by Taryn Quinn
I definitely did not know. If Luna knew some fun people, I suspected they probably weren’t the ones coming to me for assistance with their contentious divorces.
Really? Since when? People come in all flavors and some of them I don’t want to try.
Ryan’s sarcastic response made me grin. That was more like it.
Oh, stop being such a bitter Betty. You’re just pissy because of what happened at the bar last week.
I cocked a brow. Do tell.
Oh, shut up.
Thankfully, Luna did not listen to Ryan.
Your girl, Miss Goddess Moon here, was line dancing on the bar during Country Chaos night and she was getting down, let me tell you. Then she really got down. As in fell off the bar. I’m surprised she didn’t snap her ankle.
I rubbed my now bristly jaw. Weekends were the only time I allowed myself not to shave. But I couldn’t claim much interest in the current state of my facial hair when I had an image of the faceless Ryan G. Moon line-dancing on a bar. Probably dressed in something short and skimpy.
Then again, maybe that wasn’t her aesthetic at all. She could be the sort who preferred long skirts and flowy tops with plunging necklines.
Yes, turning this off would soon be an imperative.
You know I pivoted at the last moment. Do not deny my grace, you wench.
Their laughter was impossible to listen to and not smile. Since that was better than imagining Ryan in whatever she wore to dance in, I was all for joviality.
I think Ryan needs a reading to cheer her up today. What do you all think? We’ll do a quick three card spread for her and then we’ll dive into our Trampbox and see what you all have for us this week.
Ryan sighed. Heavily. The sound verged on a sexual noise that required a rating. Was there such a thing as an X label for a podcast? If not, they might need to create it for this one.
I don’t need to be cheered up. Hello, you know my vibe is permanently set on glow. Okay, okay, fine. Hit me.
I frowned until I heard the unmistakable sound of cards being shuffled.
Also, these cards better tell me I’m going to get laid soon. If not, keep dealing until the universe provides, okay?
I cleared my throat. This was highly inappropriate for me to be listening to, as someone who was going to be giving Ryan a paycheck. I needed to turn this off and not lean forward as I waited to find out if Ryan was going to get laid. Whether she was or not was not my concern.
Besides, were there really cards that could predict sexual activity? That seemed highly dubious.
I had the vaguest understanding of tarot. They were usually cards the same size as a playing deck with brightly colored pictures of mystical things. Probably like Aladdin’s flying magical carpet and such. My mother had once gone to a psychic fair and come back “renewed” but that was about the extent of my metaphysical knowledge.
Okay, pull your three. No cheating.
Bitch, I never cheat.
Liar. You cheat all the time.
More laughter. Then Luna let out a wolf whistle.
Girl, you just pulled the golden goose.
It sounded as if Ryan was rubbing her hands.
If you mean the golden cock, now we’re talking.
My phone vibrated against my leg and I jolted, inadvertently pausing the show. Ryan had decided to follow up on her kill shot podcast and sent me another text.
Miss Moon: Are you thoroughly scandalized yet? Decided to fire me before my first day?
PMS: I’m not finished.
Ryan sent a sideways smile emoji before a line of text I could barely make sense of. My brain—and other parts of me—were thoroughly addled.
Miss Moon: Takes you a while, does it? Good to know.
Did she…
Was that…
I could not listen to more of this podcast. Unless I made it a two Scotch night and followed it up with an extra long shower afterward.
Just in case she’d forgotten the boundaries, it was time I reminded her. And reminded myself. We hadn’t laid eyes on each other yet. People let down their hair and their reservations on Friday nights and then Monday morning came and regret was swift.
Even if she sounded like sex in a bottle and had a smart ass quip for every occasion.
PMS: You’re my temporary assistant.
Miss Moon: Oh, goodie. Do I get a prize? Or is the honor of being in your presence its own reward?
PMS: Your prize is your paycheck.
Miss Moon: According to April, I’d have better luck in a Cracker Jack box. Do they still sell those?
Did I mention the smart ass quips? I should be annoyed. I was, but not at her. She couldn’t make remarks if April hadn’t placed these complaints in her mind.
I paid in line with other legal assistants in the area, thank you very much.
PMS: Considering the contents of your résumé, I don’t think you merit a pay raise.
Miss Moon: What’s wrong with it?
PMS: Not much applicable experience. Regardless, since you interrupted the podcast, what did your reading say?
Miss Moon: Wut?
Her misspelling of what made me shake my head. I truly hoped her text etiquette was a far cry from her typical grammar usage.
PMS: Your reading on the podcast. About the golden cock.
I truly did not mean to type that. I’d never realized before that my fingers were adversely affected by my single Scotch.
Miss Moon: Oh, you really were listening, even past the intro. Well, far be it from me to keep you from hearing all about my sexual future. I’m touched you’re curious.
PMS: I never said that.
Miss Moon: No, but you asked. A question usually indicates interest.
PMS: I thought you were too busy to talk to me.
Miss Moon: I finished with Ben & Jerry so figured why not?
For a second, my temples tightened with a sensation dangerously akin to jealousy. But that couldn’t be possible. I did not know this woman. If she was having a ménage, good for her. Or not, as long as she showed up Monday morning.
PMS: Ice cream?
Miss Moon: What else? You don’t get out much, do you?
If she only knew the half. But the question reminded me I’d overstepped big time tonight, and my conscience decreed it was past time to put an end to it.
Besides, I had another reason for needing that shower now, and it wasn’t just because it had been a long day. Ryan’s sexy voice saying the word cock ranked up there with some of the hottest fantasy material I’d ever encountered.
But what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. Besides, in person we wouldn’t have this weird chemistry or whatever it was. Probably felt only by me.
Which referenced the whole haven’t been out in a very long while thing. I couldn’t even identify iconic ice cream upon first reading.
Though the ache between my legs likely had something to do with my lack of brain functioning right now. There was no other reason I’d continued this conversation.
PMS: I’ll see you Monday morning at nine sharp, Ms. Moon.
Miss Moon: Nine-thirty?
PMS: Nine.
Miss Moon: Nine-fifteen?
PMS: Nine.
Miss Moon: What if I bring you fresh donuts?
I frowned. That traitor April had revealed my weakness.
PMS: Nine-ten, donuts in hand.
Miss Moon: You have a deal. *winky face.*
I swiped away the message and went in to take my shower. I also brought my mini stand into the bathroom so I could prop up my phone to listen to the rest of her reading.
She might not be guaranteed a golden cock, but I had one in hand by the end of it.
Three
Card of The Day: Embrace: Six of Swords | Release: King of Pentacles
Well, crap.
I really hated when my cards called me out. I picked up the first card. It was a new deck that I was doing a review for. Maybe I’d read it wrong.
Sigh.
/> Nope. That starry and hopeful sky behind the trees and shadowed swords definitely was the six of swords. New beginnings and transitions. Most decks used a woman escaping on a boat for the imagery. Not this deck. As an artist, I appreciated the differences in interpretation for tarot.
But if this deck was talking to me, it wasn’t speaking of escape. Unless I was running out of the forest. And I really didn’t want to think about that right now. Especially since I’d be running to a lawyer’s office and a man with a sphincter so tight he could probably create diamonds out of shit.
At least that was what I’d gotten from our email and text interactions so far.
The shadow side of the King of Pentacles could either represent my reluctance to head back into the corporate world or that I was walking into a shitstorm of a job.
Guess I’d find out.
I should be happy to have semi-positive cards as a little looksee into what was coming my way. It wasn’t like I had a ton going on. I mean, I always had fifteen projects going, but nothing that couldn’t be pushed back for a week to help out a friend.
April, the one person in my life who didn’t have a witchy or divinatory bone in her body. If anyone was the epitome of Queen of Swords energy, it was April. All logic with a side of benevolence for those who were in her very close circle.
As far as I was concerned, it was handy to have all different types of people in my personal toolbox, and they didn’t need to know that I had a significator card for most of them. It was something I’d used to learn cards back in the dark ages—when I was seventeen—to figure out how to give readings to other people.
That was also how I’d made friends in high school. Every teenage girl wanted answers from the universe, especially about her love life.
I’d become the witchy goth kid in high school to cover up for the fact that I usually had to make due with thrift store clothing. And it was easier to dye things black or find black items in the donation piles. Not to mention that it gave me a healthy appreciation for vintage music T-shirts. Add some cheap jewelry and black lipstick and I didn’t look like a poor kid.
Weird kid was far easier to deal with. With a mother named Rainbow Moon, I didn’t have far to travel down that twisty road.
Add in ten years and I hadn’t really grown out of the black clothes. Now it was more of an aesthetic thing. That and it made me look damn good due to my dark hair and golden skin. I was vain enough to enjoy that part of the deal too. Plus, since I was always working with multiple mediums for my artwork, black was way better when it came to stains and the endless messes I tended to make.
I preferred wine red lips these days though. And the wine to go with it.
I lifted my Drink Up Witches tumbler and took a fortifying sip. I wasn’t really in the mood for the merlot, but I needed to go to the store and that wasn’t happening right now.
This would do.
I pushed my cards to the side of my drawing table and out of my mind. Learning and growth, my ass. It remained to be seen if my intuition was steering me into crashing waves or safety.
I scooped my hair up into a high ponytail then plopped into my drafting chair. Saturday was my day to work on my weekly web comic. I still hadn’t shared it with anyone. Hoarding all the watercolor drawings in a drawer wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind when I started drawing the little fox. But I wasn’t quite sure how to share her either. I’d been inspired by a rescue fox account on Facebook, but over the last six months, Sylvia had taken on more and more of my personality.
As was my ritual, I pulled my tiger’s eye and citrine chain off my lamp and slipped it over my head. I needed all the help I could get when it came to my sacral chakra. Well, maybe only half of it. If I got any more of my sexuality side in alignment, I would be crawling up the walls.
Instead, I focused inward and breathed through the short meditation I used to open myself up. I focused on my hips and sinking into the chair. I flattened my feet on the floor and sat up straight, slowly picturing all of my chakras blooming.
As I meditated, I paid special attention to the moon flower I associated with my art, focusing on the silky fragile white flower slowly unfurling and allowing me to share some of its magic. I cupped my fingers around the crystals wound in silver then slowly opened my eyes and reached for a sheet of my watercolor paper.
I came alive in the evening.
I’d tried like hell to train myself to be a morning person, but it just wasn’t to be. The higher the moon in the sky, the more my creativity sparked.
The longer summer days allowed me some extra daylight, like now with the last rays of the day streaming over my drawing table. I took inspiration from the pale yellow slashes and incorporated them into my drawing.
I sketched Sylvia curled into a little shrimp formation and fluffed out her tail to rest over her nose. As the rest of the room in the comic took shape, I stood to stretch out my muscles.
Ouch.
I reached around to the hand crank that changed the angle of my desk. I needed a little more height when I was standing. The heavy iron base had been a bitch to get into my studio, but I loved its antique design.
The scarred teak tabletop suited my earthy side. The antique desk had been a rusted heap headed to the landfill when I’d found it. It had taken a lot of TLC and a healthy bit of bribery for a metal worker friend of mine to get it back to working order. Even more bribes had been necessary—one of which required me to do readings at a bachelorette party for free—to get it up to the second floor of my apartment building.
My sanctuary.
I lived in a small studio in a converted Victorian just outside Kensington Square’s business district on the outskirts of Syracuse, which was one more reason I’d said yes to April. I could literally walk to work.
As I drew the bit of reflection on the window beside Sylvia’s sleeping form, one of the blobs sort of looked like the sleek, triangular shape of a cat’s face. Before I knew what I was doing, I started enhancing the image and a gray cat came out of my damn fingertips.
I slumped back into my chair with a frown.
The comic was about the random life of Sylvia, the rescued fox, and her owner, Roz. It did not include a cat.
I reached for the eraser, but I couldn’t quite pull the trigger.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I couldn’t stop the grin as I swiped open my phone to read April’s text.
April: Thanks so much for helping out. Caramel and coconut things are bonus for bribery. Mr. Shaw has a sweet tooth. I know mornings aren’t your forte so you can definitely use that for backup.
I wished I could refute that, but I could not.
I hated and also loved that April knew me so well. Between the podcast and my bookings for tarot readings, I made a good living. Not a great one, but a decent one, thanks to the advertising we’d been able to add to the podcast. Because of that, I didn’t feel the need to do the nine-to-five schlock like the majority of my friends.
Yet another reason I’d said yes to April. Temping for her would give a nice boost to my not-so-cushy savings account.
Ryan: Funnily enough, I already went with the bribe for Monday morning.
April: Is that right? You’re still emailing him?
I tapped my finger along my top lip. Should I mention to April that we’d texted fast and furiously last night?
Nah.
I’d been a little too unprofessional in those texts. And maybe that clip from the podcast hadn’t been the smartest move. Not that PMS was any better, texting me out of the blue on a Friday night two steps away from midnight.
I’d just change the subject for safety’s sake.
Ryan: Kind of. Oh, and BTW, sending me wine is also a good bribe.
April: Already ordered and should arrive Monday. Did I say thank you?
Ryan: Yes. Perhaps the thank you should require more than just wine. This guy is a piece of work. Am I going to murder him by Friday?
I was kidding. Mostly. I
’d tried to put PMS out of my head. Yeah, I’d definitely put him in my phone as that. Preston Michael Shaw, Esquire—seriously? Could you get any more pretentious? I couldn’t wait to see what kind of repressed suit I’d be working for. Add in a little too much wine last night while I was editing the podcast I did with my other bestie, Luna…
Yeah, I should lock my phone down when there was alcohol involved. Things never went well.
And I’d probably given him the wrong idea about thirteen times based on my re-read of the text messages today. What had I been thinking?
I shoved up my glasses to perch on my head and went to refill my wine while I waited for April to reply. Now that I’d moved away from my desk, I realized I was hungry but not enough to go for a full meal.
The heat of the late afternoon had left me a little sweaty and always curbed my appetite.
