by Baylin Crow
Since you didn't bother to invite me to a birthday party, I bought your favorite cake. Happy belated birthday, kiddo. Check the front of the fridge for the card.
I pulled the cold box out and set it on the cabinet before finding an envelope held up by a magnet. Pulling it free, I opened it and found a basic Happy Birthday card that wasn't even signed and… five hundred dollars. My eyes widened as I flipped through the stack of twenties.
The excessive gift was nothing new. Uncle Isaac always seemed to try to make up for my lack of a father when he'd done more than enough just by being there for me. But five hundred dollars? I shook my head. I would just have to work extra hard at the shop, I promised myself.
I grabbed the cake and a fork before heading back upstairs where I proceeded to eat way too much while watching TV. At some point I must have fallen asleep, because the TV had gone on standby when I woke from the food coma.
"Crap," I muttered as I took in the leaking box that sat on top of my covers. "Nice job, Archer."
After I wiped up the mess, I went downstairs, through the rarely used kitchen where a four-chair round table sat on the white tile floor under a plain chandelier. The brown Formica countertops were devoid of appliances other than a coffee maker, toaster and paper towel holder.
I tossed the ruined remaining cake in the trash and headed into the attached laundry room. I shoved my comforter in the washer and dumped the detergent in. The top clanged shut, and I turned the dial. As the hissing sound of the water started, I made my way back to my room and grabbed my sketchbook again before opening the door to the balcony.
The night air welcomed me with a warm breeze that blew my hair across my forehead. I inhaled deeply, and the unexpected scent of a cigarette hit my nose. I followed the cloud of smoke to the neighbor's house. One floor down, someone sat on the patio to the single story home. Their face was hidden in the shadows, but the red cherry from the cigarette glowed in the darkened corner.
Moonlight revealed a notebook, smaller than mine, laid flat on a glass patio table in front of him. Masculine jean-clad legs were visible, sprawled out in a careless way, and so was one arm as his fingertips drummed out some sort of rhythm against his thigh.
My sight caught on his arm. Squinting, I traced the tattoos decorating his skin. Familiar tattoos, I realized. My breathing shallowed and my hands trembled.
There was no way it was him, right? The universe didn't work that way. It wouldn't put me right next door to the only guy that had ever stirred my blood to the point of complete intoxication. A guy I'd thought about an unhealthy amount of times in the days following my birthday. Knowing I'd only been a client to him, while he took up so much of my thoughts, had eaten at me in a way I wasn't familiar with.
I absently shook my head in denial, but the more I studied him, the more certain I grew.
I took in the rings on his fingers, remembering the way the cold metal had felt against my skin. I gasped, the sound exaggerated against the quiet night.
The tapping against his leg stopped, and I held my breath as he leaned forward, bringing his face into the light.
For a few seconds he froze while staring up at me. Then a lazy smile curled one side of his devilishly perfect mouth and one brow rose.
"Archer West. What in the fuck are you doing here?"
3
Phoenix
Minutes before
My notebook sat open in front of me, taunting me with the blank page that should have been filled with lyrics as I slouched on the cushioned wicker chair. Two years ago, my soul would have bled all over the damn thing, but I sat on the patio smoking and stewing over the lack of words. I didn't even know why I bothered. Most of the time I pushed away the urge to write because it always ended the same—with me frustrated and nothing written.
Crickets chirped, a door opened and shut somewhere and the muffled sounds of a neighbor's TV faintly reached my ears. I blocked it out, retreating into my thoughts once again.
A melody had been trapped in my head for days, and I tapped against my thigh, waiting for inspiration to strike. I inhaled the smoke and closed my eyes as I exhaled, listening to the different cadences that rose and fell in my mind.
Nothing. Fucking nothing. I growled under my breath and sucked in another lungful of smoke. I didn't smoke often but kept a pack for the inevitable frustration that came with the void of lyrics.
A sharp gasp caught my attention, and I squinted, scanning the darkened backyard. Slight movement drew my attention up toward Isaac's balcony. One that was never used. I stubbed my cigarette out in the ashtray I kept outside.
Leaning forward, I peered up at the still form of the guy looking back at me. I froze. He wasn't moving, so it gave me time to study him, though I didn't need to. I had the details committed to memory. Lean frame, several inches shorter than me and a mess of deep auburn curls, Archer West stood just above me.
I’d thought about what might happen if we randomly ran into each other again. But it was a big city, so the chances of finding him again had been slim at best. Finding him while sitting on my own porch though? I had to bite back the bubble of laughter stemming from disbelief.
My thoughts quickly went back to the night we'd met.
I didn't make it a habit of dry fucking customers. In fact, I had a one-foot rule, as in no part of a customer came into contact with my body. And if a straying hand happened to touch me, the performance ended right on the spot.
But Archer… I shook my head slightly. Something about him had set off a visceral reaction I hadn't been able to control. He'd been clearly nervous, yet affected by my closeness. I’d wanted him—bad. The need to drive him mindless had gripped me in an unyielding hold. I hadn't meant to lose my shit right along with him.
He shuffled his feet, ripping me free from the memory. Owlish wide dark brown eyes locked with mine, unblinking, as he absently bit his bottom lip. My mouth tugged into a half grin as the initial shock wore off.
My night had taken a turn for the better. Far better, I thought as my gaze roamed his body. "Archer West. What in the fuck are you doing here?"
He gave an awkward wave and smiled. "Hi, Phoenix."
I climbed to my feet and stepped out onto the short grass that crunched beneath my boots. He peered over the metal rail at me. The contours of his pale face dusted with freckles across his cheeks and bridge of his nose were highlighted by the half moon.
"Hey, Arch." We stood, staring at each other and smiling. Shaking my head, I laughed. "You didn't answer me. How do you know Isaac?"
"Oh, right. He's my uncle." Archer shrugged. "I wasn't sure you'd remember me when I realized it was you down there." His teeth sank back into that plush lower lip that I had the urge to climb up there and tug free.
Isaac had mentioned a nephew a few times as he'd worked on many of the designs that covered my body. The chances of that nephew being Archer… Well, luck seemed to be on my side for once.
"How could I forget?" I'd tried and couldn't get the guy with unruly dark red hair out of my head. And my cock sure as fuck wouldn't let me forget how responsive his body had been to mine. "Though I admit I never expected to find you while sitting in my backyard." I tilted my head as I drank him in. "I'm definitely not complaining."
"I'm not either." His lashes fluttered, and I'd bet my left nut his cheeks were crimson.
Tension filled the space between us for a moment before I broke it. "How long are you staying?"
"The summer." He leaned against the railing, folding one arm on top while the other clutched a book under his arm. "I'm going to be helping at my uncle's shop until fall semester starts."
"Yeah?" I made a mental note to move up my appointment scheduled for later in the week with Isaac. "Maybe I'll see you up there then. Isaac does all my ink. Or has for the last two years anyway."
He perked up. "Really?"
"Yep. He was the one that told me this place was available about a year ago." Isaac hardly ever had company, but it made me question how we
hadn't crossed paths until now. "Why haven't I seen you around?"
Archer simply shrugged again, and I wondered if he'd be so casual if I had him beneath me again. The mental image invoked a groan that I struggled to swallow.
"I don't come to the house very much," he answered. "His shop is close to campus so we just meet for lunch downtown now and then." He paused. "Is this weird? That I'm here, I mean."
Weird wasn't the word I'd use. "A pleasant surprise." I shoved my hands in my pockets and tilted my head. "Truthfully, you are probably the most interesting person I've met in a long time."
"How do you know?" Archer asked bluntly with a curious dip of his brow. "You only know me from a few minutes of…of…"
"Dry fucking you?" I supplied and he straightened his spine.
"Well, y—yes," he stammered and cleared his throat. "That."
Once again, I thought about that night. The way he'd introduced himself, fumbling all over his name, was for lack of a better word…charming. And I found myself giving him my full fucking name when we parted ways which went against yet another rule I set for myself.
Thoroughly charmed again, I chuckled. "Maybe I'm super intuitive, Arch."
He snorted and then pointed behind me. "What are you working on?"
Confused, I turned and realized he was asking about the notebook. I never talked about my music anymore. There was nothing worse than someone asking about my songs and having to admit I'd been desperately staring at the pages, hoping something would materialize. Having to face the fact that I may never regain that part of me. A huge part that, at one time, I thought I could build a future around.
I cleared my throat. "Nothing really." He frowned as if he didn't believe me. As a distraction, I tipped my chin toward the book he carried. "What are you reading?"
"Nothing really." His bored tone was betrayed by his twitching lips.
"Smart ass." I chuckled.
He grinned and then sighed. "It's a graphic novel I've been working on for months because classes kept me busy. I'm starting to think I'll never finish. Not just because of time. I'm not sure which direction I'm heading with the story. I thought I knew." His eyebrows scrunched together.
"You mean you're writing it?" I asked with interest, suddenly curious to know more about him. I'd always been drawn to creative minds. It brought a sense of kinship that I didn't cross often, and honestly, made me feel like a fraud at times over the last few years. But with him admitting he was struggling, the pull was stronger.
"Yeah, or at least I'm trying to. I'm hoping to finish it over the summer."
"Do I get a sneak peek?" I teased with a waggle of my brows.
He gnawed on his lip, and just before I admitted I was joking, he nodded. "Sure, if you want."
My eyebrows rose in surprise and my gaze zeroed in on his lips. "I definitely want."
"Are we still talking about my book?" He chuckled, the sound airy and light.
I wanted to bottle that sound and listen to it when my doubts about the future settled like a heavy weight on my shoulders.
"Can't it be about both?" I purred, triggering another round of soft laughter.
"Phoenix, I'm… I'm glad I met you." Archer's shy, unexpected admission caught me off guard, though I wasn't sure why. I wasn't sure his expressive eyes could hide a secret even if he tried. His candid honesty was refreshing, and I wanted more.
"Me too, Arch." My fingers itched to capture the moment on page. In the space of minutes with Archer, the need to write took root.
Would it be weird if I invited him over and just asked him to talk while I wrote? Probably.
"I need to go throw my covers in the dryer or I won't have anything to sleep with." His nose crinkled. "Don't fall asleep while eating cookies and cream ice cream cake, even if it’s your favorite food in the world. Nothing good comes from it."
My grin grew until my cheeks hurt. "Sound advice."
He smiled back. "Bye, Phoenix."
I nodded as I studied him in the moonlight with lyrics burning at my fingertips. I was torn between wanting to ask him to stay and writing the words before I lost them. Quietly, I watched him turn away.
As soon as the door closed behind him, I rushed back to the patio and grabbed my pencil and notebook. The chair squeaked beneath my weight as I leaned back. Picturing Archer and remembering his laugh, I scribbled a quick line.
'All of your unknowns already forgiven, you're a breath of fresh air from which my hopes have arisen.'
4
Archer
With the windows rolled down, my uncle's old muscle car roared down the highway, rock music blaring from the speakers until we reached the Atlanta downtown area and slowed for traffic. Hair pulled back in a low ponytail, my uncle pounded on the steering wheel in time with the drums. His car drew a lot of attention, and I caught more than a few smiles at his antics.
"Sing it with me, Arch," he demanded as he belted out the words to a song I'd never even heard.
"I don't know the words." Not that I'd sing them if I did. No one wanted to hear that. But you'd have thought the world ended by the horrified look he gave me when he lowered the volume.
"Forgive me, nephew. I've failed you and I'm sorry for that." He pretended to wipe tears away and sniffed. "I'll fix that blunder this summer, I promise."
"Will there be a test?" I asked with a flat tone.
He side-eyed me as he exited the highway. "You know, kid, sometimes I can't tell if you're joking or serious."
I snorted. "I should probably be offended. That was my best joke in months."
He barked a laugh. "It was probably your only joke in months."
Okay, he had a point. Humor wasn't my strong suit.
My thoughts drifted to the night before with Phoenix. He brought out a playful side of me I wasn't sure I even knew I had. It made me grin to myself.
What I assumed was his car, a silver, older style Camaro, had been parked outside when my uncle and I left. I'd glanced at his house, hoping to catch a glimpse of him but hadn't.
"What are you smiling about over there? Damned pleased with yourself, aren't ya?" Uncle Isaac stuck his elbow on the window seal as he navigated the inner streets of the city. "So this old man has two jobs this summer. One, make sure my nephew is well versed in all things rock music. And two, teach him how to tell a fucking joke."
Isaac's hand went straight to my hair, ruffling it as always. It was probably the reason I'd never taken to really fixing it when I was younger. He would just mess it up. And anyway, Phoenix thought I was funny, or at least he seemed to. My lips twisted to the side as a sliver of doubt crept in. Maybe he'd just been trying to appease me.
A horn blared somewhere close in the stop-and-go traffic, startling me out of the thought and I looked around. People crowded the sidewalks and sat on open patios of bistros under the shade of umbrellas and awnings. The scent of exhaust fumes mingled with various scents coming from the many bakeries and restaurants still serving breakfast in the late morning. Police sirens echoed in the distance, and a baby cried from a stroller being pushed down the sidewalk next to my window.
"I love this city," my uncle grumbled. "But the traffic is a nightmare."
I agreed. A few blocks down, he drove behind a familiar stretch of shops, parking close to a rear door with a vibrant mural of a scantily clad woman, blood dripping from her mouth and diamond jewelry sparkling from her neck and ears. She was surrounded by skeletons in suits kneeling at her feet in place of the once dingy white brick wall.
"When did you do this?" I asked.
"Ah, the black widow." My uncle chuckled. "Will happened, the little shit." At my questioning look, he shrugged. "Okay, so a guy I hired a few weeks back, Will, started his artistic, delinquent life in vandalism. It's how I found him, actually." Isaac shook his head as he grinned. "I'd forgotten my phone at the shop one night and turned around to come back for it. And there he was, just marking up the back wall of my fuckin' shop. 'Course I was pissed at first. He'd tried to
run, but the idiot tripped over his own damn shoelaces and fell. I took one look at what he'd done and told him to finish it." He stared through the windshield at the art piece before looking back at me with laughter dancing in his eyes. "You should have seen his face. Anyway, once he was done, I asked him if he'd ever considered taking his art to a human canvas. Took him under my wing and he's flourished. Already the best damned artist I've ever employed."
"Think it'd work for me if I drew all over a publishing house?" I asked. "Think they might take that as a submission?"
He narrowed his eyes again as if he couldn't tell if I was serious, so I stared back at him, refusing to give anything away. It wasn't hard when I rarely joked anyway.
He shook his head and popped his door open, staring at the sky. "Lord, I love him, but do me a solid, yeah? Send down a warning that the boy is going to try on a joke today. He's scaring me."
I snorted as I climbed out of the car. "Will he be here today?"
"The Lord?" He whipped around to face me, eyebrows scrunched together. "Kid, you are stressing me out."
"Relax and stop praying about me." I let out an exasperated huff. "I was talking about Will. Your new guy?"
"Thank fuck." He breathed out a sigh of relief. We shut our doors, and the car beeped as it was locked and alarm set. "Yep, you'll meet him. And Dylan too. He’s also a hell of an artist but does all the piercing's too, and I'm warning you now, he will try to talk you into getting one. Boy loves stabbing holes in people."
"Sounds like a stellar employee," I muttered.
I followed Uncle Isaac to the back entrance where he let us into a storage room that smelled of metal and disinfectant. Tall filing cabinets, industrial shelves full of supplies, a small desk with a razor slim laptop set on top, a table with two chairs close to a microwave and a full-size refrigerator filled the space.
He twisted the lock behind us. "Don't worry, Dylan's good people. The clients pay him to stab them, so it's fine."
