by Matson , TC
Layla. She’d be our second incident and the biggest. Almost two months into our relationship and pretty much one month after the first wave of rumors, I was facing yet another occurrence. Jason was in the shower when he got a text from her saying she couldn’t wait for later that night and how she craved his cock again. Again.
I confronted him. Since we weren’t in public and I wasn’t afraid to make a scene, I stomped into the bathroom, pulled open the shower door, and held his phone up as I asked questions. He was panic-stricken and so distraught. He swore it had to have been a mistake and meant for someone else. Like an idiot, I caved and believed him.
“Do you inspect all your clients’ mouths and necks with your tongue? Allow them to hold your hand and touch your thighs? Am I doing business wrong myself?”
“I held her hand trying to comfort her as she told me how her husband died a year ago. It was a hard story for her to tell.”
My laugh is empty. “I’m not an idiot. Please stop insinuating otherwise.”
He exhales heavily. “You’re taking this entire thing out of context. Again. I was trying to be nice and sweeten her up to get her business. She’ll bring in about twenty—”
“I’m done, Jason. We’re done. Save your excuses.”
“Kenlyn.” It’s a plea, one I’m learning the hard way is fake.
“It’s over.” I hang up.
Lucia eyes me from across the office as I push back in. “Did you?”
“Yes.”
She stands to her feet, grinning from ear to ear and claps. “It is about damn time you got rid of that soul sucker.”
It catches my coworkers’ attention and I burn red. Glaring at her, I grab her arm as I drop into the chair. “Sit down. Stop.”
She laughs, but does as I plea. “Fine. Fine. But I’m cooking you dinner and we’re celebrating your freedom.”
Ending things with Jason already feels like a relief. Being with him felt like I was struggling to swim against a current, drowning against waves. Deep down, I knew I was wasting my time, but I enjoyed his company even though I knew loving him wasn’t an option.
At least I came out of this without heartbreak. A bruised ego, but heart intact.
Chapter Two
One week later…
Lucia’s in the kitchen putting the last touches on breakfast. She hums and swings her hips side to side in shorts that barely cover her amazing ass atop long, tanned legs paired with a cut-off shirt that displays her flat stomach and the half-sleeve tattoo on her right arm.
“Buenos días,” she greets me with a smile. “I made breakfast sandwiches. Eggs, ham, bacon, and cheese.”
I love living with her. The woman can cook and I love to eat.
She slides the plate on the counter as I pour my coffee. “Good morning.”
“Are you seeing Dotty today?”
“Of course. Every Saturday morning.”
“What are you doing after?”
“Not sure. Why?”
She beams. “Do you remember that tattoo place Soraya told us about a few weeks ago?”
“Tig’s?”
“That’s it. I’ve got an appointment for some new ink. Wanna come with me? Afterward we can grab drinks and dinner.”
Tattoos and the thought of getting them make my anxiety rise and my stomach queasy. “I don’t know. I thought about working—”
“Lyn!” she interrupts me, throwing her hands in the air. “It’s Saturday. You’re not going to work on any projects and I’m not going to let you sit here and overthink. I’ve given you a week. Now it’s time to get out of your head and quit thinking about Jason via death by work. Come with me.”
“I haven’t thought of him since he showed up at the door and you threatened to castrate him.” I laugh.
The day after I broke things off, he stood in my doorway pissed with a bruised ego. He accused me of cheating and having a guilty conscience, which somehow in turn made me think he was always the one poking around even though he wasn’t. His words. Not mine. He even stooped so low as to say I was using him for his money. Yes, Jason has a bank account with several commas, but I never wanted any of that, nor did I “use” him for it. I make my own commas. His argument was fit with some interesting name-calling too.
That’s the part Lucia heard and came rushing out. She went bad ass crazy on him with head sways, finger snaps, talking way too fast, and a clear promise to “de-nut” him if he set foot within twenty feet of me again. It took some more convincing in the form of me threatening to call the law if he didn’t leave, but he finally did, dragging what was left of his ego behind him. I swear he was only this enraged because he got caught. Not because he actually cared.
She raises her dark eyebrows, not believing I haven’t talked to him.
“I promise I haven’t. I was over him before I called it off and you know it. It just took some swaying for me to follow through with it. I didn’t love him. We barely got along and when we did, it was on his terms. We never clicked because I wasn’t ever good enough for him.”
“¡No te atrevas!” Don’t you dare. Her spine snaps straight and if looks could kill, I’d be six feet under. “Don’t you dare think that. That piece of shit wouldn’t know a good thing if it was handed to him with a shiny red bow. He was greedy. Wanted his cake and to eat it too because contrary to what he told you, he never wanted to settle down. He only gave you scraps to keep your hopes up and keep you intrigued. You deserve better than that.”
“Are you starting a new tattoo or building off the one you have?” Nothing says “I’m done talking” like a change of subject. It’s my go-to defense mechanism.
She stretches out her right arm and runs a hand over the half-sleeve made up of red roses intertwined with a web. “I want a few sugar skulls hidden within the web,” she informs. “The colors will complement the roses. I called and talked to one of the artists up there about what I wanted. After we went over a few ideas, he set up an appointment and said he’d draw something up.” She grabs the orange juice from the fridge and pours some in a glass. “You’re coming with me. The sound of the tattoo machine is super therapeutic. You can meditate while he works and then we’ll get drinks afterward.”
“Fine. But you’re paying for dinner,” I tease.
Her espresso-colored eyes gleam as she laughs. “Deal.”
* * *
Dotty. I met her six years ago by way of fate and a rude taxi driver. As I was walking to a little boutique, she was trying to haul her groceries into her building. She was struggling to carry a few bags while she was maneuvering her walker. The cabby? Worthless and never offered her any help. So I did and it was the best decision I’ve ever made in my life. I fell in love with her, with her blunt and crass but very supportive and loving ways. In an instant, I had a grandmother who I try my very best to visit every Saturday morning.
I knock as I unlock the door and step into her apartment. “Dotty? It’s me.” I call out.
“Pea?” Short for Peanut. The origin of that nickname is a mystery.
“It’s me.” I step around the corner. She’s in her recliner glued to the TV in one of her many flowery pieces. She must feel good today. Her silky silver hair is brushed and mostly styled. “What’s it today?” I tip my chin to the TV as I grab her glass to freshen up her water.
Bright hazel eyes slide to me. “This dumbass is suing his neighbor over a wind chime making too much racket. Can you believe it?”
At eighty, Dotty doesn’t watch soap operas like any normal older human being. No. Instead, she is quite obsessed with court shows. Every single one of them. And there are so many.
“They should be happy they can still hear the song it makes. Complain too much and God will take away that sense. I know He will. Saw it with my own eyes when Doris told me her husband complained about having to listen to her talk all the time. Weeks later, he couldn’t hear at all,” she tells me as I head into the kitchen of her small apartment.
I pour out the water and
make a fresh glass before returning to the living room. “You sure he didn’t just turn off his hearing aids?” I set her water on the table beside her with a grin.
“God probably killed the batteries.” Deep wrinkles around her eyes and mouth bunch up as she flashes a wolfish smile. “What’s new with you?”
“I called things off with Jason.” I sit on the couch beside her recliner.
“It’s about time. That little shit didn’t deserve you or your heart. He’s the type who won’t grovel when he’s done wrong. Bet he blames you for his misdeeds.” She shakes her head and then bounces a frail bony finger at me. “You need a good man. One who cherishes the ground you walk on, will rub your feet after a long day, and will celebrate the little milestones. You’re a good girl, Pea.”
For me, those type of men are unheard of. It’s not in my cards. They’ll eventually leave when they grow tired or realize that relationships are in fact hard work. But I don’t argue. Instead, I smile at her.
She narrows her eyes and pinches her brows together. “Don’t look at me like you don’t believe me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You’re a shit liar, Pea.”
I laugh and change the subject. “What do you want for lunch?”
“I’m not hungry,” she grumps. “Had a big breakfast.”
“Yeah? What?” The skepticism is evident in my tone.
She flicks her little wrist, waving me off. “Don’t ask so I don’t have to lie to you.” She goes back to watching TV as the judge reams the plaintiff for not enjoying the finer things in life. If I was a betting woman, I’d bet my life savings these shows are fake and put on for entertainment only. No way in hell I’d express that thought out loud, though. Knowing Dotty, she’d dismember me limb for limb and bury me throughout the city.
“That John across the hall asked me to have dinner with him,” she says as the show runs into a commercial.
“Are you going to take him up on his offer?”
She shakes her head. “What type of woman does he think I am if he’s the one cooking?”
I can’t help but laugh at her old-fashioned ways. “He’s trying to romance you, not insult you.”
She purses her thin lips. “If he wants to shake the sheets, why wouldn’t he just tell me.”
“Oh my god.” I drop my face into my hands to hide my laugh.
Her shoulders shake as a raspy laugh from her soul lights up her face. “I’m not a floozy. Hell. My purse is so unused there’s got to be an inch of dust up there. He’d need a Swiffer and shake it around first.” She’s in stitches. “Last man to touch me was my Ted and that was ten years ago before he selfishly left me first.”
“If it counts for anything, I think you should share a meal with John. It’ll do you some good.”
She points to me. “When’s the last time you’ve been dusted off and taken for a ride? Bet that Jason didn’t know how to get your motor purring. He had selfish lover written all over him.”
She’s not far off. Sex with Jason was mediocre, never great. He’d never make sure I had an orgasm first and oral sex was a chore instead of something he wanted to do.
“Oh no. We’re not switching this on me,” I tell her.
“Nothing to be ashamed of. Sex is natural. Why do you think God gave men penises to poke and women vaginas to be poked.” She makes a circle with one hand and uses a finger to shove it in.
My cheeks flare and I bring my face to the ceiling. “Please make it stop.”
She chuckles. “Complain and he’ll take that away too.”
I burst out laughing and for the next few hours, we watch and discuss the court shows, talk about random things we did this week, and our plans for the upcoming week. I don’t tell her about my kidnapping hero and the kiss that momentarily knocked down every brick around my heart. Some things are best when left in the dark.
Chapter Three
Once I leave Dotty, I meet Lucia at the subway stop between the apartments and head toward the tattoo shop. We laugh as I retell the conversations of the morning. It keeps us occupied and my nerves under wraps.
The bell above the door chimes as we step inside the old brick building with a large neon sign in the window. Smells of disinfectant and cinnamon along with a high-pitched buzz instantly fill my senses.
“Hi. Welcome to Tig’s. I’m Delia. Do you have an appointment?” Her smile is wide. Her nose ring blings under the lights, and she has tattoos sprinkled down both arms.
“Yes,” Lucia replies. “With Ash.”
I step away as she checks in to scan the framed artwork on the walls. There must be thousands of little black and white images, most looking like an emotional hormone raging teenager was bored and doodled a bunch of randomness. Skulls, hearts, cartoon characters, roses, weird people, symbols of death and love…
“He’s finishing up with another client. It’ll be ten minutes or so,” Lucia informs me.
“Some of these are really ridiculous.” Obviously. “Why would anyone want a…” I lean closer, squinting, “a headless woman on all fours with a ponytail coming out of her ass, no feet, but heels? It looks like a toddler drew it.”
Lucia titters under her breath. “These are called flash tattoos. Not everyone is as creative when it comes to what they want. And not everyone is a graphic designer with creativity running through their veins.”
“They’re permanent and hideous.” I point out.
The mind-numbing buzz stops.
She lifts a shoulder. “They wouldn’t have flash tats if people didn’t want them.”
“You’ve got virgin skin, don’t you?” Delia asks. I glance over my shoulder. Her smirk is mischievous.
“I’m too chicken,” I reply.
Her smirk explodes into an ear-to-ear grin, morphing her face to look ten years younger. “You’re like gold. The guys will have a boner over you.”
“Hopefully all their blood stays above the shoulders so they don’t mess up,” I quip.
Her laugh fills the room and I look back to the god-awful, pre-made art. You’d have to be drunk to get one of these.
“Lucia? You ready?”
That voice. Sensations race across my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
Spinning around, I lock eyes with my pale silver-blue-eyed kidnapper hero who detonated my world with a single kiss. My breath catches at the sight of him. A dark gray shirt forms against his muscular chest, the sleeves gripping his biceps tightly. Well-worn, dark-washed jeans with small rips along the thighs hang from his hips and cover most of his brown boots.
The edges of his lips—the very ones I still feel when I think about the kiss—tic. A mixture of disbelief and elation rests in his gaze but doesn’t show on his stoic handsome face. If I’m affecting him like he is me, he hides it well.
Without a word, he tips his chin for us to follow. I’m drowning in nerves. I want to leave, but curiosity fueled by desire has me falling in step behind Lucia. The black and white checkered floor lines the entire room, which is divided into sections, squared off by four-foot-tall corrugated metal walls like a tattoo cubicle world.
My heart hammers behind my rib cage, our gazes connecting as he pushes a rolling chair in my direction and tells Lucia to hop onto the black leather chair that looks like it could be from a dentist. The air is thick as he puts on a pair of black gloves, grabs the drawing, and begins to discuss it with Lucia. He doesn’t acknowledge me when he transfers it onto her arm or as he gets everything ready and starts.
In contrast to Lucia, who has a smile playing on her lips as she watches him work, the buzz sends my anxiety rupturing out of my pores. I’m hot with sweat beginning to build on my skin. This isn’t therapeutic. This is my personal hell.
Ash. My kidnapper hero finally has a name, and truth be told, it’s just as unique and sexy as he is. It fits him.
He’s concentrating, deeply focused as he works on Lucia’s arm. The muscles in his jaw occasionally flex and his tongue peeks out and swipes acr
oss his bottom lip. He warms my body as I remember the way he kissed me with passion and fervor, his tongue demanding mine.
I close my eyes, inhaling a deep breath to force those thoughts out of my mind. It’s bad enough it plays on repeat every night, but right now, I don’t need to think like that about a man who kisses strangers. Who the hell knows what else he’s done. I bet he’s a heartbreaker, promising and fulfilling different women different days of the week.
Twenty minutes in, he breaks the silence. “Did you leave him?” He doesn’t even look up.
My heart slaps my chest.
Lucia’s brows raise. “Do what?”
Shit.
Ash lifts his head, wiping her arm. “Talking about her.” His gaze lands on me. “Did you leave the cheating boyfriend?” He drops his head as he asks.
Lucia looks back and forth.
“I did,” I say.
“Over dinner?”
“The phone when I got back to the office.”
I see the moment Lucia pieces it together. Her eyes snap wide, her mouth drops with a smile. “The gorgeous stranger hero who kissed you?”
Oh my god. Mortification fires across my expression and I bug my eyes at her silently asking what the fuck?
Ash, on the other hand, doesn’t even look up as a smile creeps across his lips. “Gorgeous, huh?”
The heat of a thousand suns runs rampant through me. “She’s putting words into my mouth,” I lie with the silent promise of killing Lucia the moment we leave here.
An older man covered in tattoos saves me, interrupting the path of the destructive flames. “You want lunch?” An unlit cigarette bounces on his lips.
“Nah. I’m good. After this, I’ve got a stretch before the next appointment. I’ll grab something then.” Ash’s concentration never wavers from Lucia’s arm.
The man smiles at Lucia and me before pushing off the railing and disappearing toward the front.
Moments later, “I’m taking Del. We’ll be back soon,” he shouts across the shop.
