by Celia Crown
I always get super embarrassed when elderly women go to his shop and tell him that he needs to marry me, then they would come to the tattoo shop to say hello and tell me that a man like Jackson needs to be loved and treasured.
Marry him, they say, have his babies.
The first time something like that happened, I couldn’t meet his eyes for ages.
I face Jackson again and stands on my toes to kiss his soft lips, he leans down and presses to extend our kiss into a much longer one. Big hands tenderly cradle my face, stroking my loose hair as he smiles against my lips.
“I was supposed to work yesterday,” I complain meekly.
He grins down at me, it’s a smile that sparks a blush on my cheeks. “You can work on me again, I don’t mind another hands-on approach.”
I smack his chest in mortification, shuffling on my feet as I mull over another round of kisses. His dark scent is comforting, not what people expect from a man who works around pastries.
Neither of us lives up to expectations, but that’s okay. Jackson doesn’t need to be anyone else but himself, I like him just as he is. I like the kind smiles when someone compliments on his creations, I like the way he politely declines phone numbers and dates from interested parties, and I like the way his eyes hone with undivided attention when he brings an idea onto a plate.
Those are times where I find myself loving this man more than the minute before.
He takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, lingering there with his eyes grasping mine heatedly, my lashes flutter as I want to look away from the intensity, but his eyes are fierce and fixated.
“Just so you’re clear,” voice gravelly and rough, pinning me in a smoke of want.
“We are together; you are mine and I am yours.”
I nod firmly. He devours my lips again and I mewl in my throat as he curls his tongue around mine, lustful desire coil in my belly when he pulls away. Our separation is a loud smack that I can’t help but blush.
My hand finds his, delicately lacing our fingers together. I peek at him through my lashes, silently asking for permission. I know permission is to be asked before the action, but my mind gets crowded when something has to do with Jackson.
We take our time going downstairs, the parlor opens at exactly eight o’clock and the first client tends to come a bit early. I want to have enough time to get all the things ready so I don’t become overwhelmed, Kelly usually opens the shop and I close at night. That way, I could go to Jackson at night and spend time with him through desserts.
“Well, hello.” Kelly’s voice comes when my footsteps land on the last stair.
I glance up, a bodily reaction throws me off balance as I accidentally squash Jackson’s hand too tightly. He has no reaction to my nails digging into his skin, he returns my grip with a calming clutch.
“H-hey, Kelly!” I squeak, my voice cracks and I hope she doesn’t notice.
She does though, her eye crinkle says it all.
“I see our kind neighbor is here for another tattoo?” she playfully winks, and I control my thumping heart.
“Yeah…” I avoid her eyes at all cost.
She hums thoughtfully, tapping her cleft chin. “Upstairs? You know that’s unsanitary.”
I quickly come up with an excuse as I feel Jackson’s chest rumble in laughter behind my back, I mentally shoot a pout at him to get me out of this hot spot. He isn’t a mind reader, he can’t help me undug this hole that I voluntarily, and very stupidly, jumped in.
“Baking soda lifts the blood off sheets, but I’m not so sure about white stains.” Kelly spares me no mercy as she delivers the last blow.
My face explodes in red.
Jackson’s face buries in my hair and laughs deeply into my ear as I splutter and panic for an excuse that no, it is not what happened.
Well, it did happen, but she doesn’t need to know that!
“Took you two long enough to get together,” Kelly said, fanning her fingers out as she examines her nails.
She continues, “Everyone’s been holding their breath on who makes the first move.”
Her eyebrows jump up and down in a provocative gesture, I purse my lips shut. She’s not going to get anything from me other than my very expressive eyes to ask her to please be quiet because she’s so embarrassing.
“I need some inside information to win this bet. I wagered on you, Lolita. Don’t let me down, I told them that your motor mouth will win me this bet.” Kelly snickers and I mope grumpily at her.
I frown, “You’re using our friendship for a bet! I’m hurt! You’re supposed to be on my side and defend me!”
She laughs noisily, a croak in her voice ends with a suppressed clearing of a throat.
“I do defend you, it’s why I said you would make the first move. Everyone agrees with me after I told them you got scared by your own mirror reflection that you confessed to warding off aliens with tinfoil hats.” Kelly clenches her stomach; a laugh comes out as boisterous and her eyes are spilling tears.
I lock my arms around Jackson’s waist, preventing him from running away from my history of humiliation. He’s laughing with pearly whites gleaming at me and I want to bask in his sunshine smile, but I also want to hide.
“I was twelve!” I defend myself, I whine when he laughs even more with Kelly heaving for air behind me.
“There’s nothing to be ashamed of your past.” his reassuring hand in my hair doesn’t do much to settle my convulsing stomach.
I whine pathetically and glowers up at him, making him notice my pouting face. He needs to see the unamused glare I have on, I have no fire in my eyes so he chuckles with a kiss to my temple.
“I’m sorry, darling,” he murmurs softly, a puff of air fans my hair as a small uncontained laugh flies out.
Jackson clears his throat, “I’m not laughing at you, I’m just amused at how adorable you are.”
“It better be,” I humph at him, turning my lips into a bigger scowl.
He kisses that huffiness away from my body with one velvety croon of a love confession. The look in his eyes tells me that he already knows I’ve forgiven him, I wasn’t really upset with him in the first place.
“Are there any secrets I need to know?” he lightheartedly jokes.
I throw myself into his chest, clenching his waist as constricting as I can, however, he feels no discomfort at my effort to transfer my indignity to him. His strong arms apply a small amount of pressure on my back to crush me to him, our difference in strength is clear that I am no match to him.
Him and his ridiculously muscled arms that I would like to nuzzle into.
“You don’t want to know the things adolescence Lolita did, it’ll scare you away,” I said.
He comes back with an easy answer, “Nothing can take me from you.”
When I’m about to say something that’ll make a cheese fountain cringe, Kelly coughs loudly over our lovely-dovely moment.
I forgot she’s here.
“See you later?” I say, grinning up at him as he leans down to kiss me.
He promises with a bite to my bottom lip, “I’ll be waiting with your pie.”
“You’re spoiling her too much,” Kelly comments.
Jackson speaks over my head, “She’s meant to be loved by me.”
Kelly makes a gagging sound and a dramatic shuddering exclaim, “How come I don’t get that treatment? I too want sugar from some hunky cookie-maker.”
Jackson growls, “Only Lolita gets to have me.”
Kelly shoots back with a sassy snap of a finger as I turn to face her, Jackson’s arms are still securely looped around me.
“I’d die of a sugar overdose if I spend one more second with you.”
Jackson snaps, playfully glaring at the older woman. “Then die. I’ll be here a lot so get used to it.”
“Gentle giant my ass,” Kelly taunts, rolling her eyes at the nickname that elderly women have for Jackson.
I giggle at them. I’m glad that my boss gets a
long with him, they are both important to me and I hate to be torn and pick one of them.
Chapter Six
Jackson
Weekends are the busiest for me, people on breaks come in and out of my café for a quick pick-me-up. I get college students from the local university coming in here for a cup of strong coffee, office workers complaining about something in their order not being correct, and wanderers taking ten minutes to finally order after reading every little fine print of the menu.
Then, there are those who come in to flirt.
I get unnecessary offers for a date that I always decline, they are not Lolita. They don’t have pretty hazel eyes or luscious brown hair, or that peculiarity in their personality.
My attraction to Lolita is not a secret. The moment I saw her, I knew that girl is going to be special; that she is someone I need in my life and I felt my heart yearn for her.
Women come into my café with their new looks, anything to catch my attention with what they think is the Lolita style. I nearly scoff at another woman who came in the other day with a flower crown on her head, the women around her had visibly cringed at the second-hand embarrassment.
As a man with means and looks, I do not use those aspects to pick up women like some stereotypical playboy. I’m faithful to my darling, nothing will waver my love for her.
I had to fire so many employees who wanted the job to get close to me, I’m lucky to get a cashier with a significant other and doesn’t give me a second look.
“Oh, you made these?” an annoyingly high giggle pierces my ears as I put on a professional smile that I’ve come to accept as my second friend when I deal with people.
“Yes, it’s made from—” I’m interrupted by the woman’s friend’s obnoxiously fake laugh that is not as humble as she tries to make it.
“I would love to try it, I heard that you give free samples after hours. The girl from the tattoo place gets them all the time. Maybe we could get those benefits too?” the first woman comments.
I keep my smile firmly on my face as I shove the irritation down to the pit bottom, “I do apologize, madams. Lolita has special privileges, we are lovers.”
That doesn’t deter the pair of women as the second woman bats her hand at him with a sly grin, “Oh, you! Is that what you call your taste-testers? I don’t mind being called your lover.”
I simply reply back, “I’m a one-woman man, I’m afraid I cannot give you that benefit.”
“Don’t be so modest!” the first woman tries to graze my arm with her fake nails, I dodge with subtle skills as it is masked by the need to make the cup of cappuccino for another customer.
“I’m recently unattached, I’m no longer Mrs. Gordon. I’m free if you wish to take me on a date,” the second woman purrs, I stand tall with a grossed shiver prickling my arms.
I smile back at them, “And I am happily attached.”
I don’t give them a chance to continue the conversation as I call out the name on the cup. The next order I have is a soy-latte with chocolate drizzles for a sitting customer, I focus on fixing that as I lose my ears to the women’s chattering.
As much as I want them out of my shop, they are still paying customers. I have no reason to not serve them, but if they cross the line then I will personally escort them out with a firm warning that they are not allowed back.
After I served a man’s soy-latte, I quickly and proficiently delivers their two drinks and their croissants. I see their attempt to touch me when I hand their orders, I have enough practice to smoothly dodge them.
They seem vexed for a moment before they bat their lashes at me, slipping their number with a tip on the counter before slowly leaving. I put the tip into the cashier’s jar and toss away the pieces of paper.
“Must be hard to have sugar mamas offering free things to you,” my cashier sniggers and I throw her a sneer.
“Please, I got more scary looks from my boyfriend than you. He spanks me hard when I’m a brat.”
I turn away from her, “Keep that to yourself, you’ll make our customers sick.”
“I’ll have you know that they love my stories, I give them advice about my sexy times.” she pops her hip to the side, knocking on the counter as another customer leaves the door.
“Do not ever use those words ever again,” I cringe with a sigh.
I end the conversation as more customers file in like zombies, they all grunt their orders with a dead look in their eyes. I can’t say I feel them on some level, I have nothing but pleasure and excitement to see the glee in Lolita’s eyes when she tastes my sweets.
The afternoon leaves faster than my customers as some linger for another hour before packing up their things, I can see that my cashier is dragging her feet with bags under her eyes. I let her go early and she’s ever so grateful with a groan that I should let her go early every weekend.
I decide that I should close early since nighttime is more of a ghost shop in my café, no one needs caffeine at this hour unless they are one of those strays who’s looking for a strong coffee pull an all-nighter.
They are rare, but they happen. I think they can find another place to get their coffee for tonight.
I go into the kitchen to prepare for the lemon key lime pie, I know the process by heart as my mind is filled with Lolita and her cute little smiles. I pride myself on knowing that she can only smile that wide for me, I’m addicted to her smiles like she’s addicted to my sweets
Sliding the wet batter into the preheated oven, I take off my gloves and toss them in the trash. It takes a while to bake that pie so I want to take this time to visit my darling, she must be working hard. I like to see those crinkles between her brows as she juts her lips out to pinpoint the exact placement of the ink, I recently told her that and she looked so baffled that she makes funny faces when she inks on people.
I press the timer and leaves the shop with the door locking behind me, I walk down to the tattoo parlor. It’s only right next door so I should be able to come back to the shop without burning the pie.
She’d be so disappointed if there’s no treat for her tonight.
Looking up, I freeze.
I stop in my track, anger flares like an explosive volcano that erupted. My chest constricts in pain and fury as my eyes sets on a seething glare, my back strains with shaking rage as my nails dig painfully into my palms.
What I see is unbelievable.
Lolita and a fucking man kissing.
This dry anger in me hurts my lungs as I try to breathe but I can’t, I don’t know how to control this rage in me that’s consuming all my control.
What the fuck is happening?
A strong need to punch the man in the face tempts me as I struggle to see clearly, my knuckles crack with my closed fists and I want to rip that bastard away from Lolita. I want to confront her, I want to have her tell whatever excuse she has to my face. I clench my teeth, my neck tightening with veins pulsing blood in my ears.
I look away and releases my fist with anger gripping my fingers to pull them back. This must be a mistake, Lolita would never do that to me. She wouldn’t play with my feelings or cheat on me, she’s just not that kind of girl.
I know my Lolita. She’s a sweet girl with a heart of gold, she rather gets hurt herself than to hurt others. What we have is special in her heart, what I have for her is more than love, and she told me that she loves me.
Looking back to the glass window, my heart shatters and drops to the bottom of my stomach as each broken piece of my heart stabs into my skin. Making me bleed for what I thought was our happy story.
I can’t look at her holding the man’s hands any longer, it makes me sick to know that those lips were on mine this morning and those hands that cradled my face lovingly.
Anger takes over as I turn and stalks back to the café. I almost break the lock open at how harshly I wrench the door, but I could care less about a piece of wood. I hope it breaks because at least it’s not the only thing that’s broken, my heart wo
uld have a friend to suffer with.
I snarl at the pie baking beautifully in the oven, I see nothing but disgust as I yank the door open and roughly takes out the baking tray with the running batter inside the crust.
The scorching heat doesn’t bother me or I don’t register the pain, but I chuck the entire thing inside the trash and slam my hands on the counter.
Maybe I’m so blinded by Lolita’s manipulation that I don’t see past her façade. This is the first time I’ve gone to the tattoo parlor early, it’s either I go to pick her up after I close the shop or she comes over if she finishes first. Maybe that’s why I never see her with anyone, she has another man at another hour.
That image shakes me to the core and I bite my lip to not shout, I’m furious and I want to break things so bad that I want to destroy this place. I don’t need this constant reminder of what we had, this shop became dedicated to her the moment we met and I want this shit gone.
How dare her.
How dare that girl string me along and play with my feelings and then go behind my back to another man?
Or am I the other man?
Enraged, I fling the content on the counter onto the floor and punch the counter with my fist. It does little to ease my pain.
Am I that replaceable that she has to find another man to toy with?
“Jack?” her voice calls behind me, my eyes glaze with another wave of fury washing over me.
My body twists around, my face scared her and I find no satisfaction with her reaction.
“What’s wrong?” she asks, treading lightly towards me.
I sneer at her, her steps come to an abrupt stop as confusion clouds her face. Her innocent act isn’t going to work on me when I know the truth already, I deserve better than this little game she’s playing.
“What’s wrong?” I ask back, my voice is cold and uncaring as she flinches. “It was easy, isn’t it? Tricking me for your little fucking entertainment?”
Her bewildered expression makes me even more angry as I raise my voice, but I keep my distance. I don’t know what would happen if she were to be close.
