by Avon Gale
I nodded. It was information I already knew, but it calmed me to feel Jericho’s touch and to hear him say the words. As he’d probably intended.
He moved away, and I began. As I inked in the outline of the raven, my shoulders slowly loosened; my fingers relaxed. And the greasy boulder in my stomach steadily shrank until it was more like a pea. It didn’t go away entirely, but it was small enough I could ignore it.
Jericho and Landon shot the shit as I worked, but I tuned out their conversation, concentrating on my task. We took a couple of breaks during the process. Once for me to chug down half a bottle of water because my tongue felt so dry I worried it might crack. Another because Landon got a charley horse in the leg I was tattooing, and we had to wait for it to pass.
Over four hours later, I finished with a small white accent on the raven’s beak. I scrutinized the tattoo with a growing sense of pride. It looked good. No—it looked great, if I did say so myself.
Sighing in relief, I set the machine aside and rolled my shoulders to work out some of the tension.
Jericho could’ve done it faster. His raven probably would’ve looked more polished and lifelike too. But as I squirted the green soap on a paper towel and wiped down the area a final time, I knew, given my amateur status, I’d done a more than respectable job. It would make a great addition to my portfolio. That was important. But more important was whether or not Landon agreed. I wanted him to love it. I hoped he would.
“All done,” I announced. “I’m sure you know where the mirror is, if you want to take a look before I wrap it.”
Landon got off the table and took a few moments to stretch. Then he walked over to the full-length mirror mounted on the wall and angled his body so could see the raven’s reflection in the glass.
I shot a nervous look at Jericho as Landon stood there staring. A whole minute passed. Then two.
I fidgeted with the bottom of one of the gloves I still wore. “Um. Is it okay?”
Landon cleared his throat. When he looked at me, his eyes were bright. “Yeah,” he said roughly. “It’s beautiful.”
Relief swept over me in a wave, and I couldn’t stifle the grin that broke out on my face. “Awesome! Yeah, that’s . . . That’s awesome.”
Jericho chuckled and stood from the stool he’d been sitting on. “Why don’t you wrap it up?”
I nodded jerkily and gathered the supplies I needed. I directed Landon into the best lighting, snapped a couple of pictures, then wrapped the tattoo with quick, efficient movements.
When it was done, Landon bent down to fix his pant leg. I removed the gloves and tossed them onto the tray that held my supplies. I’d clean it all up once Landon left. He was our final client of the day. All the other artists had already gone.
“Well, I’d better get going and let you finish up here,” Landon said. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could get a word out, he yanked me into a tight hug. “You did good, kid.” His voice was rough with emotion. “Thank you. I’m proud of you.”
He released me as quickly as he’d grabbed me, and followed Jericho out of the room. I was still standing there, mouth hanging open, when Jericho returned a couple of minutes later.
Jericho chuckled, pulling me into his arms. His fingers ruffled my hair as he gave me a deep, lingering kiss. “You did great. You should’ve seen how he looked when I was locking the door. I thought he was going to cry for a second.”
“I thought so too.” I laughed breathlessly. “Wow. He liked it. He really did.” My father had made a canvas of himself over the years, and now he’d let me add my own art to the landscape. Finally, I was doing something he approved of. I hadn’t thought it mattered before, but I couldn’t deny the happiness that filled me knowing I’d made him proud.
I also couldn’t deny the mild twinge of resentment. I’d painted some pretty spectacular pieces since I’d started doing street art as a teenager. Where was Landon’s praise back then? In the past, the only thing he’d been even halfway impressed with was the Edgar Allan Poe mural in my bedroom—and then probably because it tied into something he actually cared about. His pride in me now simply highlighted all the years of disapproval and added a note of unwelcome bitterness to the proceedings, especially given Jericho’s occasional comments about graffiti over the last couple of months. It was obvious neither one of them considered it a serious art form, no matter how much Jericho claimed to “appreciate the artistry.”
“I think he loved it.” Jericho stepped back. Clearly he hadn’t sensed the unhappy turn of my thoughts. “Now clean up. I think me and my boy should celebrate tonight.”
Damn it.
Whether Jericho knew I suddenly needed a pick-me-up or not, he’d certainly chosen the right subject—and tone—to distract me. It was like I’d developed a Pavlovian response to the idea of being his boy and hearing him say it in that low, gravelly voice. I didn’t need anything more to start getting hard, and I couldn’t hold on to my resentment when I was already fantasizing about choking on his dick.
I grinned at him, running a heated look from his face down to his bulge, which grew bigger as I watched. I licked my lips, and it was like I could taste him in the air. A little moan escaped me. “Yeah, Daddy,” I whispered, “I think you’re right.”
Jericho
The last few years, I hadn’t done much for Christmas. I’d never been one for holidays, and other than calling Chris and my aunt, Katie, in California, I didn’t really have any plans. The year I’d been dating Callum, he’d suggested going up to Boston to meet his family, then decided maybe we should go on a cruise to Mexico, instead.
I didn’t have the money Callum did—his law career might be over, but his trust fund was maturing nicely in investments or whatever rich people did with their money—and at first the idea of him paying for my trip had galled me. He’d talked me into it, and I wished I could say it’d been a blast. I’d been seasick the whole time and spent Christmas throwing up into a trash can. I’d finally felt better the last two days of the trip . . . in time for the fucking typhoon I swore we’d sailed through. My seasickness never came back, though. Callum claimed it was his present to me so that I could enjoy any future cruises without heaving up my buffet lunch.
Yeah, no more cruises for me.
After Callum and I ended things, I’d taken to spending the holidays with Landon. Poe would sometimes come up for dinner, usually distracted by his phone, and take off sometime shortly after we finished eating. Landon and I would have some beer, shoot the shit, and treat it like any other night. Christmas didn’t have a lot of memories for me, good or bad, but I knew it did for Landon. As a single parent, how could it not?
This year was different, though. This year, Poe wasn’t only Landon’s son who came up for Landon’s traditional Christmas lasagna, and I wondered if the fact we were dating would be too awkward for Landon to handle. I didn’t want to assume I was invited over, but I hadn’t quite figured out how to ask him yet.
Poe and I spent Christmas Eve together, and I gave him his presents—a toolbox for his kit being the major one, as well as a warm winter coat. “All I’ve seen you wear is that fucking hoodie, and you’re not riding on my bike unless you have an actual jacket.”
Poe gave me tickets to an upcoming Blues game. Despite being a fan and living in the same city, I hardly ever went in person. It was a thoughtful gift, since I knew he wasn’t really into sports and couldn’t care less about hockey. After our gift exchange, I gave him his final present—a paddle—and took him over my knee. He left shortly after midnight, so he could be home with his dad for Christmas morning.
On the way out, he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow at dinner, right?”
“Am I still invited?”
Poe rolled his eyes and shrugged into his new coat. “Obviously. My dad thinks this is weird, but he doesn’t hate you. Bring some dinner rolls and beer, and I’ll see you at seven.”
I wondered if Poe was telling the truth about Landon still wanting me to come
over, then decided I either needed to ask him or trust that Poe wasn’t making assumptions. In the end, I sent Landon a text saying that I had some beer but no stores were open so forget the dinner rolls.
He sent back ok. That wasn’t unusual for Landon, who wasn’t quite as adept a texter as his son. But at least I knew that I wasn’t showing up somewhere I wasn’t wanted.
Landon and I still talked, and we’d been out for a beer a few times. He was busy with the shop and training his new guy (turned out Jemma, from the coffee shop, had failed to mention her cousin had recently finished his mechanic training and this was his first real job), and I was busy with Poe—both as my apprentice and as my boyfriend.
I showed up at 6:45, feeling oddly nervous and annoyed at myself because of it. Landon answered the front door, and he stared at me for a long moment. “You didn’t bring me a present?”
Fuck. We’d never, ever exchanged gifts before. Was that not the same now that I was dating Poe? I had no idea what to say.
Landon’s mouth quirked. “Get the fuck in here, it’s freezing. Merry Christmas. If you call me Dad, I’m kicking your ass out.”
Relieved, I rubbed my boots on the welcome mat and dislodged the mush of rain and sad, slushy snow that was typical for St. Louis winter weather. “Oh, fuck off.” We exchanged a hug, and something tight in my chest loosened a bit. I hadn’t realized how much I’d been bummed by the tension in my relationship with Landon. After hugging him, I went into the kitchen.
I grabbed two beers and put the rest in the fridge, and Poe appeared in the kitchen just as I shut the door. He grinned at me, edging into my space and pushing me back against the fridge. “Hey. Merry Christmas.”
I kissed him, then put my free hand on his hip and moved him away from me when our kisses got a little too heated. “Behave yourself.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Poe’s eyes were already blurry, and I knew he was getting hard from kissing. Being twenty-three had its advantages.
“I’ll show you later. Promise.” I couldn’t resist giving him one last kiss before heading to the living room.
“Is one of those beers for me?” Poe called from the kitchen.
“Nope.” I handed Landon his beer. He took it, looked at me, and sighed. He had to have known what we’d been doing in the kitchen, if only for a few seconds. I didn’t know whether to laugh, apologize, or ignore it and drink my beer.
I went with option C, and things settled down a bit. Poe came back into the room with his beer, and I couldn’t help how aware of his presence I was the second he came into the room.
Poe sprawled in a chair across from the sofa where I was sitting with Landon. He did something to his beer bottle that I filed away for later, because of course he was doing it on purpose. I couldn’t say things were entirely comfortable, but most of the tension was simply my heightened awareness of Poe more than any sense of disapproval from Landon.
We talked business, with Landon shaking his head and telling me about the new kid—Jemma’s cousin—who kept making stupid mistakes and dropping things every time Landon checked on him.
“Damn kid dropped an entire canister of oil when I came around the corner,” Landon said. “Then when he couldn’t find a rag fast enough, he took off his own shirt and threw it down on the puddle.”
I snorted. “Sounds like he’s trying too hard to impress you.”
“I dropped the gallon of green soap,” Poe said. “And the cap was loose. I ended up mopping the floor.”
“Told you all that cleaning practice would come in handy.” I paid a service to come in once a week to make sure the standards of cleanliness were up to par with the required code, but part of Poe’s job was to make sure the shop was pristine each night.
Poe grinned at me over the top of his beer bottle. “I would’ve thought of something.”
“Maybe he’s got a thing for you,” I said to Landon.
“That’s not why I dropped the green soap,” Poe interrupted. “You weren’t there.”
“You did that because your fool ass gets distracted putting caps back on things.” Landon’s gruff voice was droll, but I could hear the underlying affection. “And I don’t think that’s it. Kid’s too scared to meet my eyes.”
I exchanged a quick look with Poe, who grinned but said nothing. I wasn’t entirely sure what Landon’s sexuality was, and I’d never asked. When I’d told him I was gay, he’d said, “Yeah, okay,” and that was that. He didn’t care, and he’d never once expressed any hint that it bothered him that his son was bisexual.
“Poe, you gonna fix that salad?” The tone in his voice was less a question and more Go fix the salad.
“Sure.” Poe got to his feet and sauntered into the kitchen. I turned my attention to Landon, but maybe I’d been watching Poe walk away a little too long.
Landon’s eyebrows went up.
I cleared my throat and took a sip of my beer, which was almost empty. “What?” I said, finally. I didn’t want to flaunt my relationship with Poe and make Landon uncomfortable, but I also didn’t like the idea of pretending we weren’t dating or that I wasn’t attracted to him. As weird as it was for Landon, Poe was my boyfriend. My boyfriend, who had a great ass.
“You know what.” Landon gave a low laugh. He shook his head. “This is still weird, but that kid does behave around you.”
I let that one go. I didn’t want Poe to behave, did I? I wanted him to be himself, but not be a dick. Was that behaving? Fuck if I knew. “I’m glad you still wanted me to come over.”
“Of course.” Landon frowned. “This is taking me some getting used to, I admit it. But I’m doing it, and you’re still my friend. I’m sorry if you thought I wouldn’t want you here for dinner because you’re dating my son.”
“I don’t want to make this harder for you.” I stared at my hands, wrapped loosely around the bottle of beer. “But it would suck if our friendship suffered.”
“You two seem . . . It seems like it’s serious.”
I raised my eyes to Landon’s and nodded. “I’m not really the casual type.” Landon knew that, I was sure. We were more likely to talk sports and cars than sex, but other than Callum, I’d never introduced him to anyone.
Landon’s eyes flickered toward the kitchen, then back to me. “You’re always welcome here,” he said, his voice gruff. “No matter what happens between you two.”
Touched, I reached out and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks. I’m glad.”
“Am I not supposed to be listening?” Poe called from the kitchen. “Because I can totally hear you.”
“Slam those dishes around a little louder, then,” Landon called back. “But don’t break anything or I’m taking your Christmas presents back.”
“You’ve been saying that to me since I was eight.” Poe stuck his head out into the living room. “Salad’s ready. Want me to take the lasagna out of the oven?”
“Check and see if it’s bubbly.”
Poe nodded. “In case you were wondering, I think it’s serious too.” He smiled at me, and I smiled back.
“I said I was getting used to this, and I am. But I ain’t about being a third wheel for Christmas dinner.” Landon’s face was his customary severe glower, but I could tell he was teasing. “Get in there and check on that lasagna.”
Poe laughed and went back into the kitchen.
Landon and I might not have exchanged presents, but knowing I still had his friendship was definitely a gift.
Poe
Aside from sending him a text on Christmas, I hadn’t spoken to Blue since our big fight back in November—the night he’d gotten pissed and abandoned me at that house party. We hadn’t gone more than a few days, let alone over a month, without communicating with each other in our entire nearly decade-long friendship. But that night had been the last straw for me. We kept saying the same things to each other, to the point where it had basically become a negative feedback loop. What was the point in talking to him if we were only going to argue?
It exhausted me.
I knew it was probably juvenile to avoid his attempts to contact me. I mean, normally I wasn’t the grudge-holding type, especially when it came to my friends—but no way in hell could I sit through yet another night of Blue’s endless bitching about my life choices. As my friend, he should’ve been supportive. He might’ve been, if I’d stuck to only doing things he approved of, but the days I blindly followed Blue were over. I had my own plans now.
He wouldn’t be persuaded to my thinking anytime soon. Blue’s stubbornness was legendary. When he was at his most contrary, trying to change his mind was like trying to lift mountains with my bare hands—painful and frustrating. So why bother? Until he got over himself, I didn’t have any interest in seeing him.
But finally—and I knew it must have chapped his ass to do it—he broke down and called me on Permanent Ink’s main line. All Harriet said was I had someone holding for me, so of course I picked up using the phone on Jericho’s desk. Over the last few weeks, it had become the norm for me to get two or three calls a day. Friends of friends looking for free ink and willing to get it any way they could, even from a no-name amateur like myself. Good thing too. I still had dozens of tattoos left to reach my prelicense goal. I needed all the volunteers I could get.
“This is Poe,” I said into the receiver.
“Hey. It’s me.”
Recognizing Blue’s voice, I sighed. For a second, I wished I had enough pettiness in me to slam the phone down in his ear. Tempting though it was, I didn’t. “Hey, what’s up? This has to be quick, okay? I’m busy.” Not really. There was a rare gap in Jericho’s schedule due to a last-minute cancellation, and I was keeping myself occupied by working on practice skins until Kandee’s friend, Alyssa, came in for a tattoo later—but Blue didn’t need to know that.
“You’re avoiding me. You never call me back. Every time I text, you leave me on read.”
I fidgeted with one of the retractable pens on the desk. “Yeah.”
