REX (Finding Love)

by Beth Michele

  My cheeks burnish a deep red before I stiffen my spine. “And now you’ve added eavesdropping onto your list of offenses.”

  “Listen, Blondie,” he says, making my eyes thin, “I came in here to get a beer. Ryder, can I have a beer, please?”

  “Sure, Rex, coming right up.” Ryder moves down to the far end of the bar while I continue to give this guy Rex the evil eye. He’s pretty tall, maybe six feet, so I have to lift my chin to reach his gaze.

  “Hey.” He holds his hands up in defeat. “I’m not here for you. I just came in to get a beer on my way home.”

  “Here you go.” Ryder flicks the cap off and hands him the bottle.

  “Thanks, man.” He tips the neck of the bottle to his full lips that I’m trying not to notice, before plodding over to a table, giving me a chance to check out his ass. But that’s not what draws my attention. What pulls my eyes in is the hint of a tattoo on the back of his neck. I can’t quite make out what it is, but I’m a sucker for ink. It’s very hot, and so is he. Well, that is, until he opens his mouth.

  “You know,” Ryder says when I turn back around, “I don’t know what happened at the shop, but Rex is a good guy, and if he didn’t tattoo you, I’m sure he had good reason. In other words,” he edges forward, whispering, “don’t be a bitch.”

  My lips kick up into a grin, because he’s right. I have the bitch gene. I inherited it from my mom. Maybe that’s why my father often slept on the couch. Maybe that’s why they just got divorced. Maybe that’s why there’s no hope for me. I huff out a sigh, then pick my bitchy ass up from the chair, crossing the bar to Rex’s table. He’s watching the ball game and I clear my throat to get his attention.

  He doesn’t even give me a chance to speak because he instantly chimes in, “If you think I’m going to tattoo you, you’re out of your gorgeous mind. So I hope that’s not why you came over here.” He cracks a smile, circling the rim of the bottle with his thumb.

  That’s the second time he’s called me gorgeous, but the first time I’m noticing the dimple in his right cheek and the beautiful, rich brown of his eyes. He’s still a jerk, though. They all are.

  He kicks the chair out, motioning with his chin for me to sit. “You want to join me? I promise I’m harmless. Well,” he chuckles, “kind of.” My lips purse, but curve into a smile as I drop my bag on the table and sit down.

  “So, you do know how to smile,” he jokes, leaning back in his chair. “You should do it more often. It suits you a lot better than that scowl you were sporting in the shop.”

  “Well,” I challenge, swinging my hair over my shoulder, “maybe you should try to be more accommodating.”

  His eyebrows jump, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “Oh, I can be very accommodating. What did you have in mind?”

  I shake my head at his off-color remark. Of course it’s about sex. It always is.

  My eyes do a quick roll before I remember why I came over here in the first place. “I actually just wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat.”

  “Okay, that’s cool. So, do you come here often?” He smiles, knocking back more of his beer before setting it down on the table.

  I shift a hand to my hip, cocking my head to the side. “You did not seriously just ask me if I come here often? That is the lamest pick-up line in the book.”

  “Whoa, there. Who said anything about trying to pick you up? Someone’s got an awfully big head. I was only asking if you frequent Ryder’s place a lot, that’s all.”

  “Oh, sorry.” I tug at the corner of my lip, feeling like a complete idiot. “Yeah, I do. Ryder’s a good friend of mine. Anyway, I should go.” With that, I push back my chair, making my way to the door.

  “Wait a second,” he shouts out above the roar of the customers. “That’s it?”

  “Yeah, that’s it.” I don’t even know if he hears me and I really don’t care. I keep walking until I’m outside, the air warm though a sudden chill has me pulling my jacket tighter around my shoulders.

  Because what else is there?

  Wow, and I thought I was fucked up. I think I may have met my match. She’s got anger, bitterness, and pain written all over her. Wears it like a badge. She doesn’t need to ink her skin. It seeps from her pores, leaks out into the atmosphere, probably infecting everyone around her.

  After she walks out the door, I polish off my beer and take a seat back at the bar. I tap on the counter with my index finger, signaling for another drink and information.

  I want information.

  Ryder sets another beer down in front of me before continuing to serve other customers. I should be home in bed. But instead, I’m sitting here, waiting to get Ryder’s attention—because I’m curious. Even though curiosity ends up killing the cat.

  My hand darts out to grab his arm when he finally makes his way over. “Hey, you gotta sec?”

  “Sure, let me just get the gal over there her drink.” He walks away and my gaze follows to the brunette bombshell sitting on the last chair. Ringlet curls frame her face, green eyes, and as I go lower, lead me to cleavage that suddenly makes me forget what I’m doing here.

  I hop off the stool and rake a hand through my hair, making my way toward her. With a subtle shove, I squeeze my way in-between her and the guy attempting to sidle up next to her. Leaning an elbow on the bar, I take a lazy stroll over her body before coming back to her eyes. “Can I buy you a drink, beautiful?”

  She fingers a curl, twirling it around seductively, my mouth watering in response. She’s got plump lips that would fit perfectly around my cock—and she looks like she’s interested.

  “Sure. I’m drinking a gin and tonic,” she says, my dick twitching when her tongue skips across her lower lip.

  “Hey, Ryder,” I shout, “when you get a chance, another gin and tonic for the lady.”

  “Lady,” she scoffs, “that makes me feel old. And, believe me,” her fingers toy with the buttons on her blouse, “there’s nothing about me that’s old.” She edges forward, shimmying her breasts in front of me, and I raise an interested brow.

  “How about you tell me your name?” I ask, forcing my eyes back up to her face.

  “I’m Diane, and you are—”

  No longer interested.

  Diane is the name of the woman I despise most in this world, so she basically just poured a bucket of ice water all over me and my hard-on. It’s a done deal. There’s no way I’m screwing someone named Diane. Not gonna happen.

  “You know,” I tap my watch a few times, “I just remembered I have somewhere I need to be. Sorry, beautiful,” I apologize, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek so I don’t offend her. I throw some money on the bar. “Later, Ryder.”

  “See ya, man.”

  The slight chill in the air outside only adds to the pure hatred brewing inside of me. My mother. She’s never far away. I can never distance myself enough from her. Reminders lurk around every corner—of what she did, of who she is. What kind of a woman cheats on their husband repeatedly, or isn’t tuned in to the fact that her nine-year-old son is being molested. My fists clench at my sides while my feet kick up dirt on the sidewalk. She should have known. She should have been there. Instead, my brother is dead at the hands of pills that he took from her medicine cabinet.

  She sickens me and I’ll never forgive her.

  I’m fucking pissed by the time I make it to my apartment. Not only am I angry, I’m horny. And now I’m screwed, and definitely not in the way I was hoping for tonight.

  The door slams shut behind me and I toss my keys on the coffee table. My apartment is small—a one bedroom with a living room, bathroom, and galley kitchen. This place is definitely nothing to write home about, but it’s what I can afford right now and works for me. It’s nothing like Hunter’s penthouse on the Upper West Side. But then again, I’m not the owner of a hundred million dollar software company either.

  Plodding into the bedroom, I shuck off my shoes, jeans, and t-shirt. I literally co
llapse onto the mattress, exhaustion overtaking me, yet I’m restless. I’m never gonna be able to sleep when I’m this worked up and my dick is hard. Fuck.

  I could call Aileen, who used to work at the shop. We’ve hooked up before, but it’s been a while and she tends to get attached. Attachments don’t work for me. Straight, uncomplicated sex does. But tonight, it looks like I’m on my own.

  My hand travels down to the waistband of my boxers and I reach inside, gripping my shaft that’s now hard as freaking steel. One look at the brunette’s tits and I was a goner. I stroke my cock while visions of ripping her shirt open invade my mind, licking and sucking her nipples until the tips harden and she’s whimpering like crazy. I can almost smell her pussy, completely soaked as she climbs over me, riding my face. Her slick juices cover my mouth, my tongue, my cheeks, until I can’t get enough.

  My hand speeds up as I imagine her pinching her nipples, moaning, my tongue delving further into her wetness. Her lustful gaze bears down on me, watching, as I lick her clean. I groan, my eyes clamping shut, hips bucking off the bed, breathing completely out of control as my orgasm tears through me. And then I open them, startled, realizing the eyes staring back at me didn’t belong to her.

  They belong to Blondie.

  “So, how’s the event business going?” Olivia asks me as we sit in a booth inside Heavenly Lattes. Coffee is something neither of us can get through the day without and is pretty much on par with air. Trent, the owner of the shop, brings over something on the house every time we’re here. That’s because we’ve been customers for eight years.

  This is where Olivia and I met. It was my first day in Manhattan, and I was desperate as always for coffee. We literally bumped into one another. Once we started chatting, we discovered an instant connection and have been attached at the hip ever since. She knows everything about me and is so much more than just a friend. She’s like the family I always wanted but never had.

  “It’s very busy. I have six events next month, and then the following month I’m traveling to Portland. I haven’t been there but have heard good things about it so I’m excited.”

  Fisting a hand on her hip, she tilts her head to the side, scrutinizing me with those deep, blue eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head and smile. “You know, it’s rather irritating that I can’t pull anything over on you. You’re like my own personal lie detector test.”

  “Yup, and the clock’s ticking, so what’s going on?” she asks, her fingers rapping lightly on the table.

  “I’ve been thinking about the last conversation I had with my dad, a little over two months ago. He was his ice-cold self on the phone, as usual, and it was the same useless discussion we always have. But, when he brought up my mother and the divorce, do you know what popped into my head?” Tension in my jaw makes its way to my whole face and I blanch. “I was thinking about when my mother sat me down, I don’t even remember how old I was, maybe seven, and told me there was no Santa Claus. She said she didn’t want me forming unnecessary emotional attachments and having expectations for something that wasn’t real.” I let out a laugh, but there’s no smile to go along with it. “I guess she didn’t want me forming emotional attachments to real people either.”

  Olivia gives my hand a sympathetic squeeze, offering me the courage to continue. “I don’t know. Something in his voice gave me the sense that he’s upset about the divorce. Go figure.” I curl the straw wrapper around my finger, trying to sort out my feelings. “I honestly thought there was no love lost between them. But I guess he still loves her, as twisted as that sounds. Anyway,” I exhale a breath, “love sucks.”

  “So that’s your new mantra now, huh?” She lifts her fork to her mouth, savoring the taste of the chocolate. “Well, I have a solution that will lift your spirits,” she says, a garbled mouthful of frosting obstructing her next words.

  “I’m sorry, come again, I couldn’t quite understand you.” I laugh. “You’re enjoying that cake a little too much.”

  She sets her fork down gently on her plate. “Okay, so Hunter and I are going to the club tonight, and I want you to come.”

  My head falls back against the booth. “What, so I can sit alone at the bar while you two are dancing the night away? No thanks.”

  “Nope.” She pops her lips together, grinning mischievously, and I know I’m in trouble.

  I sit up straight, eyes pinching together. “I sense a scheme of sorts. What have you got up your sleeve?”

  “Well….” She scoots closer, clasping her hands together on the table as if she’s about to deliver mind-blowing information. “Remember I told you Hunter’s brother moved to the city. He’s going to invite him along tonight. I think you’ll have fun. He’s seriously hot,” she says with that same Cheshire grin, “and he’s got tattoos. You like them twisted, and he’s definitely not run of the mill.”

  I cringe, remembering her last attempt to set me up and how badly it ended. “Liv, I appreciate it, but remember when you tried to hook me up with Victor, that guy from the salon you go to—”

  She interrupts, placing a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. “I know, but how was I supposed to know he wasn’t into women. I promise you,” she makes an X with her finger across her chest, “his brother is not gay. Plus, I’m not setting you up. He’s not relationship material anyway. It’s just to hang out for one night and have fun. Besides,” she winks, “he’s nice to look at.”

  “Okay, I’ll think about it. Oh,” I snap my fingers in front of me, “get this. So after that call with my dad and this whole divorce thing, I started thinking a lot about maybe getting a tattoo. And last night, for whatever reason, it hit me, and I decided to be spontaneous. So, I went to this tattoo shop and the asshole there wouldn’t tattoo me.”

  “What do you mean? Why not?”

  “He didn’t like the idea of my tattoo,” I reply, even though I’ll never admit a part of me is grateful. He was probably right. It was a shitty idea.

  “What was it?” She stares at me over the rim of her cup, blue eyes steeped in curiosity.

  “Well, I told him I wanted love sucks.” I spit out the words, waiting for the impending lecture, but it never comes. Instead, she starts laughing.

  “You told him you wanted what?” Her eyes grow wide, shoulders shaking with laughter, and now I’m getting irritated.

  “What’s so funny?” I hiss.

  She rolls her eyes, lips quirking at the corners. “That’s ridiculous. I don’t blame him for not tattooing you. You want that on your skin permanently, V? What happens when you fall in love?” she asks, still looking at me like I’ve grown two heads.

  Obviously, this isn’t a fight I’m going to win so I might as well play along. “Well, then I’ll cross it out and put love’s grand.”

  “Oh, V,” she says, patting my hand. “You really need a night out.”

  “Zeek, that tattoo is brilliant.” I’ve been watching him do a tattoo on the arm of a guy whose son is returning home from war, and the man is a freaking genius. The resemblance to the picture is spot on: shaggy hair, bold green eyes, cleft indent in his chin, bright smile.

  I listened as Michael told Zeek his story. His son, Jed, the class clown and sports enthusiast with aspirations to become a professional baseball player, instead went off to fight for our country. And when he said goodbye to his only son, he wasn’t sure if he’d ever see him again. But now Jed’s finally coming home.

  Michael stands up, examining the tattoo running from his shoulder partway to his elbow. His face completely transforms, the tough exterior peeled away, only a man with a grateful heart left behind. A tear pools in the corner of his eye and he roughly wipes it away. Then he turns around, immediately embracing Zeek and slapping him on the back.

  “Thanks, man,” he says with the utmost respect before Zeek covers his tattoo with a bandage.

  Everyone that comes into this shop has a story. Day after day, I’m privileged to get a tiny glimpse into someone�
�s life, to see through a window, one that remains closed to the outside world.

  I may not make a lot of money tattooing, but there’s no way on earth I’d want to do anything else. My mother always told me this was a crap profession, but again, she never had a clue about what really mattered. The people here matter. Their stories matter. What we imprint on their skin matters.

  “What’s the plan for tonight?” Zeek asks as he cleans up his station. “Tabitha and I are going to maybe head out later and meet some friends, if you want to join us. I think Stevie and Jaden are coming too.”

  My cell phone chirps and I pull it from my back pocket. “Hold that thought.” I slide the screen, seeing Hunter’s number. “Hey, bro, what’s up?”

  “I called to see if you wanted to hang out with Olivia and me tonight? We’re going to a club.”

  “What, and be a third wheel while you guys are eye-fucking each other?” I say with my usual edge, watching Zeek, Stevie, and Jaden laugh.

  He lets out a loud sigh. “No, wiseass, she’s bringing a friend. I think you’ll like her. She’s got the same kind of attitude as you,” he adds, chuckling through the phone.

  “But tits, how are her tits?” I ask, and I know he’s shaking his head on the other end of the line. “All right, all right, what the hell. What time?”

  “I’ll pick you up at eight,” he says. “They’re going to meet us there.”

  “Okay, see you then.”

  I hope she’s got a great rack.

  “Jesus, Rex.” Hunter scans the apartment, eyeing the clothes and beer bottles spread around the living room. “You need a female touch.”

  “There’s only one female touch I need.” I grab my dick before snagging my keys from the table.

  “Yes, and might I point out,” he waves his hand in the direction of my crotch, “that little gesture right there is one of the reasons you don’t have one.”

  “Funny. Now let’s go. I need to get laid tonight,” I joke, well, half-joke, just to get under his skin a bit more.