by Mary Calmes
He rolled his eyes, much to everyone’s appreciation, and I went into the kitchen with plates and started rinsing them before loading them into the dishwasher. They were all very kind, and I needed to accept that they were now a part of Scott’s life, because they came as a packaged set with Daniel and he wasn’t going anywhere. He was good and I needed to stop thinking that the only one who could love Scott enough was me. It was obviously not the case.
“So have you always believed in ghosts?” Justin asked as he moved up beside me, carrying more plates with him.
“Yeah,” I told him, “but I was raised in Japan, so it goes along with the territory.”
“Really?” he asked, leaning on the counter, studying me. “Do you speak Japanese?”
“I do,” I told him, hoping I wouldn’t get the “say something in Japanese” from him that normally followed my statement. It was annoying, like people were testing to see if I was full of crap. Sometimes others wanted me to order at a restaurant and it was stupid. Like the menu wasn’t in English. “But these days I only get to use it on the phone.”
“Haven’t been back to Japan in a while?”
“No, I won’t ever go back.”
“I sense there’s a story there.”
I forced a smile.
“When did you leave?”
“In 2009.”
“What’s the short version of why?”
I had to think. “Well, my mother and I moved there when I was three, and she passed in 2000 when I was sixteen.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
But it was a lifetime ago. “Thanks.”
“So did you have other family there in Japan?”
“No.”
“No?”
He got a real grin the second time because his concern was obvious and genuine. “It was just me and my mom, but her boyfriend took me in after she died.”
His scowl was instant. “Where was your father in all this?”
“No father, ever. Not on my birth certificate or anywhere.”
He put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “I’m sorry, that’s the worst.”
It wasn’t the worst, but again, it was nice of him to say so. “It’s okay. My mom’s boyfriend was—is—a very good man. He made sure I stayed alive.”
Justin’s eyes narrowed.
“What?” I asked as he took a rinsed plate from me, taking over the task of loading the dishwasher. We were an assembly line now.
“Alive?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not so great.”
“Why not?”
“Alive means the bare minimum. Is that all you got?”
I shrugged. “It was enough.”
He was about to say something more when Daniel and Phillip converged on us, Tate leaning against the doorframe.
“Let’s check out the tattoo,” Daniel suggested exuberantly. “Justin’s thinking of getting one, and since Scoot went on and on about yours, we wanted to see.”
It was the part I wasn’t crazy about, but I’d agreed before I came over, so I quickly dried my hands on one of the dishtowels, unzipped my gray cardigan and then dragged my plain white T-shirt up over my head.
The room went silent.
“Holy shit,” Tate breathed, moving forward to get a closer look at the ink.
An enormous blue tiger engaged in mortal combat with a red and gold dragon spilled across the skin of my entire back, from my shoulders to the top of my jeans. The colors, even after so many years, were still vibrant, and the artwork was a credit to the master of irezumi who had given me my ink. The shading, the lines, all the variations of cerulean and crimson, the white of the dragon’s teeth and the black claws of the tiger, appeared the same as they had when the design was first completed back when I was twenty-one. Any way you viewed my back, from any angle or straight on, there was no missing the power and the movement, the fury in both, and the ferocious bloodlust. Around the edges were a moon in the dragon’s talon, rain clouds, and, if I took off my jeans, black and green waves at the feet of the tiger.
“Boone,” Justin breathed out my name. “This is gorgeous.”
I was quiet, feeling strange as the men gaped, walking around me, first to my right arm where the sakura—cherry blossoms—branched out from my shoulder to above my elbow in remembrance of my mother, and then to the opposite sleeve where a portrait of a man, done in a completely different style, all hard edges and thick lines, stared down from the clouds as red, deep orange, and brown maple leaves swirled around him, spilling over my chest to my left pectoral, above my heart.
“Jesus,” Daniel whispered. “How long did this all take to do?”
“It took five years,” Scott answered, coming into the room, sliding around the others, moving up quickly beside me. “And took—what did you tell me,” he asked, meeting my gaze. “Thirty grand or something?”
“My oyabun, he took care of it, but that’s probably what he paid.”
“What’s an oyabun?” Daniel was quick to query.
“I meant my guardian after my mother died,” I said, getting ready to pull my T-shirt back on.
“Wait.” Tate stopped me, one hand on my back, the other gently slipping over my hip. The tail of the dragon wrapped around my left side and descended lower on my hips than my jeans fell. “How far does that go down?”
I smirked, and the flush that colored his throat and cheeks was adorable.
“Oh Tate, you dog,” his partner teased, bumping him out of the way so he could put both hands flat on my back. “And this doesn’t count for tattooing for you, Justin. This wasn’t done with a machine, right?”
“The samurai on my shoulder was,” I explained. “Friend of mine, trained in Japan, real good guy, who lives in LA now, he did it.”
“He have his own shop?”
“Yeah. Hizoku Ink.”
“Did he do this all in one shot?”
“No,” I said, my voice dropping low. “It took a couple days.”
“But the rest?”
“Is all by hand,” I explained, “so yeah, that took forever.”
“There’s a special name for it, isn’t there?”
“Yeah. It’s called irezumi.”
“And how’s that done?”
“Regular steel needles and bamboo ones poked into your skin,” I answered, pleased to share the little I knew of the art form. “There are knives and carving tools used as well.”
“That’s insane.”
I shrugged. “It’s part of it. You want art; you pay for it with a little blood.”
“I suspect you spilled more than just a little,” Tate commented, gently tracing the lines on my back with his fingertips. It was a slow, sensual movement.
“Don’t touch him,” Scott muttered softly. “Just look.”
“It was a long time ago,” I said dismissively.
“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”
But that was the thing about pain; your body didn’t actually retain the memory.
“Why do it at all?” Daniel pressed. “What’s the point?”
“Could you move your hands?” I heard Scott say under his breath.
“How do you mean?” I asked Daniel.
“I mean, why would you even agree to have that done?”
“Would you please stop,” Scott insisted, his voice rising.
“What’re you asking him?” Tate questioned Daniel. “Why he chose to have a tat or why he chose the way he got it? What?”
“Who really cares how or why,” Justin pronounced, trailing a hand over the half sleeve of the sakura. “The important part is that on your gorgeous olive skin… it looks amazing.”
When I smiled at him, I saw the sudden hunger in his eyes.
“Stop!” Scott shouted, and we all froze, startled by his outburst. “Just fuckin’ stop!”
I had never seen his jaw clenched, his hands balled into fists at his sides, or actually heard him try to control his hitching breath.
“Scoot?” Daniel
said softly.
He shook his head no.
“What’s wrong, baby?”
“Don’t—I’m not your baby,” he snapped irritably. “I’m actually together and organized and none of that shit you actually think I am.”
Daniel was floored, as were his friends.
“You make me feel like a little kid, and I’m not, not at all. I’m good,” he said, yanking the sweater off his shoulders, balling it up and throwing it over to the couch. “And it’s one thing to make me feel worthless and whatever,” he said as he pulled off all the bracelets he was wearing, “but you’re all pawing at Boone, and now, Daniel, you’re second-guessing his background, and I won’t have it.”
“No, I wasn’t trying to—”
“I won’t have it!” Scott declared, his voice rising to a yell as he slapped all the jewelry in his hand onto the counter.
“What are you—”
“You know, you’re awfully protective for a man who was basically dying for me to come over and meet his best friend,” Justin said snidely. “And I’m very glad I did.”
I had never heard my friend snarl, but he did right then.
“Scott—”
“It was a mistake.” He directed his comment to Justin. “My mistake, but you should go.”
Daniel cleared his throat. “What are you talk—”
“Get out,” he ordered savagely, cutting his boyfriend off.
“Scoot—”
“Just go,” he ordered, stepping in front of me, brushing Justin’s hand off my bicep. “Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” I said, loving him coming unglued over me.
“And put on your clothes!”
“Why’re you yelling?”
“Why did you come over here and strip down in front of people?” he shouted, crossing his arms, utterly fuming.
“Because you fuckin’ asked me to?”
“May I ask a question?” Justin began.
“No,” Scott snapped, not even sparing him a glance, his entire focus on me. “So, what, you just do whatever I ask?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” I told him, in case he’d missed who he was talking to.
“Why?”
“Scott.” Justin attempted to talk to him again.
“Shhhh,” he hushed him.
“Scoot,” Daniel said, trying to get a word in as well.
Scott put up a hand to get both of them to shut up. “Tell me,” he demanded, taking a step closer, into my personal space.
What could I say? “Don’t you know?”
He made a noise in the back of his throat, and I saw his eyes soften.
“Scoot—”
“It’s Scott!” he roared, and with that, all the lights went out at the same time before flickering twice, then leaving us all in the dark. The bang of the front door flying open caused Tate to let out a very unmanly squeal.
“Aww, Florence, honey,” I crooned softly, pulling on my T-shirt, “we’re okay.”
The lights came back on, and the sweet smell of verbena from earlier wafted through the air. Studying Scott, I watched him deflate.
“Oh fuck! Phil, let’s go!” Tate yelled, scrambling out of the kitchen, skidding around the corner quickly. I could hear him outside in the hall as Phillip bolted after him.
“She really does like you,” Scott sighed, ignoring the hasty exodus of the two men.
“I’m likeable,” I assured him.
Scott threw up his hands, pivoted, and left the kitchen, walking back into his living room and falling down on the couch.
I followed quickly, taking a seat in front of him on his heavy teak coffee table, another antique Eiyad had found for me. It had been shipped from Bali. “What the hell’s the matter with you? You don’t have meltdowns.”
“You know I don’t.” He groaned into the cushions, lying face down so I could only make out every other word. “But Daniel doesn’t.”
“What the hell is going on?” the man in question yelled, rushing across the room to loom over us. “Scott, you told me there was nothing going on between you and Boone!”
“There’s not,” he said, rolling his head so we could all hear him. “Not like you think.”
“Then what the hell was that in the kitchen?”
“I dunno,” he confessed tiredly, reaching out to fiddle with the Tag Monaco on my left wrist. “This is a nice watch. Is this the one Eiyad was trying to find for you?”
“Yeah,” I answered huskily, loving that I had finally recaptured all his attention. If I’d known all I had to do was show off my body to strangers, I would have done it a long time ago.
“It’s like the one Steve McQueen wore in Grand Prix, right?”
“It is,” I answered, taking hold of his restless hand, covering it with my other so it was pressed between my palms.
“I need a watch,” he said, distracted, his eyes fluttering like he was straining to keep them open.
“I have like ten; you can have one of mine. I’ll let you pick.”
“Not the one you’re wearing, though, huh?”
“No.” I chuckled. “But any of the others, cross my heart.”
“I need a waterproof one.”
“No such thing as waterproof,” I educated him. “Water-resistant, yes.”
“That’s what I need.”
“Okay. I’ve got an Omega Seamaster at home with your name on it.”
“Yeah?” he said hopefully in the voice of a little boy excited about a toy. “That’s like the one Daniel Craig wears in the James Bond movies, right?”
“It is.”
“Let’s go to your house and get it,” he said, but he didn’t move.
“Maybe in a bit, huh?” I offered gently, grabbing a pillow and shoving it under his head. “In the meantime, maybe just a quick nap.”
“I haven’t slept in four days.”
“That would explain why you’re a little manic,” I said, glaring over at Daniel, who had not moved from where he was, witnessing our exchange.
“He can’t tell when I need sleep like you can,” Scott murmured.
“Uh-huh.”
“And my mother called yesterday.”
“Oh? And?”
“They’re coming here to visit me.”
“Who’s coming?”
“Her, my dad, and my sister,” he sighed. “It’ll be so great to see them. I haven’t been home to Phoenix in over a year.”
“That’ll be fun.”
“I can’t wait,” he said wistfully, and for a second, I wanted a family too.
I cleared my throat. “You can introduce them to Daniel. They’ll love him.” I finished, noting how pleased Daniel appeared over my comment. His shoulders slumped and his hands that were fisted at his sides unclenched.
“No, they won’t.”
“What?”
“They won’t love him. They’ll know, ’cause they know me.”
“Know what?”
“That it’s not real.”
“What?”
“They get me, yeah? My family is—great. You’ll love them and they’ll go nuts over you.”
“I think you need to sleep.”
“Daniel and me won’t work anyway.”
This was news. “Why’s that?”
“He wants me to dress like something out of a J. Crew catalog and he doesn’t like the mousse and he doesn’t believe in ghosts and he can’t tell when I’m—wait—don’t leave, okay?”
“No, pal, I won’t leave,” I rumbled.
He sighed deeply and was out a moment later.
It took me time to pry my gaze from the beautiful man, but after I let his hand go, tucking it gently beside him, I got up from the table to face Justin and Daniel.
“The mousse was disgusting, and you’re lying if you say it was good,” Daniel insisted, sounding almost petulant.
I didn’t know what he wanted to hear. “The mousse was fantastic, and all I can figure is that your taste buds are shot.”
He gestured at Scott. “How has he not slept in four days?”
“His restaurant is his life,” I told him. “When he’s not there, he plans what he’s going to make. He has to be made to stop. You have to make sure he eats after closing so when he’s digesting food, he passes out. He has a specific routine he has to follow.”
“And all the other men who have dated him, they knew these rules?”
“Honestly, they don’t usually last as long as you. I think he really likes you. It’s just he’s overly tired, which is why he freaked out.”
“No,” Justin chimed in, and we both glanced over at him where he was standing close to the front door. “He freaked out because we were all touching you.”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” I assured him.
He scoffed before giving Daniel his attention. “You need to walk away from this. Clearly, Scott is very much into his best friend. I told you the other night at dinner when every other word out of his mouth was Boone that you were in trouble.” His eyes flicked to mine. “Have you two ever slept together?”
“No, of course not. What the fuck?”
“You should,” Justin said, striding to the front door, stopping right before he stepped into the hall, twisting back for Daniel. “Come with me. There’s nothing here for you.”
“Wait,” I tried.
“No,” Justin insisted. “Don’t be an idiot. Scott wants Boone, and that could not have just been made any clearer.”
“But I—”
“Did you know he got a call from his mother?” Justin quizzed Daniel.
He shook his head.
“Did you like the mousse?”
“How could I, it was disgusting.”
“Well, there you go. If you think about this a second, you’ll sort it out in your head,” Justin said gently. “He’s got it bad for his best friend, and you’ll never live up to that. It’s not possible.”
Daniel glanced over at me. “You should have warned me.”
“I had no idea.”
“Yes, but you know how you feel.”
“That’s why they call it unrequited, right? And I stayed away just like I was supposed to.”
“But you were right there between us the whole time.”
I refused to believe that. Scott was not in love with me; if he was, I would have known. My best friend was not the kind of man who you had to guess how he felt. “That’s crap,” I insisted, not about to take the blame.
