his patience over it!

  “Oh, come on! You know what I mean.” My packed vanity case in hand, she saunters back from the bathroom. “You’re somehow more… confident, if that’s even possible.” Her hand splays over her heart. “I don’t know...” she trails off. “You hold your back straighter, speak with a calmer voice, and breathe with peaceful purpose.”

  “Are you shitting me?” I stop packing and stare at her. She takes a couple of steps to meet me half-way between the bathroom door and where I stand with my weekender open on a chair in front of me. I grab my black cashmere sweater from my luggage and throw it at her. I miss my target, and it miserably falls to the floor.

  She leans down, stretching to snatch it. “I’m dead serious. What did I miss?”

  Her innocent words floor me and a cold sweat runs down my spine. There are so many issues that I’ve ignored lately. As the months passed, I realized that I was proud of defeating cancer but deeply ashamed of my scars. I mulled over trusting Tig and allowing him to help me. Eventually, I let my guard down, decided to be honest, and jumped on the bandwagon. He resisted until I revealed my story. Raw. Genuine. Unapologetic.

  “Maybe being away from my usual Parisian pressures paid off.” My way to bypass the fact that my upper body is now embellished with a beautiful design that boosts my confidence.

  Sensing that this conversation is over, she concludes in a low voice, “Never mind. Forget I said anything.” That, I can do.

  With a quizzical gaze, she unzips the square bag and exposes what’s inside for my approval. “Mmm… Did I forget something?” One of her eyebrows arches as I check the contents. Her business-like tone is out of place, yet funny.

  Greer has been so focused on work recently that I haven’t seen much of her. She was out of town for some VIP event. We’ve texted, but it’s not the same. To make up for lost time, she stayed with me last night and slept on the suite’s sofa bed. I’m a loner by nature, but I truly enjoy having her around.

  “Condoms? Lube? Blindfold?” I peer at her. Our mischievous glances turn playful when I stick out my tongue and move it indecently.

  Her hand smacks her forehead and she lets out a peal of devilish laughter. “Damn, how could I forget your vital accessories?” She sprints back to the bathroom and triumphantly parades back with items that will ensure the success of my four-day-weekend. It’ll be the longest I’ve been around Tig at one time and a first with his closest friends. To say that I’m anxious would be the understatement of the year, no matter how casual I try to play what’s happening between us.

  “You should be proud that I’m responsible and prepared.”

  “Right, as far as condoms are concerned. No need to share any details regarding the lube and blindfold, thank you very much!”

  “You must be such a snooze in bed,” I goad her in an even voice, my eyes trained on the inside of my bag.

  She flips me the bird as I look up. “For your information, I rarely make it to bed, but that’s TMI.”

  “Since when is there TMI between us?”

  “Since you brought lube into the conversation. Now I have the perfect visual, and I’ve never seen the guy.” Tossing the box and bottle onto the king size bed opposite me, she clasps her ha
nds together, the blindfold still laced around her fingers. In a flash, she’s speeding towards me. I don’t have time to deposit my Tod’s pumps into the bag before she crashes into me, pushing me onto the bed and making us both roll over while laughing our asses off.

  “How mature of you!” I exclaim, breathless from my hysterical belly laugh and keep my shirt tucked in. Trying to conceal my chest was a challenge that I hadn’t anticipated prior to suggesting that Greer come over. My stripper tits, as my lover calls them! He was so apologetic when he let it slip. I was so amused that he did and found enjoyment in a body part that I hated. We were so excited to see the results once the swelling subsided, thanks to his gorgeous design executed over my scars.

  No. Can. Do.

  Out of breath, I reach for my phone on the nightstand to check the time, wondering what the heck Tig’s doing. I notice a text informing me that he’ll be thirty minutes late. With that, I decide to give Greer something to fuss about. Something that she won’t be able to stop poring over while I’m gone. Something that I haven’t told anyone… yet. Something named Albert.

  Her blush alone is worth my admission. Her widening eyes as I explain that, like every jewel, it’s sometimes better to take it off, are an added bonus.

  “I can’t believe you found a guy that’s kinkier than you.”

  Oh, you have no idea!

  That’s when my phone trills.

  Perfect timing.

  I text Tig that I’ll be right down and tell Greer that she’s welcome to stay here as long as she wants, considering that it’s prepaid.

  “You wish!” She springs off of the bed, snatches my travel bag, and suggests, “Grab your purse and meet me downstairs!”

  Before I have the chance to stop her, she slams the door, leaving me behind in the room.

  Speechless.

  It took the entire drive to the Hamptons for me to calm down after Greer’s sneaky stunt. First, she sprinted outside and chatted with Tig. Second, she bombarded me with texts—about his striking appearance that differed from most of my suitors—for an hour. Third, she made me promise to come clean with the full story; I promised to do so. Someday.