by Ophelia Bell
“You’ll love it, Sam. Trust us!” Toni says, grinning and giggling. The pure glee bubbling over from her clinches it. I’m not about to say no to her, which means I can’t very well say no to the other two.
“Fine, but just the arms, got it? I’m not stripping in public no matter how much you beg.”
“Arms this big will take a while anyway,” Mako says. “That’s a lot of skin.” He grabs a napkin first and tests a marker on it, then on the back of his own hand before leaning in close with his tongue jutting from the corner of his mouth. His antics are thankfully enough to distract me from Toni’s touch.
The cold press of the marker tip on my other arm makes me turn to see Toni drawing a graceful line along the contour of my bicep. Her eyes light up. “I love the way it makes lines. This is fantastic! Hold on.” She sets the marker down and proceeds to roll up my short sleeve so it’s bunched at the top of my shoulder, then wiggles on her seat and leans in close to start a new line. The angle gives me a perfect view down her snug bustier, which I can’t help but fixate on while she’s distracted. I’m only half-aware of what’s happening on my other side because I’m so enthralled with how into this she is. And with her tits. God save me, how far do those tattoos go? Her sternum is bare, but I can see more ink down below.
I force my gaze away from her when the throbbing in my groin gets too much to bear, and sit frozen, staring at the horizon while they treat me like fresh canvas. The waitress swings by and eyes me with a smirk. “Can I get you anything?”
“Maybe a straw? I’ve kind of given up possession of my arms . . .” I give her a sheepish smile.
She laughs and fishes a straw out of her apron, unwraps it, then sticks it into my margarita. It’s the kind that bends, and she crooks the top of it toward my mouth. I lean in for a sip, careful not to disrupt the flow of artistry happening.
“Hey, Vic, toss that shot into my margarita so I can actually drink it.”
He obliges, then mixes my drink with the straw and I lean in to take another long swallow.
I’m good and loose thanks to the tequila, and enjoy being the target of Toni’s attention for the evening in a way I’ve never been before. This is the other reason I want her to be the one to tattoo me.
Mako finishes my upper arm after about an hour, then Vic takes over. Toni’s made it to my elbow by then, her design a perfect rendering of an art nouveau spring princess with flowing red hair, complete with an ornate flowered halo around her head. She continues the design down my arm with a trail of blue and green, like the woman is standing in a stream bordered by flowers.
Meanwhile my other side is a melding of Mako’s bold, traditional Japanese color in a giant koi fish leaping up my arm, and when Vic dives in, he makes the fish look like it sprang off the pages of a black and white book that wraps around my forearm.
We’ve attracted an audience who form a circle around us, and I almost regret not having the opportunity to show off my own skills. When Toni sits back and blows a lock of stray hair off her face, her eyes sparkle.
“Done. What do you think?”
“Finis!” Vic declares from the other side and stands back with a flourish. I stand and rotate, flexing my arms as I move. I don’t have a good angle to really see how they turned out, but the crowd cheers, so it must be pretty decent. All three of them are amazing artists, so it isn’t as if I doubt their ability to pull off something stunning.
Still, it’s mesmerizing to see the designs covering my arms from shoulders to wrists. Toni’s especially makes me want to go stand in front of a mirror to examine all the details. The section where my actual tattoo lives is now covered in a swirl of colorful folds of the woman’s dress where the long hem is gathered around her feet.
Vic and Mako are both bowing to the crowd. “Thank you! Thank you! We’ll be here all weekend!” Mako declares.
Someone sends us a round of shots, and I take advantage of having my arms back to drink. The crowd mostly disperses back to their own tables, except for three cute women lingering behind to chat with Vic and Mako. One woman pulls up another seat, baring a shoulder for Mako to begin drawing on, and one of her friends follows suit, targeting Vic. I reach for a couple of markers, an idea forming.
“You’ve got an admirer,” Toni says under her breath and tilts her head.
I glance up to where the third of the trio still stands between her friends. She smiles at me. I give a polite smile back, but avoid making direct eye contact. She’s not unattractive, but she isn’t Toni.
“You’re allowed to have fun here, Sam. I’m not grading you on your ability to keep it in your pants.”
I arch an eyebrow at her. “But you are grading me, aren’t you?”
“Maybe a little. But not tonight. You should let off some steam.”
“All I want right now is to return the favor. Give me your arm.” I grin at her and wave the markers I held onto.
She laughs. “You may have noticed I already have tattoos on both my arms. Do you think you can improve on my designs?”
“Nope. I just want to show you what a collaboration might look like. I saw your skepticism when I suggested it, but I don’t think it’s that strange a concept. You love art nouveau. I love biomechanical art. I think they complement each other.”
“You love horror.”
“It’s only horror if it’s got teeth.” I take her hand and bend over it with the silver marker, tracing the line of one of the vines that wraps around her bicep. After a few strokes, it starts to look more like a tentacle than a vine. I keep going with the rest, adding just enough detail to transform her vines into a creature that’s part tubes, part tentacles, but every bit as graceful as before. I finish it off by adding teeth to the flowers, just for fun.
Toni laughs. “You know, Sam, I never thought I’d say this, but you make aliens look beautiful.”
We’re admiring my work, and I’m about to reach for her other arm when a drunk voice from behind me breaks through our perfect little bubble.
“Hey! Yeah you, you arrogant little prick!”
The pungent smell of whiskey hits my nose and adrenaline instantly floods my veins. I spin, putting myself between Toni and whoever just spoke. Some crazy part of my brain expects to see my dad, even though he’s dead. It’s as if the combination of insult and alcohol managed to summon my old man from beyond the grave.
But it isn’t him. It’s just Alex yet again, sneering at me and wobbling slightly on his feet. He points a finger in my face. “Too big a pussy to get your own damn tattoos, ain’t you, you little shit?”
Mako’s right behind the guy and his eyebrows shoot up as he raises a hand to his mouth, suppressing a laugh. The absurdity of Alex’s comment hits me and I manage to cool off a little. He’s several inches shorter, and while he’s clearly overdone the steroids, I’m pretty confident I could easily drop him. I clench a fist, debating whether to deck him, but Toni grabs my wrist.
“He’s not worth it. Let’s call it a night, okay?” With a weary sigh, she turns to Alex. “Please just leave me alone. Okay, Alex?”
She forces my hand to unclench and threads her fingers through mine. Confused, I blink down at her. It takes a moment for the tequila to give way to logic so I can remember our earlier ruse. Right. As far as Alex is concerned, I’m the new boyfriend.
“My pleasure, baby,” I say as she steers me toward the exit. I keep my eyes on Alex as we move, and impulsively dip my head to press a kiss to Toni’s temple just before we leave his line of sight.
We make it to the elevator, where she releases my hand and moves to the far corner once we’re inside. A knot forms in my belly at the abruptness with which she distances herself from me. She just stares at the numbers, absently rubbing her wrist with her thumb.
“You’re not pissed about the tattoos are you?”
She looks flustered when she turns her head to look up at me. Her cheeks are flushed from all the tequila, and she’s even more gorgeous than ever. I want to tell her as muc
h, but I’m afraid I’ve already alienated her by being too forward tonight.
“No, Sam. I’m not. I kind of love the change, to be honest. I’ve been in a dark place for a while, so if anything it fits better now.”
I swallow and nod, feeling the tequila still sloshing in my brain when I do. Before I can control my idiotic tongue, I blurt out, “I don’t want you to be in a dark place. Will you let me take away the shadows? Because your smile is the most beautiful fucking thing I’ve seen in my entire life.”
Her lips part and she takes in a breath. The elevator doors open before she can respond, and she darts out like I just yelled “fire.” I follow her down the hall to our rooms and pull out my keycard, feeling like a complete ass for even hoping for more from her so soon.
“See you in the morning, I guess,” I say, pushing my door open.
“Sam . . .”
The desperate tone in her voice makes me stop. I’m a hair’s breadth from going to her, to fix whatever made her sound that way, no matter what it is. But she put distance between us for a reason in the elevator, and I don’t want to push.
“What is it?”
She looks at me, then closes her eyes. Her shoulders drop. “It’s nothing. Good night.”
Then she disappears into her room.
10
Toni
My hands are shaking when the door clicks shut behind me, leaving me in the dark, and it’s an effort to find and turn on the light switch. Sam’s words keep replaying in my head no matter how I try to block them out. Tonight was probably the best night I’ve had in a very long time, but it’s also the first night in a while I haven’t felt completely alone.
After Manny died, I spent a week with Mom at the Flores estate, struggling to find a way forward. I knew that if I didn’t surround myself with loved ones, I’d lose it. I hadn’t had the urge to cut in years, but it came back with a vengeance—anything to break through the despair, to feel something different, something I could control. It terrified me but I knew I’d be less likely to try it where people could see.
I’ve visited Mom less and less frequently because after that first weekend, work was the only way I could distract myself. Plus, it didn’t take long to realize that no matter how many people I surrounded myself with, not one of them understood exactly how profound my loss was. Sure, Leo lost his brother, but he and Celeste found each other in the aftermath. Then they found Mad Dog and have been a happy little throuple ever since.
Not that I expected to find something like they have so soon. I couldn’t even envision myself interested in someone else, much less seeking out contact for its own sake. But when Sam came to work for me in the aftermath of his brother’s death, I finally had someone nearby who I shared common ground with. Not that we talked about it, but we had a silent discourse nonetheless, a language I think only two people grieving really understand.
Now that I think about it, his simple presence grounded me, but it still wasn’t enough to carry me through the darkest days. The anniversary of Manny’s death, and of our first meeting, and the days leading up to those dates, are always the worst. It didn’t take long before giving tattoos to other people wasn’t enough and I started inking my own body again.
The itch is strong when I turn on the light. I ignore the big, empty bed as I undress, slip into a pair of shorts and a tank top, then wash my face and brush my teeth. Yet the bed still looms in the back of my awareness like Manny’s ghost, terrifying in its message: You’re alone. You have no one.
I can’t bring myself to go back in there and face it, so I just stand front of the bathroom mirror and stare down at my wrist. My machines are in their case on the desk in the other room, but I have no ink. All my other supplies are locked in a locker down in the convention hall.
Not that ink is necessary for what I want. But the fresh scabs on my tattoo send a wave of guilt through me. I’ve wanted this design for a while; I shouldn’t fuck it up by clawing into it just to escape that other pain that looms like an enormous shadow at the back of my mind. It takes an effort of sheer will, but instead of giving into the urge to gouge my own skin, I carefully smear ointment over it, then cover it with a wide adhesive bandage.
Dread fills me when I step into the bedroom and stare at the bed. In this place where every second of previous visits was spent in the bubble of Manny’s attention, I can’t reconcile the idea of having to climb into that thing alone.
But there are only two answers to my desperate need to escape that pain. One involves indulging in an addiction that is far from healthy. The other would drag someone I care about even deeper into the mess that is my life. I’m equally terrified of both.
My logical brain tells me it wouldn’t be fair to force Sam to be a stand-in for my dead boyfriend. But it’s a bit late for that, isn’t it? Would it be any less fair for me to knock on his door and beg for something I know he won’t say no to after the things he said?
Would it be fair of me to not offer more?
The only other option is to climb into bed and turn off the light, a thought that sends me into a tailspin of panic. Before I know it, I’m out the door, down the hall, and frantically knocking on Sam’s door.
He opens it looking harried and weary, his hair a mess of tangled whorls and the stubble on his cheeks even more apparent now that he’s shirtless, making him look like he aged ten years in the last ten minutes.
He blinks at me. Then his expression turns serious and he clenches his jaw. “What’s wrong?”
My voice comes out agonized when I say, “I can’t do this.”
“Can’t do what?”
My breath catches and tears spring to my eyes. “Sam. Can I sleep with you tonight? Just sleep. I don’t expect anything else. I just can’t climb into that bed alone. If I do, I know I’ll lie there and cry all fucking night.” I’d likely do something even worse, but he doesn’t need to hear that.
He doesn’t even hesitate, bless him. He opens his door wide, and I slip in, then he closes the door and follows me into his room. His covers are turned down on one side and the pillow already has a dent in it.
I turn and take in his lack of clothing. He’s in nothing but boxer briefs, and something about his sheer, half-naked presence calms me more than anything. I take a breath and force a laugh.
“I’m sorry. This is dumb. I should just suck it up and go back to my own room.”
He shakes his head. “It’s okay. I completely get it. When Elle and I were kids, she’d get spooked some nights and sneak into my room. I’d give her my bed and take the floor, so I’m used to being displaced by a girl.”
“That isn’t what I want.” I close my eyes and take a long breath, then open them and look at him, spreading my fingers wide in front of me as I brace myself for honesty. “I don’t want to displace you, but I get how fucking nuts this request is. I want you in bed with me. I need you in bed with me, because I don’t think I can survive a night here without being held by someone. Manny . . .” I sigh and roll my eyes, hating the barbed tangle of emotion blocking my airways. “I’m such a hot fucking mess still. I thought it’d be easier, but it isn’t, and I’m sorry. I just . . .”
“You just need contact. I get it.” He steps to the other side of the bed and moves the stray clothes out of the way, then turns down the covers on that side. When I just stare, he comes back to me and grips both my upper arms, peering into my eyes. “Toni, it’s okay. I’m here for you. Whatever you need. Night or day.”
“You’re a master at sucking up, you know. Which is not necessary to prove you’ll make a good partner, but I’m not complaining.” I start to climb onto the bed when something on the nightstand catches my eye. I reach out and hold up the pair of markers he used to touch up my tattoos. “Did you steal Vic’s markers?”
“Accident. You needed to leave, so I pocketed them. I’ll give them back. And I’m not sucking up. I’m being sincere. This has nothing to do with the partnership offer. I care about you.”
His vo
ice is rough and so sexy. If I were in a different frame of mind, it might affect me in an inappropriate way, but right now I just appreciate the sentiment and the comfort his words give me.
I set the markers down again and scoot over to the other side of the bed, lying flat and meeting his eyes. “I care about you too. I hope this isn’t weird. If it is, let me know.”
He turns out the light, then the bed dips and I roll onto my side, facing away as his big body slides down beneath the covers behind me.
A profound sense of calm and safety overwhelms me when he slides his arm around my waist. More tears escape from beneath my eyelids, and I sniffle as I turn my face into the pillow.
He holds me tighter against his chest and shifts, gently inserting his other arm beneath my head. His piney scent envelops me, along with the faint, manly musk of his sweat. I hear a deep inhalation and I’m pretty sure he just sniffed my hair, so I guess it goes both ways.
“This might be the least weird thing I’ve done all year, believe it or not. It’s been a long time since I’ve slept in the same bed with a girl.”
I smile into the darkness. “I can’t imagine you had a lot of opportunities to share a bed with your high school girlfriend. At least I hope you don’t mean your sister.”
His chest vibrates with a low laugh. “I haven’t, believe it or not. I’ve been in no shape to have a relationship for the past three years. But in high school when Elle came to my room, I always took the floor and gave her my bed. Monica—my girlfriend—would sleep over sometimes. Mom never minded. Of course, Monica had to tell her folks she was sleeping over with Elle, not with me.”
“You rebel,” I tease.
“She was the rule-breaker. But it didn’t happen often. The sleepovers, I mean. Only when Dad was deployed.”
“Would he have objected if he’d been around?”
