Lee
For the past two days, I couldn’t get the inked chick out of my head. I’m kicking myself in the ass for not asking for her number. What the hell was I thinking? Obviously, I wasn’t at the time. Probably because all the blood from my brain headed south to my cock, leaving me with a set of raging blue balls. It could have been the kiss or the fact she openly groped my dick while I stood at the bar. Probably a combination of both.
I plan on making a visit to Murphy’s when I finish up at the shop tonight to see if I spot Mills. Excitement courses through my system, both at the prospect of possibly seeing her and for my new job.
After being complacent at my old job, I needed a change in scenery, a change in pace, hell, a change in people. A buddy of mine told me about a place opening in Northern Liberties.
Leaving my job in New York only has one con: I’ll miss my clients. I told them all I’d work with them if they opt to commute the two hours to Philly.
I’m glad I was able to find a place within walking distance of the shop. The neighborhood was a former industrial area, revitalized by artists about twenty years ago and is now a hipster hotspot showcasing art galleries, trendy boutiques, restaurants, and coffee shops. Built on the site of an old brewery, the place is known as The Piazza, with a shopping and dining complex nestled on the ground level under luxury apartments, one of which I was lucky enough to score.
From what I’ve seen in the short time I’ve been here, North 2nd Street has an array of global restaurants, craft beer halls, and dance clubs. The area reminds me of Soho or Tribeca in Manhattan, where I’ve been working for the past five years.
With my duffle bag strap secured across my chest, I approach the storefront, a large sign capturing my attention above the front window. In large, brightly colored graffiti writing, Uniquely Inked is displayed. The sign is sure to catch people’s attention as they walk down the sidewalk, and it’s in perfect view to all those who frequent The Piazza courtyard across the street.
“Believer” by Imagine Dragons plays loudly through the speakers when I walk into the shop. The afternoon sun filters through the large window showcasing a breathtaking view of The Piazza. Black chairs line an L-shaped wall in the waiting area.
Along the far wall, original works of art hang on recession-lit walls above five workstations. My eyes focus on a drawing of a black Labrador Retriever. My client provided me with a picture of his dog, and I sketched it up, adding the dog’s name, Gunner, under the portrait and a few mallard ducks flying overhead. The entire piece showcased the love my client had for his dog and hunting. For good measure, I added three shotgun shells with the date of birth of his two dogs and the date of birth and death of his Papi, who played a huge role in his life as a young child.
Charles must have made a copy of the picture when I showed him my portfolio during my interview.
Charles walks forward, stopping in front of me. “You made it, how was your trip?” he says, reaching out for my hand.
“Good, got into town a few days ago.” My eyes roam around the room, taking it all in. “The place looks amazing. You’ve got a lot done since the last time I was here.”
“The layout and details of the shop far exceed my expectations. When my daughter and I sat and discussed our vision, I never imagined this would be the finished product.” His eyes light up as he surveys the shop, appreciating the surroundings.
Lifting my hand, I point my finger to the print hanging above the station. “I can assume I’ll be working there.”
Charles raises a brow, apparently amused by my question. “You’re not only talented, but you're also observant. I like that.” He plasters a smile on his face.
I shrug dismissively. “What can I say? I’m not just good looks, I have a brain.”
He laughs richly. “You’re going to fit in quite well here. I like your sense of humor.” Charles lifts his arms out, pointing around the shop. “Feel free to walk around, check out the place. If you want to set up your station, supplies are in the back room. The plan is to officially open the doors next Friday. You have time to get comfortable, make your area your own.” Charles walks over to the front desk in the waiting area. He hands me a stack of printed flyers with the name of the shop in graffiti writing along the top in bright gold lettering, the same as it appears out front. The flyer includes the address, phone number, and the names of the artists.
“If you could pass these out around your neighborhood, to people you know, whoever you think may be interested in getting some ink, I’d appreciate it. The more ground we cover, the more people will know about the place. There are a few local colleges you could hit up as well. I’m also asking the artists to share the opening on their social media. I’ve reached out to a few customers who work for the local radio and news stations, hoping they can swing by and help promote the grand opening.”
“Sure, no problem. I hope you don’t mind, I also told my regular clients where I’d be working, so if they decided to make the trip down, I’d make it worth their while. I have a good following. I’d hate to lose them.”
Charles walks around the counter, setting his hand on my shoulder. “They’re your clients, you do what you feel is right. I’m not one to turn away any business. I’ve got some things to handle in the back, let me know if you need anything.”
I nod. “Will do. I’m going to check the place out, then work at my station.”
Walking slowly, I set my bag down on the floor in my space, pull out the leather portfolio of my best work, and set it on the gray granite counter.
Time passes by quickly; before I know it, it’s five o’clock. I walk out of the back room, which contains several drawing tables and stools for the artists. It was relaxing to be able to sketch freely for a few hours. Drawing has been a passion of mine since I was young.
My childhood best friend loved to draw, as well. It was one of the many things we had in common. We would find an object or a picture of something and have a competition on who could draw it better. Usually, my mom would be the judge and would always say she would be unbiased. If she won, she was crowned the victor. If I won, she would claim my mom was playing favorites by picking her son. Thinking of her brings a smile to my face. Damn, I miss her.
I make my way to my work area, setting my sketch pad in the top drawer. My stomach growls, alerting me that I haven’t eaten anything all day. I spotted several restaurants on the street on my walk here, and a quick search on the internet showed a few appealing eateries across the street in The Piazza.
Noises come from Charles’ office, so I head in that direction. When I reach the doorway, I stop when I see him on his cellphone. He lifts his finger up. “Everything good today? Mom said you had lunch with her today.” He leans back in his chair, listening to whoever is talking on the other end. “So, you’re good with everything?”
Silence greets me again before he speaks, wrapping up the call. “Okay, then. I’ll see you tomorrow. Love you, sweetheart.”
He hits end on his phone and sets it on his desk. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize you were still here.”
“I was in the back room, working on a sketch. I lost track of time. I’m heading across the street to grab something to eat, then heading home. You need anything before I leave?”
“No, thanks. Don’t forget to take those flyers and tell everyone you know about Uniquely Inked. I’m excited to see what traffic we pull in.”
Lifting my hand to my head, I salute him. “You got it, sir. I’ll do my best. I’ll be in and out this week before the big day.”
Charles stands, extending his hand to me. “I look forward to working with you.”
I accept his hand, shaking it. “The pleasure is mine. I appreciate the opportunity, sir.”
He screws his face up and presses his lips together, shooting back, “Cut the sir shit out, son. It’s Charles, nothing more, nothing less, and for damn sure it’s not sir.”
I nod my head. “Let’s make this the best fucking opening t
his town has seen.”
If there’s one thing I know, the opportunity to start fresh here in Philadelphia makes me happy. My mind and soul are open to new beginnings.
Soft music plays in the background when I push through the doors to a small steakhouse nestled along the strip of stores in The Piazza.
The air is rich with the aroma of grilled meat, making my mouth water. A tall brunette in a red dress stands behind the dark wooden hostess stand. Her eyes roam up and down my body, not caring how obvious she is about it. After she appraises me, she lifts her eyes to meet mine.
“Good evening, welcome to Liberty Bell Steak, do you have a reservation?”
“No, I’ll have a seat at the bar, if there’s one available.”
The hostess picks up a menu, nodding her head in the direction of the bar, and steps away from the stand, which has been blocking her body from my view. The red dress hugs her curves perfectly, and her dark hair is pulled into a high ponytail, exposing her bare back. She leads me to the bar, placing a menu on the wooden top.
“My name’s Kristen, let me know if I can be of any assistance to you tonight,” she purrs and runs the tip of her fingernail up my left forearm.
“Thank you, I appreciate your hospitality,” I reply, pulling my arm out of her reach.
I know exactly what she means, but I’m not accepting her offer. I work across the street. If things don’t work out, I don’t need some crazy chick knowing my place of employment and showing up unexpectedly. I never shit too close to home, whether it’s where I lay my head down at night, or where I work.
I’m not offended by her forwardness. However, it is a little rude of her to approach a customer in that manner. Mills was right when she said women threw themselves at me. My face and body seem to draw attention from the opposite sex, hell even the same sex, but I don’t swing that way. Love is love, but I love the female anatomy.
I’ve heard it all: my eyes are gorgeous, the color of a raging sea, cheekbones women would kill for, hair that begs for women to run their hands through, the body of a gladiator. I work hard for the body I have, but I had nothing to do with the face God blessed me with, that’s genetics from my mother. I’m the spitting image of her.
Kristen turns, walking back to the hostess station. Pulling the barstool out, I sit down as the bartender approaches, sliding a napkin in front of me. “What can I get for you?” he asks.
“Double shot of apple Crown and ginger ale. Little ice, please.”
He walks away, and I turn on my seat and check the place out. Several tables with chairs are set up along the window, giving customers the perfect view of the courtyard. Candles sit in glass globes in the center of the tables, illuminating the dining area. Exposed red bricks line the walls, giving the place a rustic yet elegant feel.
When he returns with my drink, I pull my wallet out of my back pocket and slide my card across the bar to him. “I’m planning on ordering food, so keep the tab open, will ya?”
He nods, looking at my card. “No problem, let me know when you’re ready to order. Have you had a chance to take a look at the menu?”
I shake my head then pick the menu up from the bar. “Anything specific you recommend I try?”
“I’ve never been disappointed with the nine-ounce ribeye, Oscar-style with jumbo lump crab cake, topped with our homemade béarnaise sauce. It’s pure perfection and full of flavor. It’s my favorite on the menu.”
His description of the entrée has my mouth watering. “Sold. Steak cooked medium, please.”
“Sides?” he asks as he taps the touch screen behind the bar.
After browsing the menu, I reply, “Potatoes au gratin and the roasted Brussels sprouts.”
“Great choices. You’ll be pleased,” he says as his fingers tap quickly on the screen. “It should take about twenty minutes for your meal, the bar service is usually quicker than if you sit in the dining area.”
I hold out my hand. “Thanks, man.”
He takes my hand in his, then points to his name tag. “Name’s Joel, give me a holler when you need a refill.”
“Thanks, I’m Lee. I’ll be working across the street in the new tattoo shop, so I’ll probably be a frequent visitor.”
Joel steps to the side, taking an order from the waitress. “Good to know. I hope to see you around.”
Lifting the tumbler to my lips, I take a mouthful, savoring the flavor and coolness as I swallow. This isn’t usually my drink of choice, but after having it the other night with Mills, it may be my new favorite.
The bar is busy as the three bartenders hustle to keep up with the drink orders and deliver food to those sitting here.
While taking another mouthful, a flash of red catches my attention out of the corner of my eye, and I almost choke.
The beautiful woman who has run through my mind since the moment I met her is in my line of vision. She is seated across from a girl with long blond hair.
Mills doesn’t notice me, so I sit back and take her in. Her hair was silver the other day, now it’s bright red. I wonder what that’s all about. The black top she has on drapes off both shoulders, showcasing her artwork. Both arms are completely detailed with vibrant colors. I was able to make out some of her pieces the other day, but couldn’t see how far up they went. Now I know. A large red flower sits above her elbow surrounded by black leaves, and a flower with black and gray shading sits above. If I had to guess, I would say it’s the same style she has on her lower arm.
My meal arrives twenty minutes later, just as Joel predicted. Mills still hasn’t noticed me, but I haven’t been able to take my eyes off her.
The entire time I browse the bar and dining area, I force myself to seem unaffected, when in reality, I’m the total opposite.
As if she can feel my eyes on her, Mills turns her attention to the bar. Her eyes widen, eyebrows shooting to her hairline, and she clamps her mouth shut when she sees me, causing my mouth to curve into a smile.
At that exact moment, the hostess decides to make an appearance at the bar. She slips a small, folded piece of paper into my hand. “Here’s my number. Feel free to use it.”
Crumbling the paper between my fingers, my eyes never leave Mills. “Thanks, but I’m not interested.” I drop the wad of paper into my empty glass on the bar. A little cocky smirk appears on Mills’ face.
I have no desire to spark up a conversation with this chick. My eyes are set on another goal tonight. Since the moment I met her, I haven’t been able to get Mills out of my head.
The hostess huffs and turns on her heels, walking away.
Mills continues to meet my gaze, her eyes never leaving mine. She licks her bottom lip and pulls her lip ring between her teeth. I lift a brow at her in challenge, impressed by her brazenness. Her dinner companion turns in her seat, I’m guessing to see what has captured her friend’s attention. I make eye contact with her briefly, then divert my eyes back to Mills, who nibbles on her bottom lip.
My dick swells in my pants. What the hell is wrong with me? Her and that damn ring. It’s my undoing.
“Joel, can you put the bill for those two beautiful women over there on my tab?” I nod my head over to where they sit.
“Sure can, man. Am I closing your tab out?”
“Do another round of whatever they’ve been drinking all night and another double for me.”
“You got it, nice meeting you. Don’t be a stranger ‘round here.”
Joel slides the receipt over to me, and I scribble my signature on the bottom. “If this is the usual scenery, I plan on being here often.”
He breaks into a buoyant laugh. “Those two are regulars. Good luck with whichever one you have your eyes set on.”
He lifts his brows, and I nod. “Thanks. I think I’m going to need it.”
Mills watches me as I walk straight toward her. I narrow my eyes, heart hammering in my chest. Why does this girl have this effect on me? Get a grip, I chastise myself. You’re a grown fucking man acting like a prepubesce
nt teenager ready to blow his first load in his pants.
“Reason to Hope” by Ron Pope plays softly in the background. Yeah, I should probably turn in my balls for knowing this song. Being a music junkie and spending a lot of time listening to the discover playlists Spotify recommends, means I find songs and artists I might not otherwise listen to.
Mills sits up straighter as I approach. When I get to the side of the table, she lifts her glass to her mouth, looking at me over the rim of the tumbler. A lovely scarlet flush colors her fair complexion.
The blonde she’s been sitting with shifts in her seat, taking me in. “So, you’re the guy who had my friend’s attention all night?” she asks, smiling tenderly.
The corner of my mouth quirks up. “That would be me.” I extend my hand to her. “Nice to meet you, I’m Lee.”
She takes my hand, giving it a firm shake. “I’m Quinn, her best friend,” she nods at Mills. “I’ve heard about you.”
Mills scrunches up her face, and Quinn lets out an “oomph,” jumping in her seat. “What the hell! Why’d you kick me?” she squeals, leaning down, rubbing her soon-to-be bruised shin.
I press my lips together, attempting to hold back a laugh. Mills notices. “Don’t even think about laughing. You have a big enough head, you don’t need any more reasons to inflate it.”
“Which head are you speaking of?” my tone drips with sarcasm. After the way she took hold of my cock the other day, she knows exactly how big my head can be.
Quinn laughs loudly. “I like this one,” she exclaims.
“You attempted to”—I lift my hands in the air and make air quotes—“read me the other night. You were quite off, wouldn’t you say?”
Mills closes her eyes, summons a deep breath, holds it in, then looks me straight in the eyes. “I hit the nail on the head with some of it, and you know it.”
She flashes a huge grin at me. “Why do you insist on talking about my head?”
A groan accompanied by the roll of her eyes has me throwing my head back with laughter.
Beautifully Scarred Page 5
