by Jean Haus
Finally, he sits all that skin down and I get back to work. We talk about art and music as I shade the tattoo, then fill in the tiniest amount of red for some extra definition. Once again, he’s easy to talk to. It’s nice. But not as nice as his kiss, which shouldn’t be in my thoughts while I’m working—or at all.
I let him look at the finished tat before I put the bandage on. While he checks it out in the mirror, deep dimples form as he smiles, just like the last time. He studies the defined treble clef filled with intricate tribal work wrapped around the detailed microphone.
“It’s amazing.” His eyes meet my reflection in the glass. “You’re beyond talented.”
My murmured thanks receive a quick hug. A moment later he slides away, brushing his slight five-o’clock shadow with my cheek and leaving me frozen as he plops into the chair. I stiffen from his embrace and try not to recall the sensation of his warm, lovely skin. I slowly reach for some goo, then apply it in a dreamlike state to his back. I haven’t been to dreamland in years. Nor have I felt fuzzy and warm, which are the only words that describe how I feel from his hug.
Not good.
After applying the bandage, I shake my head to clear it. Head in the clouds leads to idiotic things. Like fake dates.
Once he’s dressed—I peeked very little by keeping myself busy cleaning up—he hands me two tickets. “You need to come see your work. It’ll be center stage tonight.”
My fingers reach for the tickets, and warning bells ring in my head at the touch of his hand. I snatch the tickets and clasp them to my thigh. “That will be a first.”
He snags his sunglasses off the counter, and gives me an uncompromising stare with those clear green eyes. “I’ll be looking for you in the crowd.” Then he and his inked body are gone, leaving only the scent of his dark, sexy cologne.
About two minutes later, I’m still standing next to my tray like an idiot and debating if I really should go to his show when Todd walks in. His pierced mouth curls into a smirk. “Knowing you tatted him, I get why Justin had the look.” The look refers to the tell-all smile a customer has when seeing their finished tattoo. “But why do you have the look, Al?” he asks, then grins mischievously at me.
The smile I hadn’t known I was wearing turns into a frown. “Oh fuck off, Todd.”
“Shay! Bring the jar!” he yells, then hoots and points like a twelve-year-old.
I dig five ones out of my pocket before she even puts the dang jar under my nose.
Since Justin first came around, my swear jar idea has been biting me in the rear.
Chapter 9
Allie
Saturday nights at the shop are usually walk-ins. However, I did have one regular coming in for a scheduled appointment. The client happened to be Holly, who is also my roommate. The minute I suggested we reschedule our session and go see Justin’s band instead, she was all over it. She’s been trying to hook me up for the past two years. After pressuring me until I couldn’t take it anymore, she has dragged me to house parties, college bars, and even fraternity mixers, including the one where she met her current boyfriend. But I never met anyone. Instead, while out I always felt out of place and lonelier than if I were sitting at home. She didn’t give up but forced me into the blind date thing instead. Holly set up the two dates I’ve been on in the past two years. One was with her boss. Financially stable. Mature. And as boring as a visit to the dentist.
Holly goes to college part-time—like me—but she takes evening classes because she has an awesome job as a pharmacist assistant. Seeing her at work, you’d never guess she had a wild side. She’s smiley and cheerful, and except for a star on her wrist, she appears tattoo free. When she goes out…Well, it’s hard to keep track of her ink because her outfits reveal almost all of it. Not all tattoo fanatics are wild. I’m definitely not. Holly most definitely is, even with a boyfriend she plans to marry. She’s impatiently waiting for a massive rock to put on her finger.
While we wait for the band to come on, the guy next to us at the bar is checking out the huge butterfly that looks like it’s about to fly off her back. She likes backless clothes. There’s not usually much to the front either. So when she turns around with a drink in each hand, the guy isn’t checking out the pretty swirls circling her belly button. Or the ladybugs—the only tats I didn’t do—along one side of her ribs. He’s not even checking out the scrolling words across the top of her chest. Because his eyes are glued to her cleavage. She’s had work on that too, and in her own words, “ain’t too proud to admit it.” Though we’re both in jeans, she has heels on. I’m wearing my knee-high calf-hugging boots. And except for the dress I wore the other night, the sexiest top I have is a tight white tank with a bit of lace at the edges, which is what I’m rocking for the show.
Holly hands me a mojito. “It’s about high time you had a good time, so I buy and you drink.”
I take a sip. “Slow down, chica. About three of these and I’ll be passed out.”
She lifts her own mojito. “Lightweight excuses aren’t going to fly tonight.” She wiggles her ass on my thigh. “We gots to get our krunk on before the band comes on.”
My eyes can’t help a roll while the guy next to us drools at her rubbing against my leg.
While declining several offers from guys who want to buy us drinks, we split another mojito, then order two beers and head out into the crowd in front of the stage. Holly uses a combination of “excuse me” and her tits to get us about fifteen feet from the stage. To get us any closer, she’d have to show more than cleavage. I don’t push the issue because she probably would. Holly is not exactly shy.
We sip our beers, bounce to the blaring music, and wait for the band to come on. If the crowd here is any indication, Luminescent Juliet is a lot more popular than Justin led me to believe. I haven’t told Holly anything about Justin except that I’ve inked him. But somehow, perhaps because I asked her to come, she’s already rooting for me to hook up with him. Or at least with one of the band members. Not sure what’s with everyone trying to get me laid. Okay, it’s possible I’m a bit uptight. But sex isn’t going to fix that. I’m not even sure it’s fixable. I’m planning to stick to my plan. Which is to watch the band, say hello to Justin, and get the heck home.
Holly has started flirting with the guys next to us when the lights dim and the dance music dies. The empty stage lights up, then darkens, causing the crowd to cheer. A smoky blue spotlight follows the guitar player as he walks to the edge of the stage, strumming softly. Another light shines behind Justin, standing in front of the microphone. The outline of his body hints at his masculine beauty and has me, and probably half the crowd, wishing another light would flick on to show him fully. He begins to sing softly, a few lines about keeping in the dark, then suddenly loud drums join in and the guitar escalates. Justin’s voice grows loud and angry, matching the growing volume of the guitar.
“Oh, I love this song!” Holly shouts in my ear.
“What is it?” I shout back.
“Foo Fighters! ‘Pretender’!” she yells, bouncing to the music.
Everyone’s moving and bobbing their heads to the beat. We’re crushed into the mass. I’m shoulder to shoulder with not only Holly but also the girl next to me.
I drain half my beer and let my buzz coax me into the crowd’s enthusiasm. The band sounds good. I’m guessing Justin sounds good, but it’s hard to tell. I’ve never understood shouting songs. But holding the microphone and standing in a wide stance with a boot on the edge of the stage, Justin looks as rocker hot as his silhouette in shadow promised. He’s in an unbuttoned white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and his tattoos and muscular chest add to the display. I’ve never had as harsh of an opinion of tribal art as Todd, but I’m starting to like it.
During the guitar solo, Justin steps to the side and shuffles the microphone stand between his hands. Then he comes back, sets one boot on the edge of the
stage, and goes back to shouting, coming across as commanding and sexy.
The song ends. Holly turns to me with a dazzled gaze. “They’re freakin’ good. And they’re all hot.” She takes a gulp of beer. “Which one do you like again?”
My gaze throws darts at her.
She chuckles.
“Everyone feeling good tonight?” Justin shouts into the microphone, and the crowd shouts back. “Then you must be ready for some Artic Monkeys!”
The crowd roars back again as the song starts with a rolling guitar riff, then the drums kick in, and Justin starts singing.
Once again, I don’t know the song, but with this second one it’s evident that Justin can sing, not just shout. Actually, he’s quite good, his voice sounds low and sexy. Before I can ask, Holly shows me a picture of the original single on her iPhone while she dances. The title ‘R U Mine?’ sends a shiver down my spine, because when Justin sings it, it feels like he’s asking me the question.
Obviously, the alcohol already has me stupid.
Holly and I dance next to each other while we watch. Well, I mostly watch Justin, but yeah, Holly is right. The guitar player is darkly hot in a button-up but open shirt. His dark hair has this way of falling over one eye that is sexy. The bassist is super cute as he keeps winking at girls in the front, nodding his dark buzzed head, and bouncing to the rhythm. He’s dressed in a sleeveless T, and his muscular arms almost dwarf the bass guitar he plays. The drummer is lean, muscled, and graceful in a black tank top and long black shorts. His shoulder-length hair whips around him, but in between drumbeats, when his hair flies back, his lean angular face looks intense.
As we continue to watch, I’m super impressed not only with Justin’s singing, but also by how at ease, how professional he appears onstage.
They play more songs. We watch and dance. Every minute, I fall more in lust with Justin. It’s hard not to. He moves with the music flawlessly, changing his posture and his movements to match the tone of each song. I can’t help imagining he’s singing to me, even though most of the girls in the crowd probably feel the same way. I’m buzzed and my hormones are flying, so I’m going with it. Justin is singing to me. And with each gulp of beer, the idea of jumping onstage and leg humping him, the silly image that came to me while inking him, doesn’t seem that farfetched.
About the sixth song in, Holly goes on a beer run and leaves me alone. The guys she was next to, and flirting with, scoot over and ask me my name. I murmur it without glancing at them. The closest one compliments my arm sleeve, but busy watching the band—Justin mostly—I mouth a thanks but then ignore them.
Holly comes back carrying two beers and a shot of tequila as the band takes a break. People shuffle around. Others leave—either to get drinks or wait in the bathroom line—and we’re soon less than ten feet from the stage.
I force the shot down with a grimace, causing Holly to laugh. I stuff both my old beer cup and the little plastic shot cup in her huge purse as revenge. Then we wait while my head starts seriously buzzing. She’s soon talking with the new guys next to us while I sway with the dance music playing over the speakers and watch stagehands rearrange the setup.
Finally, the lights lower and the recorded music fades out. The band comes back out along with two younger people following. One holds a violin, the other a small guitar.
The roar of the crowd grows deafening.
Clutching an acoustic guitar, Justin moves to the microphone. He views the mob of hooting fans. “As soon as you hear this tune, I’m sure you’ll recognize it, but…” He pauses as his eyes meet mine. We stare at each other and neither of us moves. His lids lower before he lifts his gaze back to the crowd. I’m trying to figure out whether my inebriated imagination is in overdrive or if he really just paused onstage for a minute to stare at me.
“This is a first for us and we need a little help.” He gestures to the side of the stage, where the girl and guy stand, looking nervous. “Not only will I be playing with Romeo but let me introduce Jane, who’s playing the violin. And Robert, who plays a mean mandolin.”
He steps away from the microphone and the crowd grows quiet. The others in the band watch him until he taps on the stem of his acoustic guitar. Robert and Justin start strumming. I recognize the melody, but I can’t place it, especially since I’m buzzed up and completely enamored.
Justin leans closer to the microphone and starts singing.
Everyone else fades into a shadowy background. His voice and the music catch in my chest. I’m trapped in the moment. Caught in his intense gaze, I’m lost as his lush voice wraps around me. There’s only the music and the sudden, fierce connection between us.
Holly nudges me with her elbow and yells in my ear, “It’s like he’s singing to you! Fucking ‘Iris’! Unbelievable! These lyrics are hot!…” I feel her jump up and down next to me. “It’s like he really, really wants you to see past the rocker to the man inside!”
I don’t comment. I don’t look away from Justin’s gaze either. But Holly is right. Though I can’t concentrate on the words while he stares at me, I understand the soulful question in his voice—and his heartfelt plea hits me hard. I’ve seen glimpses behind his playboy persona, but as we stare at each other, I want to peel back the layers, reach in, and immerse myself in the real Justin, the one who I’m beginning to realize hides.
He sings and stares as I sway and melt.
Oh crap. He’s the snake charmer and I’m the snake mesmerized by his melody.
And mesmerized I am.
Holly yells something else, but I can’t pull my attention from Justin. The band plays, he sings, and I drown in the emotional waves that are flowing between us. A crashing sensation washes over me again and again. Each time he sings the song’s soulful refrain, each time he glances down at his guitar for a second then back at me, I’m drenched with longing. It’s not lust, exactly, though that is there in the surge. A fierce want I lost long ago—the sense that there is someone out there balancing me—fills me. Someone who understands me. Someone made for me.
And that someone right now feels like the man singing onstage.
With each passing note, he has me closer to believing it’s true.
Want crashes into me as his voice rises in volume during the last refrain.
As the song’s last notes ring out, the crowd goes wild.
“Holy shit!” Holly yells in my ear. “You two were so eye fucking each other!”
Pulling my gaze from his, I draw in a deep breath. It feels like I’ve come up from a deep dive. Air rushes out of me. I need to escape before I find myself drowning. “I need to use the restroom.”
“What!”
I have to get out of here. I can sense stares from the crowd surrounding us, the interest in the girl Justin just sang to. “I have to pee.” I grab her arm. “Now.”
“All right. All right,” Holly says, taking my hand and yanking me through the mass as a fast pounding song starts.
We join the end of the long line as I try to catch my breath.
“Girl, you’ve been holding out on me,” Holly says, leaning next to me against the wall.
I shake my head.
She pokes my shoulder. “Then what was that?”
Closing my eyes, I try to figure that out. It’s almost like I imagined what happened. It’s hard to believe reality could involve that much intensity.
“Hey, you okay?”
I open my eyes and nod. “Just a little drunk.”
Holly grins at me. “On alcohol or lust?”
A giggle escapes me. “Maybe both?” We shuffle along the wall with the rest of the herd. “He just likes to flirt, Hol.”
“I call bullshit. What I just witnessed went beyond flirting. He sang ‘Iris’ to you. ‘Iris’ is some serious shit, Al.”
I kind of recall her saying it before, but I want to make sure because I will b
e loading it on my phone. “That’s the name of the song?”
“Yes, it’s by the Goo Goo Dolls.” When I give her a blank stare, she lets out an exasperated sigh. “It’s famous. If it were a painting, you’d know it by sight, the artist, the year it was painted, and the story behind it too.”
I shrug and scoot forward with the moving line.
After the bathroom stop, Holly orders me another shot. Knowing I’ll be seeing Justin soon, I don’t argue and swallow the tequila in one gulp. Liquid courage to the rescue. The thought of dealing with my emotions directly in front of him, without the crowd and the stage to provide a buffer, has me jittery. Each of us with a beer in hand, we wait at the edge of the crowd as Justin announces their next song as something new the guitar player wrote.
“Wow. This is good. Bluesy,” Holly shouts, and takes a sip of beer. “They’re tat worthy.”
“You want me to ink their name above your ass crack?” I absently say.
She laughs. “Maybe along it?”
I can’t help but snort. Leave it to Holly to get me out of the weird emotional place Justin has left me in. I take a gulp of beer and face the stage.
I keep reminding myself of the facts. I’m just watching a band with a gorgeous singer. I’m just out with a girlfriend on a rare night of partying.
That’s all this is.
That’s all I can allow.
Chapter 10
Justin
Water drips from my flushed face as I stare into the small, chipped mirror above the sink. Confused green eyes stare back at me. My hands grip the edges of the wet, cold porcelain sink. It feels like I sliced open my heart and gave a piece of it to Allie in the midst of hundreds of fans. Since the only pounding I’m usually aware of happens in my dick, I’d been pretty sure I didn’t have a heart. I run a hand down my wet face.
