by Avon Gale
Callum arched one fair brow at me. “Mm-hmm. And awesome.”
I took another sip of my beer and didn’t say anything.
“Jericho, Poe isn’t seventeen, honey. He’s twentysomething. Just because he lives in his dad’s basement like a teenager doesn’t mean that he is one.”
“And so it’s okay that I slept with him?”
Callum leered at me. “Blowjobs in your shop isn’t sleeping.”
I groaned and sunk down in the chair, tilting my head back. “Don’t remind me, all right?” I thought about it enough as it was. “It’s still inappropriate.”
“Sure.”
I glanced up at Callum, who shrugged. “He’s your apprentice and your employee, so I guess if you want to be technical about it.” He waved a hand. “But you’re both adults, and you clearly have a thing for each other. If you’re smart about it and communicate, I don’t see what the problem is.”
It was similar to what Poe had said, which made me feel a bit like Callum was betraying me. Then again, I shouldn’t have been entirely surprised. Callum had been rebelling against doing what was “appropriate” since he was a kid.
Landon would agree with me that it was inappropriate. But I couldn’t talk to Landon, so I was trying to get Callum to listen instead. Callum, the literal definition of a free spirit, wasn’t having it. This was probably why I tended to spend more time with Landon—until lately. “Do you not see how this could go wrong?”
“Relationships can go wrong for a lot of reasons.” Callum raised his beer to indicate the two of us. “We didn’t work out, and we’re closer to the same age.”
We were also a little too fond of being in charge. Luckily, we’d figured out pretty early on that while maybe that was hot in bed, it didn’t bode well for a long-term relationship. Callum liked a project, and I wasn’t interested in being fixed. But he was a good friend, even if he was encouraging my inappropriate sexual relationship with Poe.
“It’s fucking things up,” I said gruffly. “At the shop. Poe’s been showing up late again, and I think hungover. He’d been doing so well too, you know? And I’ve been avoiding Landon.” I groaned and hit my head against the back of the chair. “Which means he probably thinks Poe’s fucking up and I don’t want to tell him about it, since I’ve been so adamant about helping him get his shit together.”
Jesus, I guess Callum wasn’t the only one who liked a project.
“Why do you think that’s because of you? Him showing up late, I mean.”
“Because he’s pissed at me? Because instead of seeing me as his boss, his mentor, he thinks of me as some—some kind of sexual conquest?”
“‘Some kind of sexual conquest.’” Callum snorted.
I took a drink of my beer rather than throwing the bottle at Callum. What I needed was someone to kick me in the metaphorical ass, not Callum’s optimistic cheerleading. “Poe’s got talent, and before I lost my fucking mind and put my hands on him, he was the perfect apprentice. Now he’s veering back into the fuck-up lane, and I’m supposed to think that’s not my fault?”
“Yeah, you are. Because like I said, Jericho, Poe’s a grown-up. He probably feels insecure and rejected, and is working through those feelings by acting out.”
“You were a lawyer, not a psychiatrist.”
“If you didn’t want to know what I thought, why’d you invite me over?”
“Because,” I said, exasperated, “I wanted you to tell me that staying away from him was the right thing to do and that I’m an idiot for having done it in the first place.”
“You can’t change what happened,” Callum said, with his usual infuriating calm. “And you can’t make Poe do anything. You’ve established your boundaries, and it’s up to him if he can toe the line or if he’s going to let this ruin everything. I know you hate that there’s nothing you can do about it, but it’s true.”
I didn’t agree with that at all, though. There was something I could do about it, and that something was make it clear, without a doubt, that I wasn’t going to let anything happen between us. I said as much to Callum.
“Okay, but, Jericho? You have to actually mean that.” Callum gazed shrewdly at me. “And I’m not convinced that you do. You’re hot for him, and he knows it. Until you’re not, you can say whatever you want, but I don’t think it’s going to do any good.”
“So I should abandon my ethics and fuck him over the front desk, is that what you’re saying?”
“Definitely. And take pictures.” Callum laughed at my glare. “Maybe, just maybe—and don’t brain me with that beer bottle when I say this—maybe you’d be good for him. A steadying influence and all that.”
“And have him think the only reason he deserves a chance is because he put out?”
“That’s not why you gave him a chance, though. And you’re determined to keep giving him one, even without the sex. Maybe having someone like you in his life is what he needs.” Callum shrugged.
“He needs to be self-sufficient and not rely on other people to take care of him,” I growled. “Besides, do you know how much Landon wants this to work out, so he can stop being the one taking care of Poe? If I start doing it, it won’t help him become more independent.”
“Landon is his father,” Callum pointed out patiently, as if I were an idiot. “And I’m not saying you take care of him and coddle him—Jesus, have you met you? But good relationships are about two people who are better together than apart. Maybe you’d be that way, is all I’m saying.”
“Maybe it would be a fucking disaster,” I snapped. “He’s seventeen years younger than me.”
“Maybe it would be, but I don’t necessarily think you should let the age difference stop you from trying. If that’s what you both want.” Callum unfolded his frame from my couch and stood up, stretching. “You wanna fuck?”
I blinked up at him, confused at the sudden invitation. “What?”
“I said, ‘Do you want to fuck?’ Me, you, that big bed of yours.” Callum was giving me a look I couldn’t quite translate. Not exactly teasing, but I didn’t entirely believe that he was serious about the two of us going to bed together.
“Why?”
Callum laughed. “Because you’re hot? Because I’m stressed out over some of the shit going on with Urban Art Works, and I could use getting railed by that monster cock of yours?”
I immediately felt bad that I’d been bitching about Poe this whole time, when Callum might need to do some venting of his own. “You want to tell me about it while we’re both dressed?”
“Depends. Is there a reason you’re turning me down?” Callum asked, his eyes shrewd.
I had the unpleasant idea he was going somewhere with this, and that I wasn’t going to appreciate it. Sometimes I forgot that he’d been a very successful lawyer before embracing his true passion of art and social work. “Because you’re annoying me?”
Callum grinned. “That’s never stopped you before. Admit it. You only want one person right now, and it isn’t me.”
I should prove him wrong. Not like it would be a hardship—Callum wanting me to rail him hard and fast sounded goddamn great, in theory. But I knew I wasn’t going to, and I didn’t necessarily want to admit that it had anything to do with Poe.
“That’s what I thought.” Callum came over and plucked the beer bottle out of my hand, then leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. “I’ll get us some more of these, and then you can listen to me complain about board members and well-meaning volunteers who don’t see how incredibly classist their savior complexes are.”
Yeah, that definitely didn’t sound as fun as gripping Callum’s lean hips in my hands and pounding him into the mattress while he moaned—even if it did mean staring at that god-awful constellation tattoo of his. But I waited for him to bring back another beer, knowing it was exactly what I was going to do.
Over the next few weeks, I struggled with the conflicting, equally strong desires to either fuck Poe or fire him.
“You
were supposed to be here at noon,” I reminded him, when he came in at twelve twenty, pushing sunglasses up and looking at me with bleary eyes.
“Yeah. Sorry. What do you want me to do?”
Frustrated, I stared up at the ceiling and tried to ignore the constant, low burn of arousal that had yet to dissipate whenever we were near each other. Poe had annoyed me when he’d acted like a punk before, but this was different. Probably because I knew exactly how to get him to do what I wanted, and was certain he was trying his best to get me to do it. Oh, he wasn’t disengaged and irresponsible, not like he’d been at first. He still showed up and did what he was supposed to do, but that single-minded focus of the past month or so was gone.
Maybe, like Callum said, it wasn’t my fault. Maybe it was, as Landon had told me, Poe’s natural tendency to get bored with something and stop being as committed once he lost interest. But then I’d find him practicing on his skins, and I’d know that wasn’t true. He lost himself in the art when he practiced, and his bad attitude and sloppiness all but disappeared. He might have been sulky about cleaning up after my clients, but he did it, and relatively quickly, exactly like I’d taught him.
I could feel his eyes on me as I tried to rein in my temper about him being late. That was one thing I absolutely would not put up with. “When you start having clients, you don’t keep them waiting. There are a lot of tattoo shops, and if we get the reputation that one of our artists can’t show up on time? That affects everyone here, not only you.”
“Yeah, those practice skins might start talking.”
God, I wanted to put him on his knees and smack his face with my dick again until he shaped the fuck up. What was wrong with me? If Chris had tried that shit with me, I would have been out the door in a second. My blood ran cold thinking about it.
Chris was straight, and you wouldn’t have been into him even if he weren’t. This is totally different and you know it.
Great, my inner voice sounded like Callum.
“I’m not in the mood for this today,” I told Poe, making my voice flat. “I want you to get started tattooing people, but not if you’re coming in late and hungover. You understand me?”
Poe’s chin tilted up, and he gave me the challenging look that made me both angry and horny. “Yeah. Can I get started, now?”
“Lose the attitude,” I snapped, and jerked my head toward the back of the shop. I raked a hand through my hair, frustrated with the way things were between us. He’d not taken my refusal well, and it showed. But what the hell else was I supposed to do?
My next client was a tearful girl who’d made the hellacious mistake of having her boyfriend’s name tattooed on her back—her entire back, letters starting at the nape of her neck and ending at the base of her spine. The boyfriend had cheated on her, and worse, she knew two other girls with the same tattoo—vaguely medieval lettering spelling out Gavann.
Since it was our first consult, a lot of my time was spent silently handing her tissues while she told me the whole sordid story about their doomed relationship. By the time we’d worked together to come up with a floral design that would cover the offending jackass’s name, she was a lot more cheerful. She asked for my card and said, “The other two girls dumped his ass too, so I’ll tell them to come see you.”
I worked late that night finishing up a tattoo for an Army vet back from the war, and saw I had two missed calls from Landon by the time I was done. He’d messaged me, You want to get a beer? and I hated how I knew I was going to say no. I wanted to get a beer, and I missed hanging out with him. But the guilt was eating me alive, and I didn’t want to explain why Poe was reverting back to old habits and how it was basically my fault.
I’d sent Poe home with a firm reminder to be on time, and cleaned up the shop on my own. I was tired, and a little cranky—the reason I had a fucking apprentice in the first place was so he could do this shit, not hide in the back working on his lettering—and texted Landon with, Sorry dude been busy, I’m exhausted, rain check? before I climbed on my bike.
I’d dozed off on the couch watching the late West Coast hockey game when my phone woke me up, vibrating on the table. I grabbed it, saw that it was Poe calling, and was still half-asleep enough that I answered. Poe had never once called me. In fact, if I’d been thinking, I would have assumed it was a mistake and ignored it.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Jericho? Uh. It’s Poe.” His voice was slurred, and I could hear the sound of music and people talking—more like shouting—in the background. “I kinda . . . need a favor.”
I glanced at the clock. It was almost three in the morning. “What’s the matter?”
“I’m uh. Kinda drunk. And my ride is a motherfucking asshole and left me here, and I don’t know anyone else who’s sober enough to drive me.” He was talking quickly, and loudly, and I thought I heard a bit of panic in there too. “I don’t have any money for an Uber or anything. Also I’m pretty sure I can’t actually sleep here, ’cause it’s not really . . . There’s a lot of broken glass and shit.”
“Poe,” I interrupted, scrubbing a hand over my face. “Where are you? Go outside and get some air and wait for me.”
He was quiet for a moment, then rattled off an address downtown—Jesus, seriously?—and said, “Thanks, Jericho.”
I sighed. “Yeah, kid. Wait for me, and for God’s sake, don’t drink any more.”
“Okay. I won’t.”
I hung up, grabbed my keys, and went outside. There was no way I was putting an inebriated person on the back of my bike, so I climbed in my truck and set my phone’s GPS to the address he’d given me. At first I thought he’d gotten it wrong, because the neighborhood was made up of what looked like abandoned houses. But there was one that had some lights on inside, though the windows were clearly shattered. There were a few cars parked nearby, and people standing outside.
One of whom was Poe, leaning against the dilapidated fence and messing with his phone. I got out of the truck and walked over to him, my boots crunching on the gravel and debris littered on the ground. There was music coming from inside, and I had to wonder how they were getting any power out here. Everything else was dark as pitch, the houses surrounding this one silent and empty.
Was this how twentysomethings partied nowadays?
“Poe.” I stopped in front of him. He looked up at me and grinned, clearly drunk, his eyes blurry with alcohol.
“Hey. You came.” He pushed off the fence and stumbled a little. I reached out immediately to help steady him, and he pressed up against me as if it’d been an invitation. “Thanks. ’M’sorry. I didn’t mean to get this fucked up.”
I pulled him along toward the truck and opened his door. “Get in,” I said, but not unkindly. God knew I’d made some extremely bad decisions—and at a much younger age than Poe. Other than maybe trespassing, he wasn’t underage and could legally drink. He smelled a bit like weed, but that wasn’t a big deal. Though I’d been in trouble thanks to drugs in my youth, I hardly counted pot as a drug. Hell, even Landon smoked now and again.
But it was probably my fault Poe was drunk. I didn’t care what Callum said, I still felt responsible.
Poe arranged himself in the seat, and I waited patiently for him to figure out the seat belt before I started driving. “You just kinda piss me off, man,” Poe said.
“You think that’s what you should be saying right now?” I glanced over at him.
“Already said thank you.”
I hid a smile and kept driving. “Who brought you to this party and left you here?”
“M’friend Blue. Ugh. Fucker. He—he keeps giving me shit about how I’m not, like, a real artist anymore ’cause tattoos are commercial.”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s aware cultures have been tattooing each other since the dawn of time, right?”
“He’s not aware of shit,” Poe informed me, with the sort of sincerity that came from being drunk. “Anyway, he thinks art’s gotta be pure or some bullshit and we got in a f
ight. So he left.”
I thought there was probably more to this story, so I didn’t push. But something nagged at me, and I couldn’t help asking, “This kid, Blue—is he your boyfriend?”
“Huh? No way.” Poe scowled. “First, I’m mad at him and he’s a fucker. But we’ve never . . . No. I like older guys. Told you that. And girls,” he added, though I had no idea why he was telling me any of this. “Guys and girls my age don’t do it for me.” He gave me what I thought he must have assumed was a leer, but made him look like he was doing silly faces at a baby. “You do it for me, though.”
He put his hand on my thigh, which I promptly removed. “You’re drunk.”
“So drunk,” Poe agreed, leaning his head against the window. “You’re driving really fast.”
I was going about thirty-five, so not really. I saw him pawing at the door handle, maybe looking for the button to lower the window. “I don’t have power windows,” I told him, as I navigated toward the interstate. “You’ll have to roll them down by turning the crank.”
“Old-school,” he intoned, cracking the window enough to let in some fresh air and yet allow him to keep leaning against it.
“I thought that did it for you,” I joked, before I could help myself.
He turned his head and smiled at me. “I’ll turn your crank anytime, anywhere, Jericho.”
I laughed outright and shook my head, but this time when he put his hand on my thigh, I left it there. Maybe because he’d passed out before I’d gotten on the on-ramp, and stayed that way as I pulled into my driveway.
It took some maneuvering to wake him up and get him out of the truck, his arm around my neck and mine around his waist. Though he was drunk and I was tired, I still couldn’t stop the sharp pang of want that raced through me at our closeness. Poe smelled like weed and cigarette smoke, his hair tousled from the wind as he stumbled into the house with me.
He was too drunk to make any sort of comment other than, “Where’s your bedroom?” which was so slurred I barely understood what he was saying.
