[3:AM Kisses 10.0] Dirty Kisses

by Addison Moore

  “On my way.” I stumble into the workroom next door to find my shirtless friend on the bench. Honey has him prepped and ready to go, so I take my seat next to him. He knows the drill, literally. I’ve been filling in his Piper Forever tat across his chest for a while now. We’ve finished the outline and moved on to layering in the vines and flowers he has forming the letters of her name.

  “What’s up, sugar plum?” He sheds a mile-wide grin. “Heard you’ve been getting your balls jiggled by the girl who’s had you by them all along.”

  “That’s right.” I shake that conversation with Jody out of my mind and pull my tools forward.

  “Hey”—he mock socks me in the gut—“what’s the long face for?”

  “Nothing. Some documentary I was invited to do backed out at the last minute. But I’ll deal with that bullshit some other time. Guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

  “What about you and Daisy?” He stretches his legs out, getting comfy for the hour long torture session we’ve scheduled. “You two meant to be? Just between the sheets or is this something more?”

  “Something more.” I pick a needle up and start and stop it for effect. “I didn’t see it coming, dude.” I start in on him, and he lets out a hard grunt.

  “Why didn’t you warn me?”

  “Warn you about what?”

  He motions for me to lighten up. “Warn me when you’re about to dig deep, would you?”

  I lighten up, and he nods in appreciation. “Why didn’t you warn me it would feel like falling off a cliff?”

  “Dude, if you’re as into Daisy as Piper claims, then you will never hit bottom. Enjoy the free fall, man. It only gets better.”

  A dull smile comes to my face as we spend the remainder of the hour in silence.

  “I’ll block out a few hours for you if you want next weekend, and we can finish up that work of art.”

  “I’m good.” Owen takes the handheld mirror and appreciates his dimples a moment. “I like my pain in sixty minute increments.”

  I blot him down with ointment and tape up the wound I’ve just inflicted.

  “Be careful. Keep it clean—”

  “So it won’t bite me in the ass later,” he cuts me off. “I’ve heard it a time or two.” He leans back onto his elbows and studies me a moment. “You’ve got the real deal, huh?”

  “Damn straight.”

  “It’s about time.” He gets up and slaps me five. “Let’s get together with these girls. Piper is dying to have the two of you holding hands and locking lips in front of her. You’d think she was the one who fell in love with you.”

  “She is in love with me.” I give him a pat on the back as I walk him to the exit. I’ve been tatting Owen up for nothing for as long as I can remember. I helped him out in the beginning after his parents all but gave him the boot. In a lot of ways, he and Daisy have a lot in common. “They’re all in love with me,” I tease as he gives me the finger.

  “Get to the Black Bear so we can have some fun.”

  No sooner do I step back in than Honey grunts without looking up from her phone. “Your next is in room number two. Some kid named Grant Jones. Be gentle. He looks mortally wounded.”

  “The world looks mortally wounded to you.” I wash up and head into the next room where, sure enough, I find a tall, brick wall of a kid who looks just that, mortally wounded.

  “Hey—I’m Jet, also known as the king of pain around here.” I nod, and he offers a tired nod back. “Who ran over your dog?” I tease, taking a seat and pulling the design pad from his hand.

  The name Stephanie is spelled out in caps, something I make everyone do if they want anything printed in an effort to avoid an alphabetic catastrophe. Let’s just say that some of my customers don’t have the best penmanship.

  “You sure you want this chick’s name etched into your skin forever?” I raise my gaze to meet his without moving my head.

  Grant Jones is far more grieved than mortally wounded. I’ve seen that rage-filled, anguished look in his eyes before. I’ve seen it in my own. His stare settles to mine, and I can feel the tension dripping off him, the emotion charging the room as he struggles to hold it together. I’ve had a guy or two shed a tear in here, and on those occasions, it had nothing to do with the pain from the needle. Nope. This is from the heart, where everything hurts a hell of a lot worse. “Dude, if you’re trying to impress her, flowers and candy are cheaper. Try something gold and expensive. Throw in a precious stone if you really fucked up good. A tat shouldn’t even be an option.” We do tattoo removals here as well, but it’s an expensive pain in the ass that usually can be avoided if I give my customers a run-like-hell pep talk like I’m doing now. I’m sensing things have gone sideways for this kid and whoever Stephanie is.

  “I can’t impress her anymore.” He softens, a tiny smile fades as quick as it came. “She’s dead.”

  Dead. Shit. “I’m sorry.” My shoulders sag as I slouch in my seat. “Tell me all about her, and I’ll do the best I can for you—on the house.” What can I say? I’ve got Daisy, and I need her more than I do a single dollar. But this poor guy can never get back what he’s lost.

  “No, that’s okay.” He gives a little laugh. “I’m good with paying. And sorry if I’m getting all emotional on you. I guess it still hurts like hell. Stephanie was—is my sister. In a way, it feels as if she’s still right here with me.” He pulls the design pad forward and lands a finger on the floral font. “That will do. I think she would’ve liked it.”

  “And where do you want this? How big?”

  “I was thinking right here.” He runs his finger across his chest just below his pecs. Not too big. Just enough for me to see it when I want. At first I thought I wanted it over my heart, but I want it centered. I feel centered knowing she’s looking after me.”

  “Will do.” I begin the prep work, drawing out the words over his chest in a mockup so we can agree to how large is large enough. “Tell me about her.” We’re already halfway there, so I don’t feel too bad for asking. I’ve done enough memorial tattoos to know people want to talk about their loved ones who have passed. I feel that way about my mom—and in a strange way about my dad, too. He wasn’t always a demon. At least not until he held on to a bottle and forgot to let go. He was better off dead for at least five years before he bit the big one.

  “She was the best.” His chest thumps. “My big sister, older by four years. It was just me and her. It’s a bit lonely now. My parents are pretty great. They gave us everything. We’re not wealthy or anything. I’m on a basketball scholarship at Whitney Briggs. Just transferred in from junior college. My parents are decent people. Sometimes crap things happen to decent people—like having your only daughter murdered.”

  His eyes meet with mine, and his brows rise as if gauging my surprise.

  “My sister was pushed off a cliff by some deranged nutcase—all over some guy that my sister was simply friends with. She’s paid with her life for that friendship. And in the event you’re wondering, he’s living a great life—married, owns a string of bars with his siblings. He’s got it all, man. I tell you. Sometimes the shitstorm only blows one way.”

  Everything in me freezes for a moment. I know this dude, or at least I know this story. Owen’s sister is rotting in prison to this day because she pushed some girl off a cliff and tried to play it off like a suicide. If she didn’t try to off Baya, one of the waitresses at the bar, in the same way, she would have gone free. Then it hits me. Shit. This is the dead girl’s kid brother. I sit stunned for a second.

  “I know, it’s terrible.” Grant closes his eyes as if he were reliving it. “Stephanie was a great person. She didn’t deserve to have her life ripped away like that. But I’m trying my best to cope with it. At first, I was pissed at everyone. I think it’s starting to subside. I mean, there’s only one person I should be angry with, and she’s locked up for good. I’ll make sure she stays behind bars if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “How about the d
ude? You talk to him?” I know Bryson, “the dude.” He’s cool. He doesn’t have any hard feelings toward Owen.

  “Nope. Bumped into him once at a fair a few years back. He was with some new girl. I guess he married her, so that worked out well for him. One of his bars is across the street from school, and I keep meaning to head over and at least give him the heads-up that I’m in the area. I don’t think I’m on the forefront of his mind or anything. I’m not looking for a drinking buddy in him. But he knows my face. I don’t want to shock him if I stop by one night with friends.”

  “Good idea.” I’m going to feel like shit relaying all this to Owen, but I have to. How can I not? “You making friends?”

  “I joined a frat. It’s okay. Lots of parties. I like the distraction.”

  “Any girls in your life?” That’s what this guy needs. Some sweet chick like Daisy. A dull smile begs to come, but I won’t let it. Daisy has a bit of a kick, and that’s one of the things I love about her.

  “Had one. Things didn’t exactly go as planned. She’s at another school, so that helps quell the pain.”

  “Dude.” I groan as I prep the needle. “I won’t lie. You’ve been through the shitter. I’m wishing all good things for you. How’s practice going? You keeping up your game?”

  “I’m keeping it up. Coach is a nice guy. Everything seems to be going pretty well. I like my classes, my professors.”

  “You do your best every single day. I know for a fact your sister would appreciate that. I lost both my parents. I’d like to think they felt the same way.” In the least my mother.

  “I’m sorry, man.” He shakes my hand and pulls me to him for a moment. “Thanks for listening. I haven’t had anyone do that in a long while. Felt good.”

  “I’m glad. Now, lean back in your chair.” I start up the needle. “This is the part where I hurt you.”

  But Grant doesn’t flinch. He grits his teeth and takes it like a man. He’s absorbing the pain, letting it do what it needs to do, dig into those wounds that life has inflicted—hell, that Owen’s sister inflicted, and try to rework them into something with meaning—these beautiful letters I’m carving into his flesh. I know all about the pain of losing someone. I still feel it. I know all about the agony and the rage you feel toward someone because they killed your loved one. Because you’ve killed them yourself. I take no pride in what I’ve done. Never did, never will.

  I get home that night, drugged with fatigue, but as soon as I see Daisy’s car, I brighten right up. As tired as I might be, I had the energy to stop by the Italian deli down the street from the shop and pick up a pizza. Some poor soul on the corner was peddling flowers, so I picked up a dozen pink roses. I’m pretty sure my humble abode has never been graced with roses before. It sure does appreciate Daisy, though. She’s the living flower I can never get enough of.

  The door is unlocked, and I frown at the thought of Daisy falling prey to some homicidal maniac. I tuck the deposit from the store under the sofa cushion before heading to the kitchen. The bank was the last place I wanted to be tonight. Hell, Daisy is the only place I ever want to be anymore.

  “Anybody home?” I shout down the hall, eager to give the girl of my dreams her first bouquet of flowers—from me that is.

  “Is that you?” Daisy springs out in a pair of ripped jeans and a tight white sweater that’s begging me to take it off.

  “The door was unlocked.” I try not to sound too worried. She’s a grown woman, but we’re not in the best neighborhood.

  “I know.” She winces. “I just ran in with my arms full. Scarlett helped bring down the last of my things.” She glares at the tower of boxes growing in the corner. “I’m really sorry I’ve turned your whole life upside down. I wanted to call you today.” Her eyes have a hard time meeting up with mine. “Do you realize I don’t have your number?”

  A harsh knock explodes over the door.

  “What the—” I blow out a hard breath while craning my neck, trying to make out who the heck is about to break their way in. “These are for you.” I kiss the tip of a rose before handing the bunch to Daisy. “You’re still my favorite flower. Are you up for pizza?” I put my things down as the knocking picks back up, this time paired with a very familiar voice.

  “Lucky,” I bark as I open up the door. “Everything okay?” I’m more irritated at the moment than I am concerned.

  She barrels in past me and lets out an exasperated scream once she sees Daisy. I’m pretty sure the two of them haven’t had a proper introduction, but Lucky is too busy choking and gagging at the sight of her to give me the chance to do so.

  “Who the hell is this girl?” Lucky rages as the cords in her neck jump with anger. “And why is she ruining my life?”

  “Excuse me?” Daisy steps back with the flowers still in her hands.

  “Lucky, calm the hell down. This is my girlfriend, Daisy.” I shrug somewhat apologetically at Daisy for introducing her that way. I don’t think I’m off the mark, but it’s the first time I’ve ever said those words to anyone—about anyone. “Daisy, this is my little sister, Lucky.”

  “We’ve met, sort of.” Lucky’s eyes are still pinned to Daisy’s, heated with rage for no apparent reason. I always wondered how she would take it if I had someone in my life, but this is a level of ridiculousness I just can’t handle.

  “Drop the attitude, would you? We’ve got pizza. You hungry?”

  “What?” Her face pinches with color. “How can you eat?” She turns back to Daisy and glares at her as if she’s seeing something vile, and for the first time, I’m actually embarrassed by the way my sister is acting.

  “Whoa. Time out.” I try to pull Lucky to the side to calm her down, but Daisy steps forward and holds a hand in the air for me to stop.

  “We were all over the Internet today.” She shakes her head at me. “That picture of us at the game? It took a few days, but the press figured out who you are.”

  Lucky scoffs at me. “They called you tat guy. They used your real name, too, but that was sort of after the fact. Think Ink is listed as some junky dive tattoo parlor. They made it sound like you hand out diseases down there.”

  My stomach sinks. Today was slow. I had less than five customers, and I wondered what was up, but now I know why.

  “It’ll pass.” I look to Daisy and shrug. “I’m forgettable. The public interest is already over with. I can guarantee it.”

  Lucky takes a quivering breath as her eyes dart from Daisy to me. “What’s going on? Why is everyone talking about you? Why is my brother suddenly in this shit tank?”

  Daisy presses her hand to her mouth a moment. That pained look in her eyes says it all. This is killing her. She doesn’t want to see Lucky hurt, and that picture of the two of us probably spooked her as well.

  “I was accused of doing something I didn’t do. Let’s just say the U.S. Senate was loosely involved, and I sort of got caught in the wrong end of a political scandal. Your brother was nice enough to take me in when I had nowhere else to go.”

  Lucky gags as she glances to me. “Weren’t you the one who told me not to pick up strays? That they’d bite me and leave me with STDs? Too bad you don’t take your own advice. Now look where it’s got you.” She storms to the door.

  “Lucky, get back here and apologize. Daisy is a human being. She deserves respect, and you’re damn well going to give it to her.”

  “I’ll give her respect when the girls in my dorm stop telling me my brother is being scammed by a gold digger!”

  Daisy gasps. “Is that what those little whores in Cutler Tower are spouting off behind my back?”

  Lucky’s eyes fill with fire. “That was the G version. Stay away from my brother, and stay away from me! I don’t care what he says. You’re not welcome here.” She turns her rage toward me full force. “It’s her or me. Make your choice!” She flies out of the room with a slam of the door. Her truck starts up, and I watch as her taillights leave a trail of fire in their wake.

  I’v
e never seen my sister so lost in anger. Never seen her so upset about anyone in my life.

  “I don’t care about the picture or any lies anyone is spewing about us.” I wrap my arms around Daisy and close my eyes a moment, trying to figure out how the hell to fix this mess.

  Her chest quivers as she stiffens beneath me. “I don’t want your sister to hate you. I don’t ever want to come between you and her.”

  “That won’t happen.” My cardinal rule has always been nothing gets between Lucky and me—and if it tried, I’d always choose Lucky. That, right there is why I decided to hold off on relationships until Lucky grew up. At this point, it seems she might never get there.

  I’m not losing Daisy—no way, no how.

  But Lucky’s words reverberate in the back of my mind like a gong that just won’t die. It’s her or me. Make your choice.

  Lucky or Daisy. Together they make up both halves of my heart.

  Lucky is right. There is a choice that has to be made.

  It will be hard as hell, but I know exactly what it will be.

  Daisy at Dawn, Broke by Noon

  Daisy

  I’ve dealt with my fair share of bitchy, witchy, toxic people, but the fecal verbal matter those girls at Cutler Tower are tossing about makes me simply mental. The fact that Lucky would believe any of that garbage makes me almost as enraged as she is. I say almost because, well, let’s face it. She’s vying for her brother’s right to a well-rounded girl who isn’t sizing up how deep his pockets are. Believe me, I couldn’t care less how deep Jet Madden’s pockets are, or that he has pockets at all. However, I have expressed a firm interest in his boxers, particularly in what they’re stashing in the front. But mostly I’m interested in what he’s stashing in that chest of his, and as it turns out his heart is as deep and wide as the big blue sea. Jet is the perfect man, and I would never risk hurting him by way of his wallet. I’ve always, staunchly, been able to provide for myself, good or bad. I seem to get the job done just fine on my own.