by JA Huss
“What the hell was that?” I ask.
“That was Cherry,” Trev says. He and Vic both chuckle like I’m missing the inside joke.
“OK.”
“She wants a cherry tattoo down on her—”
“Right,” I say, putting up a hand. “I get it.”
Vic and Trev chuckle some more.
“Belinda and Vann have a budding thing going,” Vic says.
Trev lifts his head up again to look at me. “That right?”
“No,” I spit. “No. Absolutely not.”
“She caught him fucking Soshee just before I dragged her in here with me.”
Trev laughs and puts his head back down. “Ah, this all makes sense now.”
“What makes sense? And no one cares who Vann is fucking, Vic. Least of all me!”
Trev lifts his head again. “That was you throwing that tantrum earlier?”
“She was gonna quit over it.”
“No one cares, Vic. Can we just get back to work? And you!” I point to Trev. “Stop moving around. Some of us are trying to work here.”
Trev and Vic look at each other and guffaw.
I huff through my mask.
“OK, OK, OK,” Vic says. “We’ll get serious.”
“Yeah,” Trev mumbles. “Let’s get back to the topic of Cherry’s pussy tattoo!”
Which they do. They chat about Cherry’s pussy—not her tattoo—since it seems that Vic and the girl who right now has her legs open for my Vann used to date once upon a time.
Wait.
Did I just call him mine?
I cringe, thankful for the facemask so Vic can’t pick up on it. But he’s too busy asking me if I’ve ever tattooed any private parts to even notice my internal conflict. “College girls,” he explains in a mocking, serious, listen-to-me-grasshopper tone, “ask for all kinds of weird shit once they see who their artist will be. You know, because I’m hot.” He winks at me and I roll my eyes. “And up until now, it’s only been the girls coming in doing that shit. But you wait, Belinda. Once these college boys hear you’re taking clients, I’m sure they’ll all be lining up for dick art!”
Trev guffaws so hard, my needle slips on his side and my perfectly shaped tendril of smoke goes crooked.
“Funny,” I say, wiping off my working area with more force than I need. “Haha.”
“I’m kidding,” Vic says. “No dude in his right mind wants a needle anywhere near his cock.”
“Yeah,” Trev says. “They’ll go for the butt cheeks first. Then if they like you”—he actually sits up a little so he can see me—“then they’ll want your opinion on the shaft tat. Just so they can whip it out and show it off.”
“They’ll ask for a snake that grows.” Vic laughs.
“Meet my little friend,” Trev says. “Who gets bigger as you watch!”
“Touch him, Belinda. He won’t bite.”
“Hold it tight, Belinda.” Trev snorts. “He might get away!”
They fall into fits of laughter.
“Are you guys fucking thirteen years old in here, or what?”
All three of us look over at the door where Vann is standing. And boy, is he ever scowling at me. “Why are you looking at me?” I say. “I have no part in this!”
“This is like… sexual harassment, Vic. You’re not allowed to say that shit to Belinda.”
Vic looks at me. I look at Trev. And then all three of us guffaw.
“Fuck you guys,” Vann spits. He disappears down the hallway.
“Fuck you, Vic,” Vinn mocks from the studio next door. “You can’t say that shit to Belinda!”
“Yeah, fuck you, Vic!” Vonn joins in from further down the hallway. “It’s sexual harassment!”
I’m pretty sure even the customers in the waiting room are laughing now.
“Fuck all of you!” Vann yells. His door slams closed.
Vic puts up his gloved hand and I high-five him. Then he winks at me.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You should be thanking me, Belinda,” Trev says. “I’m the hottie making your night right now.”
“Any time that brother of mine is an asshole to you, Belinda, you come to me. I’ll handle it.”
I nod, liking him a lot more than I did just a few hours earlier. He really did plan this whole night just to make me feel better. He didn’t have to ask me to stay. He has all kinds of people interested in my shit job, after all. He could probably replace me in a day. And he didn’t have to drag me in to his studio with him to take my mind off things, either. He definitely didn’t have to share his client with me.
But he did all that. And he did it for a reason. Probably not to make Vann feel bad or even teach him a lesson. I think he just did it to be… nice.
Which is nice.
The three of us settle down and Vic and I get back to work. He and Trev are quiet now. Maybe thinking about things the way I am. Or hell, maybe they’re still thinking about Cherry’s pussy.
The point is, I don’t care.
Because inside I’m smiling. Happy. Maybe even OK with the weirdness that has taken over my life for the first time ever.
I’ve felt like an outsider for eight years. I was forced into moving to this town because of the witness protection program. I have a fake name and a fake history. Everything about who I was was cleared away to make room for the new me.
And then Tony Dumas showed up to remind me that the new me isn’t real.
I think that’s what bothered me most about today. Rosalinda, he called me. Some weird Frankenstein’s monster person who is not who she once was, nor who she was told to be.
Tony made me feel fake.
But nothing about the past few hours at work has felt fake.
It feels… right.
It feels like I just became a Sick Boy.
CHAPTER ELEVEN - TONY
“Did you rent this place because you can see the front door of Sick Boyz from up here?”
Soshee and I are sitting at a two-seater, bar-height table looking out the window at the shop as I say this. Her loft is aglow with dozens of candles. They’ve been burning for hours and some of them have even gone out, their fuel supply exhausted.
“If I say yes, will it make me pathetic?”
“No.” I smile at her. We’re definitely a little buzzed after finishing off a second bottle of wine. That’s a total of four bottles of wine between us today. “But you might be asking the wrong guy.”
She laughs. “Right. Stalking your ex from a decade ago? Not the healthiest decision you’ve made recently.”
“Tell me about it. It’s weird, though. I don’t even like her, Sosh.”
She smiles when I use the familiar, shortened version of her name. “You have to like her some, though. Right? Or you wouldn’t be here. And that would be super unfortunate, because then we wouldn’t be friends.”
“Truth.”
“Which part?”
I shrug. I don’t want to admit that Belinda—as Rosalie, anyway—was a weakness that almost broke me. But I’m not much of a liar. “Both. I did like her. Once upon a time. Or… I’m not even sure like was the word. It was more of a…”
“An obsession?”
I point to her. “Maybe?”
“I know that feeling. So the answer to your question is yes. At first I wanted it to spy on Vann. He’s always out there on the street, either in front of the shop hanging out with his friends or random people—that guy makes friends with everyone, any time of day—or at the motorcycle shop his older sister owns with her husband.” She points to a lit-up sign that says ‘Shrike Bikes.’ “The theater owners are friends of theirs. And my family as well. That’s how I got this place. I begged and begged and begged them to rent me this loft space for half price. They only agreed because they’re going to remodel in a few months and the tenant who lived up here before me got another place and moved out early.”
“But now?”
“Hmm?”
“You said at
first. At first you wanted this place so you could spy on Vann. But now? You feel different?”
She looks around, sighs. “I love this loft. It feels like home. I don’t think I’ve felt that way about an apartment before. I do enjoy the view.” She smiles down at College Avenue below. “And I still love it when I catch Vann down there. I feel like a voyeur, I guess. It’s exciting to be able to watch him and he has no idea I’m doing it.” She sighs again, heavier this time. “I’m really going to miss this place when I have to move next month and that feeling has nothing to do with Vann.” She sits up straighter. “But I’m trying to appreciate it in the now, you know? Just be thankful I get to live here at all, even if it’s just for a short period of time. So, the short answer to your question is yes and no.”
We both laugh and she goes silent for a moment. Probably thinking about all the things she just said and how it’s a little bit TMI to be saying all this to a guy she’s known for less than a day.
I get lost in people-watching for a moment. Spy that yippy white dog again, this time not wearing the green and white CSU sweater and with a different person at the end of the leash. “Yeah, I get it,” I finally say. “Not that I live in the past or anything.” I turn my attention back to Soshee. “I’m usually a pretty grounded guy. I’m not a professional stalker. I swear to God I’ve never followed an ex two thousand miles across the country just so I could secretly plot a get-over-her scheme.”
“Oh, now I really feel awkward. Because that’s something I’d totally do and I wouldn’t even feel guilty about it.”
I laugh. “Yeah, but it’s part of your charm.”
“Am I charming?”
I look at her. Study her a little more closely than I have up until now. And my conclusion is that she is more than just charming. “Soshee Ameci. You are the most interesting girl I’ve met in a very long time.”
“Since you first met Belinda, you mean?” She’s got a gleam in her eye. Almost a twinkle. Like she’s teasing me and testing me in the same moment.
“I’m not gonna lie to you. There’s no point. Yeah. Rose—” I stop at the name slip-up. I’m really not in the mood to explain why the girl she only knows as Belinda is known as Rosalie in other parts of the country. “Belinda is…” But I can’t really find the right word for the energy Rosalinda radiates. “I don’t know. She’s just... different than most people. She gets to you. Gets under your skin and kinda makes herself at home. And then, even though you weren’t planning it, you find that her presence in your life is a constant you can live with.”
“And then you realize it’s also a constant you can’t live without?”
“Huh,” I hum. “Yeah. That’s kind of a good way to explain it.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“So you’re here for her, and then what? You’re gonna take her home with you when you leave?”
I can’t tell if that’s hope I hear in her voice, or the edge of disappointment. “I already told you no. My older brother actually sent me up here to check on some things.”
“I hear you saying that, but it doesn’t make much sense.”
“I know.” I sigh. “I get it. Trust me, it makes no sense to me either. I just… felt… compelled to check up on her. And I hate it.” My voice rises in agitation. “I fucking hate that I’m here. I hate that I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“Hmm. The old enemies-to-lovers thing. It’s hot, I guess.”
“Is it? Or is it just sad?”
“Oh, I don’t know. In the books it’s hot.”
“Books?” I laugh.
“You know. This is like… what do they call it?” She looks up at the ceiling as she thinks. “A theme, or whatever. A trope. Falling for the wrong guy?” She smirks at me. “Or girl. It’s kind of classic.”
“It might be classic. I get the attraction to someone who’s totally different from you. You don’t understand them yet. They have their own outlook on life. Maybe even a completely opposite worldview. And it’s alluring for some people. I think falling for someone like that is kind of… mature.”
“Mature?” She chuckles. “In what way?”
“You know. When you have this belief system and you’re committed to it, right? It takes a lot of self-reflection to be able to look at things from another point of view. And then to like a person who believes the opposite of you? Yeah. That’s maturity. It’s... wisdom.”
“Hmm. I guess I never thought of it that way. I’ve never personally had an enemies-to-lovers relationship. I don’t hate Vann. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hate me, either. He might not be interested in me the way I am him, but he doesn’t hate me.”
“I don’t have that kind of relationship with Belinda, either.”
“No?” Soshee’s eyebrows go up.
She thinks I’m lying. Or at the very least delusional.
“No. Not at all. It’s not like we have two completely different outlooks on life. I think our personal belief systems probably line up quite well. Belinda is just… I don’t know.” I throw up my hands. “I seriously don’t know why I’m here or what I think is going to happen before I leave.”
“Your brother sent you on business.” It takes a lot of self-control on Soshee’s part not to laugh out those words.
“Right. Business. I haven’t even started asking around about that.”
“You wanted to fuck her.”
“Yes.” I sigh. “But… why?”
“She’s pretty. You can’t tell me you’re not attracted to her. She’s a little bit short, but that just makes her cute. And she has a style to her. Those short skirts and cowboy boots. That pink hair. Her career as a tattoo artist. That’s kind of… fucking awesome. People are just naturally drawn to her.” She huffs. “You are my exhibit A. She’s like Vann in that respect. And she has an attitude.” Soshee frowns. “I wish I was like her. She really is a badass girl.”
“What the hell are you talking about, not like her? You’re not short, but you’re sexy runway-model tall. That’s a big, fat check in the pro column as far as I’m concerned. And trust me, your legs look amazing in that short skirt of yours. And you’ve got red hair. Natural, right?”
She nods. “It’s all me.”
“Belinda dyes her hair. Trust me. That’s not the real her down there. Not even close. If you knew what I knew about her, you’d see it my way. Besides, you’re just… naturally you. Belinda is a construct. Plus, you definitely have an attitude.”
“Yeah, I know. But Belinda has that cute I’m-a-little-firecracker kind of attitude. Mine is more of a Poison Ivy personality.”
I guffaw at her. “Poison Ivy the superhero? Well, she’s sexy. And she has red hair. So, yeah, I can see it.”
“But she’s a bad guy. No one wants to be friends with the villain in the story.”
“Don’t they? I think everyone loves the villain. Even when they hate them. And anyway, Poison Ivy is more of an anti-heroine. She’s all about the ends justifying the means.”
“Hmm. But Belinda has more of a don’t-fuck-with-me-or-I’ll-insult-you-with-cute-trendy-euphemisms kind of attitude. Mine is more along the lines of I-will-poison-you-in-your-sleep kind of attitude.”
I laugh. Loudly. Then point to her. “People respect that kind of attitude, Soshee. Don’t sell yourself short.” And then a new idea kinda hits me. “You know what this is?”
“What?”
“It’s very much a case of… not mistaken identity. But something like that.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well, you’re falling for the wrong guy and I’m… not falling for the wrong girl. That probably makes no sense.”
“Hmm. No. It sorta does. I get what you’re saying. He’s not right for me.” She pouts her lips. “And Belinda isn’t right for you.”
“Exactly.”
“That sucks though.”
“Why? Because you’ve invested time and energy into stalking Vann? And now you might have
to admit that it was a waste?”
She sighs. “Yeah. Definitely something to think about, I guess.” She smiles weakly at me. Then her attention redirects to the street down below. “Well, there goes Vann.”
I look down at College Avenue below, and sure enough, there’s Vann coming out of the shop. He walks to his truck, gets in, then pulls out, takes a right on Mountain Avenue, and disappears from view. “Closing time, finally. But at least he didn’t leave with Belinda.”
“There’s Vonn and Vinn,” Soshee says. “I guess everyone’s done for the night.”
We watch as one of the twins locks the front door to the shop and then the two custom motorcycles parked in front of the shop roar to life in the silence of downtown and they pull away and out of sight.
“No Belinda, though,” I say.
“She probably went out the back.”
“The lights are still on.”
“That’s probably Vic. It’s pretty common for him to pull all-nighters. His clients are almost all out-of-towners. People come from all over the world to get ink from Vic so he does long sessions.”
“Damn, woman. You’re like a little fountain of information.” Then I point to her. “No. A really tall, sexy, red-headed mountain of information.”
She slaps my pointing finger away and laughs. “Stop it.” But then she sighs heavily and stands up. She grabs the wine glasses and takes them into the kitchen. I grab the empty wine bottles and follow, handing them to her. She sets them on the counter and turns to me, leaning back against it. “Thank you for being my spy partner.”
“It was my pleasure, Soshee Ameci.” I take her hand and kiss her knuckles.
She smiles, but doesn’t blush, and then pulls her hand away. I wasn’t trying to make her blush, so that’s a good sign that she isn’t thinking I’m about to make a move on her. The whole jilted-lovers-find-each-other trope really is sad and not classically romantic.
“We should do it again sometime.”
I point to the floor. “I’m right downstairs if you need me.”
“How long are you staying?”
“Well… I dunno. I got what I came for, I guess. Well. Except for the actual reason I came here. Which was to check up on something for my brother.”
