The Art of Me (The All of Me Book 1)

by S. J. Blaze

  “Hi, Bully,” I say softly. The machine may not be on but it’s still in his hand. And we haven’t really spent any time together since our tour ended.

  “Hey, baby girl, whatcha doing?” He’s still seated and looks a little confused. I try to read him, I don’t sense any anger, so I continue.

  “I tried to call earlier, I just need a minute.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He looks back at the big guy he’s working on. “Bro, do ya mind if I talk to my girl for a sec?”

  The guy lifts his head and glances at me. “Sure man, take care of yours.” Hmm, cool guy.

  Bullet puts his gun down, stands stretching his back for a second, then grabs my hand and ushers me to the back office outside of his working station. Still holding my hand, he closes the door and glides his hand to my upper arm. His other hand moves to my hair brushing it from my shoulder. He’s watching me. I feel like I haven’t seen him in forever.

  He clears his throat. “So, baby girl. You got something you wanna tell me?” The way he presents it, though, is as if he knows something. I have a feeling we will be talking about two different things. Might as well get mine taken care of first.

  “It’s Harley’s fifth birthday on Monday. Are they throwing her a party?” I have gone to every party for the last three years. I would hate to miss it.

  He removes his hand from my arm and rubs his nose with the back of his hand. “Naw, they aint doing anything this year.” He’s lying. He doesn’t want me to go to her party. He’s that upset with me? We’ve grown apart that much?

  I take a step back and turn away from him. Oh wow, I didn’t expect this.

  “Now your turn. Tell me what you came here to say.” His voice is hollow and deep.

  I don’t know what he’s talking about. “What do you mean? I wanted to know about Harley,” I answer while turning to face him.

  “Charlie, quit bullshitting me.” He puts his hands on his hips and glares. He about never calls me by my name, so this must be something big.

  “Bullet, would I lie to you? I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  His brows furrow and he reaches into his back pocket. “Shit,” he murmurs. “Give me your phone.” I pass it to him and he taps it a few times. “What’s the pass code?”

  “1 2 0 3,” I answer, still wondering why he’s being a dick.

  His eyes look up from my phone. “Really?” I nod. Then he types in and mutters. “That’s fucked up.” I scrunch my face. How does he know what that code means? Does he?

  He messes with it for a bit and then passes it to me. I look at the screen to see a story printed in today’s Boston Globe. The headlines read, Collins: Bachelor Days Are Behind Him. The article goes on to explain that Coen and I are pleased to share the news of our engagement. It gives specific information of my employment, and that Coen and I live together, as well as a vague account of our relationship timeline and how we met. Underneath the article there are several pictures, mainly from around town over the last month, and even one from the yacht party. In most of them, I’m wearing the Coen ring.

  I feel the blood drain from my face. Reaching for the chair behind me, I sit down. Why did Coen leak this information out? He’s never even asked. I don’t understand.

  “You really didn’t know?” Bullet squats down next to the chair to get a better look at me. I shake my head and he grabs my left hand searching for the ring. “You’re not wearing it?”

  “Bully, I had that ring all summer. I wore it on my middle finger, remember?”

  He looks confused. “You’re living with him, though. Malice told me that you’re there every night.”

  I shrug. “Yeah,” I whisper.

  He reaches over and grips my neck and looks deep into me. His eyes are flaming, a brilliant bonfire sparking to life. “What are you doing, baby girl?” His thumb rubs my jaw softly.

  “I don’t even know.” I sigh. “I really like him, though.”

  “Yeah?” he croaks out.

  “I think so. I mean, I’ve never really cared about someone other than you guys, Tank, and Mal. I don’t know how this is supposed to go.”

  “Hhmm, does he make you smile?” I nod. “Does he take care of you?” I nod. “Does he let you be you?” I don’t nod. Instead, I bite my lip and continue getting lost in the fiery depth of Bullet’s eyes.

  He nods and continues his soft movements.

  “Is Harley having a birthday party tomorrow?” Wondering if I will get a different answer.

  “Yeah, baby girl. I don’t think you should be there, though.” He looks down and drops his hand. Standing up he whispers. “It’s just too hard.” He leans over, kisses my forehead, and walks out the door.

  As I walk dejectedly to the front of the shop, I hear a familiar growl echoing in my ear.

  “Where you been, Wifey?” Lyle comes behind and squeezes me. I laugh and fall into him. He has been calling me that since we met over three years ago. He claimed that we were married in his dreams before we actually met. I think he is adorable, incredibly strange, but harmlessly adorable.

  He’s a few inches shorter than Bullet and at least twenty pounds lighter, but with the same bald head and coloring, they could pass as brothers. With one true distinction, Lyle doesn’t have Bully’s dazzling eyes.

  “Is that my favorite husband?” I arch my neck trying to catch a look at him. The man has tatts everywhere including his head and face, but despite his looks he’s a big softy.

  He crushes me further into him. “You breaking my heart, Shooter girl? I hear you’re off to marry another guy. Say it aint so!”

  “Never!” I exclaim. “I’m yours till my end of days.”

  “Then let’s proclaim our love to the world!” he sings in the grandest British accent and carries me in his arms. I can’t contain my laughter as he swings me ceremoniously towards the waiting area.

  “Alas dear people of Loaded Ink…I shout my love of Shooter to the valleys!” he purses his lips in a regal snarl.

  “Put her down, dumb ass.” Bullet walks over smacking Lyle on the back of the head. “She belongs to some rich shit now.”

  “Ow, fucker.” Lyle sets me on my feet and rubs the back of his bald head. “Quit crushing dreams. She knows who she belongs to!” He pulls me to him and waggles his brows. “You know some pompous ass can’t do to you what I can.” He smirks deviously then bends down and licks my cheek.

  Bullet grunts. “Lyle man, don’t ya got tatts to do? Malice, get your girl. I gotta shop here to run.”

  I turn my attention to Mal, who is watching me in return. I feel my face heating. I’m upset and hurt. Malice won’t listen to Bull but he knows his shit is upsetting me. Mal quirks a brow wondering what I will do next.

  With the miserable disconnect from my brain, I pull my arm back and throw a swift uppercut to Bullet’s jaw. He never saw that coming, and sadly, neither did I.

  His head jerks to the side and his hand comes up to touch the bruising skin, his eyes wide as he gapes at me.

  With a chilling dark voice, I respond. “We both know that’s been a long time coming.”

  I can’t stop the disgust now evident on my face. We have moved from best friends, to something more, to this. I’m slowly hating him and it’s shredding my soul. He’s cutting Harley from my world and it appears he’s doing the same with Lyle. Well, fuck him!

  The shop has fallen silent, except for the gasps that came with my hit. Oh well, let them think I’m a cold hearted bitch. I flick my hair over my shoulder, straighten myself to my tallest height, and saunter out with an extra sway to my hips. Might as well own the bitch act.

  I keep walking out of the door and into the car. I’m pretty sure I heard the pinup chick call me a ‘bitch’ but then again, she’s right. I’ve never hit anyone outside of the cage or mat or in self-defense. This feels like absolute shit.

  Malice climbs behind the wheel and begins the journey home in silence.

  “Je pense que je l'ai finalement perdu
mon esprit.”

  I think I’ve finally lost my mind, I whisper to Mal.

  In response, he reaches across the consul and clasps my knee. Giving it a quick squeeze, he then goes back to normal Mal demeanor.

  My cell phone ringing disrupts the thought provoking silence. Pulling it out, I half expect to see any one of the trio calling to bitch at me for my outburst. Instead, I find the devil herself.

  “Mother,” I sigh. This can’t be good.

  “Charlie, how are you? Oh, of course, I know how you are. I just heard all about your little announcement from the girls this morning. It’s about time you got him back and made it official.” Her voice is extraordinarily chipper and the ‘girls’ she is referring to, is the standing appointment she has at the salon. Oh no, it isn’t just the salon employees but her friends all meet there every Saturday morning to get their hair styled, cut, dyed, what-have-you, and then they do brunch.

  I’m in such a horrible sulky, snarky mood, that I decide to have a little fun with her.

  “Oh mother, you know how terribly delayed the Globe is with its information. You’d think with someone as prominent as my husband, they’d be better equipped. What can you do?” They never called on my birthday and never notified me of Joelle’s pregnancy. My father included. I owe them nada!

  “Husband? You’re already married?” She gasps, fully on alert now.

  “Mother, you know we’ve been engaged on and off since last spring. Coen couldn’t wait. We had a lovely ceremony on his yacht. The same one that was in one of the pictures the Globe printed.”

  “Charlie, you’d think as your mother I’d be invited to my own daughter’s wedding. I can’t believe this.”

  “No, you’re absolutely right. We were sailing your way when we heard of Joelle’s pregnancy. I certainly didn’t want to take you away from her. It’s such a sensitive time. Anyway, we had a blast. Greyson, Coen’s dad is good friends with Mick Jagger, so he joined us once we docked in the Bahamas. Oh my, that man is carayyyzy!” She loves the Rolling Stones, so I thought to add salt to the wound. “Anyway, we had a grand party on the yacht. Then Mick called up Johnny and we all went to his place. You should have seen Johnny Depp’s place. Gorgeous!” I picked up that tidbit from a magazine I read once. I guess a bunch of celebs have homes down there now.

  “Then Johnny and Mick started playing for us. It was chilling…I mean total impromptu but freaking beautiful.” I sigh dreamily, remembering my fake wedding.

  “Charlie, I can’t believe this.” That’s because I just made it up. “You should have at least called. You’re right, Joelle’s pregnancy has been rather trying, the poor dear. The girls were just so excited for you. After everything, we didn’t think you’d ever get to this point. I mean, Joelle’s married and pregnant already.” I wonder if she knows that I’m only twenty-two. Most people my age are still in college. Perhaps the Botox is killing off brain cells.

  “You’re so right, mother! What a relief to find a man willing to love me.”

  “Yes, of course I am dear. Well, you make sure you and your husband come down soon. Abba will be heartbroken. Don’t worry, I’ll smooth things over for you. I better run, we have an anniversary party tonight at the Rosen Plaza, and I need to get ready. Send my best to that handsome husband of yours! Bye.”

  “Bye, mother.” I hang up with a small smile on my face.

  My boyfriend / fiancée / husband is trying to manipulate me in our relationship as well as change everything about me. My best friend is pretty much cutting me out of his life, piece by piece, and I just punched him. My mother is a cruel clueless bitch. My body is revolting against me, and Tank won’t let me get away with it. Loaded Gun’s single made the top 100 on the Billboard charts and I never even noticed. There’s only one solution...

  “Crème glacée, chocolat, et beaucoup d'alcool est nécessaire.”

  Ice cream, chocolate, and lots of alcohol is needed.

  Grabbing Chinese on our way in after our essential stockpiling, we headed back to my place to indulge. Mal stayed for a while but then bowed out making up some excuse about needing to go to bed. It was only nine o’clock at the time and I could have sworn I saw a faint blush. If my female instincts are correct, I think he has a date.

  Not long after Malice left, there was a knock on the door. Having no clue who it could be, I screamed at the door in a sing songy slightly slurred way. “Whoooo iss it?”

  I hear a deep chuckle followed by, “Open up, baby girl. I think I need to join you.” It’s Gunner. I wonder if he still likes me.

  I swing open the door harder than I meant to and it bangs against the wall.

  “You waaant sommma this, too?” I put my fists up and start circling them.

  He laughs and walks in, closing the door, then grabs my hand and guides me to the couch. “Sit, baby girl. I think I’ll help myself.” He pats me on my head then disappears.

  I grab a chocolate bar that’s on my coffee table with the rest of my chocolate haul and start munching. Chocolate is the answer to every dilemma. Since I have several, I should really indulge. It seems only right.

  He plops down next to me cracking a beer. Taking a big swig, he puts it on the table, then grabs my hand. “Look at me, baby.”

  I glance up to his eyes. He must find something he doesn’t like in there because he picks me up and pulls me on his lap, wrapping me in his warm thick arms. Ah. Gunner is so good for my shredded soul. Like chocolate.

  “You’re hurting, I can see it. What needs to happen?” he asks.

  “More chocolate?”

  He chuckles and rubs his right hand up my arm while the other tightens on my thigh. I nuzzle into him. “Gun, I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t handle things,” I whisper, suddenly sobering in his embrace.

  “Well…” His voice rumbles through me. It’s soothing. “Maybe start with not punching people.” I purposely angle away and furrow my brow.

  “You mean there are other ways to communicate?” Again he chuckles and sloppily smooches my brow.

  “We need to get things straight or none of us will walk away in one piece. And I don’t mean just you. We’re all losing our shit.”

  I don’t know what he means but I know that we are breaking as a band, as friends. “Gun, I didn’t mean to hit him. The things he says to me now, he doesn’t even want me at Harley’s birthday party tomorrow. He’s cutting me out. I just reacted and it was wrong of me.”

  “Yeah, baby. You may be tiny but you pack a mean punch. As for Bullet, I can’t really say what’s going down there. He’s hurting, too.” He kisses my brow and then pushes my head on his chest. “You gonna tell me about this preppy asshole?”

  We spend the next hour or so eating chocolate and discussing the Coen situation. Gunner isn’t a fan. I’m still unsure who contacted the Boston Globe. In reality it could have been anyone. I’m not as quick to blame Coen as Gun is.

  I’m nearly asleep when Gunner kisses me on the head, tucks me into the blankets on the couch, and leaves me for the night. Lost in confusion and a chocolate hangover.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I’m sound asleep when I hear someone key the lock on my door and enter my home. I’m not too concerned since it could only be Gun or Mal. After a few squeaky steps I hear clothing being removed. I think a shirt, maybe pants, but I definitely catch shoes peeled off. Then someone slides onto the couch behind me and pulls the covers over us. By scent alone, I can tell it is Coen.

  I start to mumble incoherent sounds and he reacts by spooning me to him. “Sshh, it’s only me. I can’t sleep without you, love.” He moves one hand over my stomach while the other glides under my head. He kisses the back of my head and then urges me back to sleep. Reluctantly, I listen with ease.

  I awake with soft rubbing movements on my bare lower back. It’s relaxing. I bury my head into my warm pillow and try to get comfortable. I feel Coen’s light chuckle underneath me. With my arm around his middle and my leg wrapped around his, the couch
still feels too small.

  He groans. “We might fall off if you keep wiggling on me like that.”

  Opening my eyes, I look up at him. Even with the awful couch-head he’s sporting, he’s still stunning. The way the sun slips through the window gives Coen a radiant glow. Coen is light.

  “Morning, love.” He brushes his lips softly against mine.

  “Morning,” I respond in my scratchy morning voice then snap back into sanity. “Coen, do I want to know how you got into my condo?”

  He chuckles and shakes his head. Davis. No doubt.

  “Can I ask you something?” I bite my lip and look down. I hate all of this fighting.

  “Of course, love. Anything, always.” I can see the determination lying there.

  “Did you, by any chance, um, speak with the Globe? About us, I mean?” He looks confused.

  “I thought you did? I saw the article myself, yesterday.” He shakes his head. “I haven’t said anything, I swear. Charlie…” He sighs. “I’m so afraid of losing you that I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize this. As it is, I’ve been losing my fucking mind since you left yesterday.” He leans forward and pecks my nose.

  His hand glides up my spine. “Charlie, I never want to hurt you. Please, believe me.” He moans and flips us over so he’s hovering above me. He grinds his morning happiness into me and then drops his head. I feel his breath fan across my lower face and his soft messy hair tickle my lips. He’s trying to control his breathing. I run my fingers over his back, relishing his warm solid skin beneath my fingertips.

  “Coen, I don’t know what’s going on between us. You mean a lot to me and…Um, I know I’m not perfect, but…you can’t…I just have to be me. I have to do me.” He catches my eyes. “This feels…Coen, I’m….I’m kind of scared.” I whisper the last word, as if it’s malignant to speak it aloud.

  “Ah, love, you don’t get how perfect I think you are.” He shakes his head and brushes the hair from my face. His lips reach out and suck in my bottom lip and he pulls back licking his lips. “Charlie, I love you.” He reaches into my eyes conveying his feelings.