Author: Tiana Laveen
Date: 2014-12-10 00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fiction
Description: Tattooed Moon: A Novel

Tattooed Moon

Written by Tiana Laveen

Edited by Natalie G. Owens

Cover Layout: Travis Pennington

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Copyright © 2014 by Tiana Laveen

Kindle Edition

All rights reserved.

Please Note: This book was originally featured in the Scandalous Heroes box set of July, 2014. I, Tiana Laveen, own all rights to this manuscript/novel. It is being re-released as a separate book at this time due to popular demand. That box set (Scandalous Heroes) is no longer available for purchase, as it was sold for a limited time only. If you did purchase that box set, then you already have this book in your possession on your Kindle, Nook or other electronic device. However, this version does include minor changes, as well as an added bonus scene, and is also available in paperback. Thank you.

WARNING: This book is adult in nature. It contains profanity/adult language, detailed sexual encounters, as well as topics such as death and grief. If any of these subject matters are not something you wish to delve into at this time, please be forewarned. Thank you.

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Synopsis

Julian Savant is a man on a mission. Growing up in Athens Georgia, he remained somewhat removed from the urban jungle of bigger cities. In this vibrant student town an hour’s drive from the Atlanta metropolis, he created his own domain in the ownership of a tattoo salon. It didn’t take long for his beautiful, captivating designs, the talent of his charismatic staff, and the capable management of his business to gain widespread attention. One day, his seemingly polar opposite walks through the door—intelligent and classy accountant, Milan Parker. Little does he know, their lives run parallel as they have both experienced recent traumatic loss. Milan finds herself strangely attracted to the eccentric Julian, and through the inking of her flesh, as well as his touch on her heart, she finds a kindred spirit with whom to begin her transformation. The two find themselves giving in to temptations, and Milan cannot resist as this one man from the opposite side of the tracks tattoos his intentions right across her soul…

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Dedication

This story is dedicated to everyone who has lost someone they loved. You see, this story was almost complete when one of the most important people in my life left this Earth. Rest in peace, Applesmith (my grandmother). I finished the last chapter while at the hospital, hours after she had passed away. The entire experience was surreal. I never knew that I would soon be experiencing the painful type of loss that is detailed in this story. She was a cheerleader of my writing, a good friend, a confidante, and a woman that I loved and respected. I miss you, Applesmith, and I will continue to call you, to chit-chat, complain and laugh, knowing that somewhere out there, you can hear me.

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

Synopsis

Dedication

Love Letter to my Readers

Epigraph

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

A Thank You to the Reader

Other Works by Tiana Laveen

Author Biography

Music Directory

Book Club Questions

Love Letter to My Readers

I want to thank everyone that read, ‘Tattooed Moon’ previously, as well as purchased it for their personal collection in this re-release. I understand that some people, who were not familiar with my work, came across me due to the Scandalous Heroes box set, and I would like to offer my thanks to those individuals who wrote me personally to let me know how much they enjoyed the story, and subsequently went on to peruse, purchase, and read some of my other work. I’d like to take this time now to spread my wings a bit, and explain why I wrote this story and what the characters mean to me.

As stated in the dedication, I lost someone very dear to me right at the time I was writing the ending of this book—my grandmother. It was a surreal moment in time. If we rewind a bit, however, I began writing this book several months before my grandmother (Applesmith) passed away. I have always been a visual person. I began drawing and writing at an early age. Illustrations, paintings, and lovely portraits have captivated me ever since I can remember. When asked as a child if I wanted to go to the park or art museum, I was the little girl who jumped up and down and screamed, “Art museum!” I was also a rather peculiar child. That is something I embrace now, but as a youngster, I did not see it as a blessing in the least (Peer pressure is a mofo, right? lol). With that said, there were certain things that interested me that may not have enticed some of my peers, for I was gravitating towards certain behaviors and ‘fashion trends’ before they were deemed in style. A perfect example are piercings.

Piercings fascinated me early on. So much so, I pierced myself many times while in high school by numbing my ears with ice cubes, lighting the end of a hat pin with a lighter to sterilize it and then jamming that thing in my flesh a few seconds later. My parents forbade me to get them, so without the funds to support my ‘derelict behavior’, I became my own ‘one stop and shop piercing parlor.’ Then came the tattoos…

Now, this was a bit trickier because I discovered that I have some rather odd allergies, and dark ink appeared to be one of them. I discovered this in a rather innocent way and apparently I am willing to throw my pride to the wind and share it with you in ten simple steps:

1.   Nude college kid is fresh out of the shower.

2.   New black towel and washcloth from JC Penney are going to be used.

3.   Nude college kid wraps towel around saturated body.

4.   Nude college kid is itching and covered in red, itchy hives thirty minutes later.

5.   Nude (lazy) college kid realizes she should have washed the new linens FIRST.

6.   Nude college kid washes linens that evening.

7.   Nude college kid uses laundered towel and washcloth again after shower the following day.

8.   Nude college kid is covered in rash once again, and clawing at her skin while lying in a fetal position begging for mercy…and popping antihistamines.

9.   Nude college kid is pissed…

10.  Hot date is cancelled. Nude college kid is sulking in bed and cursing up a storm while slathered in itch prevention creams. Nude college kid vows to seek revenge, but that is impossible considering that wash cloths and towels don’t have feelings or concerns…nor give one hot damn about nude college kid’s trials and tribulations.

Okay…so, after making a few calls and doing some ‘home experiments’, it became clear that I just may have an allergy to dark dyes if they seep into my pores. I know, I know, I wonder what tipped me off? Whew! Doesn’t mean I’m never getting a tattoo because my desire to have one supersedes my fears that a simple Benadryl could alleviate and besides, I’ve had other allergies that I’ve actually grown out of and I suspect, based on recent experimentation, that this one qualifies as a yesteryear sort of situation.

So, let’s fast forward back to the present. I love art. I also love the human body and I respect those that wish to adorn themselves with illustrations that bring both of these elements together. That is their personal right, and they owe neither me nor anyone else an explanation, regardless of whether I happen to like it or not. Now, some of the tattoos I’ve seen over the years are nothing short of breathtaking. Seeing them made me wonder about the artist…all that talent inside of one vessel…amazing.

This in turn made me think about the life of a tattoo artist. What type of person is attracted to that sort of field? What type of individual can deal with that sort of pressure – after all, to make a mistake on canvas or, in this case, the human body, is a big, damn deal. And then, my ideas and notions travelled a bit further.

Why do some women (and men) ‘get off’ on being inked? Does the tattoo artist get any pleasure, besides a paycheck, in doing his or her job? All these concepts roamed about within my head, and I began to piece together the hero of the story, Julian Savant. He started as an ink drop, and morphed into a full-grown man that I fell helplessly in love with.

I wanted him to be ‘alpha’, but not overly aggressive. I wanted him to be caring, but not a wuss. I wanted him to be intelligent, but not nerdy (though I find nerds incredibly erotic, but I digress). I wanted him to be unusual and different, but not difficult to understand and relate to. I wanted him to be…

S E X Y…

Those were my goals, so as I envisioned what this man looked like from a physical standpoint and married it to a personality that I felt fit the bill, I began to fashion him just so until I had a good handle on the situation. I needed to cultivate this man, layer by layer, and as I did, it became clear to me that this gent was going to be a gamble. Julian Savant was NOT going to appeal to everyone. Unconventional people/characters rarely do. To be included and accepted by all is simply impossible. However, I was fine with that, for I knew, as an author and an artist, that I must step out of my own way and follow the path I wish to travel, regardless of whether someone is co-signing or not.

Like Julian, we can’t live for other people, because if we do, then we’ve died for them, too. The next reason is far simpler. It’s a matter of personal attraction: If I don’t personally find my characters alluring, no one else will, either. I have to be convincing, thus, I must be enamored with the men that run amok all over the pages of my books. And who would I be to always color within the lines? That was never my style, so why start now?

I have been asked many times by readers, especially ladies who didn’t find the art of tattooing and/or tattoo artists particularly appealing until they read this book: why do SOME women seem to lose their minds around these male tattoo professionals? Yes…many have a cult following, groupies if you will. (Evident in the popularity of reality-based TV tattoo parlor shows.) This is my answer:

If a tattoo artist is gifted at what he does, if you connect with him and he understands your goals, then your consultation is, believe it or not, a replica of foreplay. Now, before you dismiss my notion and color me crazy, let me break this down a bit further. Typically when a person, a woman in this case (Milan Parker—the heroine), goes to get a tattoo, she first talks the artist. They meet, discuss things, have a conversation. This conversation can last anywhere from ten minutes to several months, depending on many variables. Regardless, it is a conversation, for no one just walks into a tattoo parlor, flops down in the chair or on the bench and doesn’t share what they want, why they are there, etc.

So, the client is asking the artist to put something on her body – her temple… She is trusting him to do what she asks, to fill in the blanks of what she did not articulate and if he is a skilled artist, he will be able to ask the proper questions and meet her expectations. There is a difference however between good and great. The great tattoo artists surpasses those expectations, thus, his clientele increases and he has dedicated, loyal customers. The client is putting her faith into the hands of another human being to change her flesh, mark it permanently. She has an understanding in advance that it may be an uncomfortable experience, and for some, even downright painful. She recognizes that it is PERMANENT. Thus, this mimics one’s loss of virginity, especially if they are a ‘tattoo virgin’, so to speak. Once that cherry/hymen is popped…it’s a wrap. No one else can duplicate that.

That artist is penetrating that person’s skin, leaving a trace of their craft on that person FOREVER. No other creature on the planet is going to generate the exact same tattoo, the exact same way. You can give two talented tattoo artists identical photos to duplicate. For example, let’s pretend it is a black rose. Like all art, it will be subjective and up to the artist to interpret it. There will be differences in shading, technique, possibly size, too. The artist may very well ‘get off’ knowing they have left something behind that is forever, for their art is in a way like their fingerprint.

The artist becomes timeless, immortal. The artist can perish, pass away, but his or her art is STILL ALIVE on the flesh of their former clients, and even when those clients die as well, they take that art to their grave. Additionally, there will be pictures documenting their body art long after they took their last breath. It will go on and on. These men and women who skin tag for a living ‘live on’ through their ink…

So, you see, when a client allows this to happen to her, she has on some level, had foreplay, and then intercourse, with her artist. He/she has penetrated them and now, they (the client and artist) will always be connected. They have an intimate relationship, whether they interpret it as such or not. So, this is why some women (and men) gravitate towards stories, books, movies, etc. featuring tattoo artists and the art they leave behind. It is one of the reasons that some women become literally addicted to being tattooed as well. The act of getting a tattoo becomes BIGGER than hanging wall art – because it is married to an experience and two people being connected and that virtuosity becomes LIVING ART…

…Because she, the Queen canvas, walks and talks…

She breathes.

She lives

… and she wears his work across her heart like, well, a tattoo…

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“My grief and pain are mine. I have earned them. They are part of me. Only in feeling them do I open myself to the lessons they can teach.”

–Anne Wilson Schaef

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Chapter One

Julian sank low in his white chair, the noisy pleather crunching under his dark, loose-fitting jeans. The heat from the work lamps made his skin dewy with a thin layer of sweat. Buoyant, seductive swirls of Nang Champa incense eddied past his face, causing his nostrils to flare as he inhaled the scent. The intoxicating fragrance intermingled with the previous cherry stick aroma he’d lit sometime earlier in the evening. He removed his rubber ink-stained gloves with a snap, then tossed them haphazardly in the nearby steel trashcan as he waved a lazy goodbye to his last customer for the day.

‘Soul Inscriptions’, a tattoo salon wedged between the reddened brick walls of a tall and skinny historic building, was his baby, the tattooed child he’d created with his own ink-covered hands. It flaunted an attached new age store filled with his unique blend of healthy energy beverages, assorted scented candles, spiritual what-nots, a few ‘naughty’ toys for the sensually adventurous, and one-of-a-kind massage oils, blended on site. The place was now empty, the patrons long gone. The old LP records from yesteryear and a plethora of holistic healing remedies were getting more business than he’d ever anticipated with the influx of new college students and transplants from larger cities moving into Athens, Georgia. Matter of fact, business had never been so good, and his clientele was building by long leaps and bountiful bounds. It fast became apparent that he was constructing a substantial status, and he’d been completely taken off guard in the whirlwind.

Word was spreading around town that he was damn good, and competitively priced for his advanced skillset. This brought a new dilemma to his wind chimed covered doorstep. He couldn’t handle the new demand, so he elicited help. He’d hired an additional artist—Alex, another sought after skin tagger—to help with the overwhelming workload, and decided to use some of the additional revenue to spruce up the place. His original hand-drawn signage, though magnificent if he said so himself, just weren’t cutting it anymore.

They had been replaced with a professional sign boasting of bright vermillion and neon clover radiant letters, right along with his favorite trio of goopy, hypnotic orange lava lamps, set atop a bookshelf housing a hard-bound book collection on the history of body modification. He ran his hand down his slightly scruffy face then glanced at a nearby mirror, watching himself twirl about in the client chair as he stole precious breaths and slippery moments of serene peace. He sized up what he saw before him as if he’d never seen his very own reflection before.

As he glared into his cerulean eyes, a bit duller than usual as his tiresome body became more complacent, he could see that his face reflected the turmoil inside—he was severely sleep deprived. His typically vibrant eyes were full of shadows, his mouth dry, and he’d rarely been so self-negligent. But business had been fierce, and he had important things to tend to. Matter of fact, this was the first day in weeks that the shop was quiet, and only because they were now closed and he’d sat down for a long needed breather.

I better get home…

He stood to his feet, snuffed out the incense with wetted fingers, turned off the sleepy ceiling fan and lava lights, and made his way to the money safe in the back of the place, hidden away in a slender closet to remove the nightly deposit. After he turned the lock on the storeroom and placed his fingers against the cold, chrome, ridged dial, the phone rang, chilling him as the shrillness interrupted his tranquility. He stepped out of the enclosure and glanced at the turtle shaped clock on the wall, its little avocado-colored legs moving back and forth and its long neck swinging a tiny head with a silly, hand-painted grin on its emerald face.

The damn thing is still slow… What a coincidence.

He smirked at the paradox and looked at the other side of the room, noting his very first hire’s station, Cedrick’s work area. There, atop a thickly bound mountain of tattoo books and illustration magazines, stood a digital clock with vibrant red numbers. It read 11:03 P.M. It was Thursday evening, and they officially closed at 9:30 P.M. on weekdays. He slumped his shoulders, sighed, then marched towards the ringing siren, his facial muscles taut with annoyance.

“Soul Inscriptions, Julian speaking…” The lack of enthusiasm in his tone delivered loud and clear to the caller, no doubt. He’d half attempted to put some life into it, some oomph, but he simply didn’t have the strength.

“Um, yes, I was thinking of getting a tattoo. I’d like to know if—”

“Ma’am, we’re closed.” He cut her off at the pass, loath to waste her time, or his, with a long drawn out story. “Call back at nine tomorrow, and I can talk to you about it.” He stifled a yawn.

“Oh, I thought you guys were open all night.” The disappointment was clear in her tone.

“It has been all night.”

“No, I mean like, twenty-four hours.”

“No ma’am. I’m the owner, and I definitely wouldn’t want any of my employees working hours like that. It would interfere with the quality of their labor. I’m the only one allowed to have a shaky hand,” he joked, feeling like talking a bit after all. He was met with stony silence. “I don’t really have a shaky hand. I was just…well, never mind.” He huffed and ran his palm across his forehead, now eager again to put the awkward conversation to rest. “What’s your name? I can write it down and set you up an appointment tomorrow.”

The woman hesitated, as if unsure. Julian was accustomed to this sort of thing. It was kind of like someone calling a rehabilitation center for drug intervention. They knew they wanted it, they knew they needed it, but the fear was overwhelming nevertheless.

“Let me guess, this is your first tattoo?” He tucked the phone in between his shoulder and neck and crossed his arms as he resigned himself to once again engage the caller.

“Yes.” She laughed lightly, a sound paired with what seemed like a sigh of relief.

“Okay, look.” He waved his hand around, as if she were actually standing in front of him, face to face. “Like I said, I’m the owner, and I’ve had this shop for three years. I’ve been doing tattoos professionally for eight years though. We do quality work here. We’ve received a lot of awards and recognitions, I’m not really into all of that, but hey, that’s something folks like to know.” He shrugged his shoulders. “No one has tried to sue me,” he said with a grin. “Knock on wood, and that should put you at ease.”

She laughed. “Well, that’s good…” He could hear the beam in her tone.

“And I promise to be gentle, and give you exactly what you want.” He found himself morphing into his inner salesman, despite being dead on his feet.

“You own the place and still do tattoos?”

“Of course. I’m here practically all the time, too. Now, let me get your name and number, and you let me know when you want to come in.”

“Mmmm, okay. My name is Milan—Milan Parker. I work until six in the evening, and I’m honestly a little concerned about Friday activity. I bet you guys are really busy on the weekends.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but privacy can be arranged. We have areas in the shop that can be roped off with a curtain and one room in the back for special situations.” He shoved the receptionist’s papers around on the front desk, until he’d unearthed the appointment book that he demanded still be done by hand. “Here we go…” He flipped the damned thing open. “…Okay, Milan, please give me your number and I can get you in, say…looks like I can squeeze you in for…” he narrowed his eyes as he searched almost in vain for a blank spot, “… a consultation at 6:45. Would that work?”

“A consultation? I was coming in to actually get it. If I don’t, I’ll lose my nerve!” She laughed a bit louder, though her voice shook with the all-too-familiar touch of apprehension.

He smiled and nodded, feeling himself become even more engaged in the conversation as the softness of her voice and the articulation of her words sounded rather sexy.

I wonder if she looks as good as she sounds? Probably not…

“I never give a first-timer a tattoo without a consultation first, Ms. Parker.”

“Really?” She genuinely sounded surprised.

“Really. Here is how my policy works.” He cleared his throat to unload his spiel. “You’d come in, we’d talk about it, you know, the design, the reason for it, all of that. Then, after you leave, I require a twenty-four hour wait time, and then you return and I do the work. This is permanent; this is for life. Not to mention, my work is not cheap in cost; it’s competitively priced, but you are going to shell out some money for a good, quality design. Neither my work, nor my two employees’ work, is lackluster, either. I hand picked them because they meet or exceed my expectations.”

“Hmmm, well, that puts me in a predicament as far as me running scared. I think that is really smart, you know, how you have a wait time, but I don’t know…” She sighed on the other end.

“You could always go to a different shop,” he offered. “I have recommendations actually, of salons that are pretty good where they will give you one as soon as you walk in. It’s just that…” He put his hand across his chest. “I don’t operate that way. But, I want you to be happy so you just tell me, and I can direct you to another place if you are concerned about my first-timer policy.”

There was a long pause, and though he was tired, he soon discovered that his patience was untested. He had no qualms giving her all the time she needed to sort it out.

“No, I think I should follow your advice, actually. Alright, I’ll be in for the consultation tomorrow at 6:45. My number is 762-971-1002.”

“Alright, got it.” He tilted his body around in an unnatural way as he busily scrawled her information down with a fast left hand. “If you need to cancel, or are running a bit behind, just give me a buzz.”

“I will, and thanks… See you tomorrow.” And she disconnected the call before he could give his farewell. He hung up the black, cordless phone covered in peeling red rose stickers and ivory crossbones, tossed the appointment book to the side, and made his way back to the safe.

I can’t wait to get into my damn bed… I should come in at noon tomorrow, but I can’t. Lonnie’s appointment is at ten, so I have to be here. If I don’t get some decent shuteye though, I’m going to fall asleep at the damn needle!

*

Milan had been staring at the same damn screen for over five minutes. Nothing had changed, except her growing annoyance. Martin had been hovering over her like a storm cloud. His pale, freckled arms were crossed and his all-too-familiar, nauseating over-powering cologne made her nose hairs tickle and curl.

Is he embalmed in it?

This was his habit.

To come.

To stand.

To stare.

He never said, ‘excuse me’ or ‘hello’, no…none of that. He’d just wait for her to acknowledge him first, as if he were some red-headed much sought after top-notch celebrity that she should feel privileged to have in her company. She kept right on typing and reading, refusing to even blink her eyes in the fucker’s general direction.

Hers was one of three large cubicles. She’d given it a cozy feel with a few adornments, including a small cactus with whimsical Christmas ornaments wrapped around it’s needles, a photograph of her and her mother in a yellow, ceramic frame, and a molasses jar filled with wrapped gourmet peppermint candies. The office chatter was at a minimum this particular day, and the occasional burst of belly churned laughter or husky whisper about the game would break up the monotony for a brief spell every now and again. She almost forgot Martin was there, but then, she caught his bloated likeness in the computer reflection. Today, she simply wasn’t having it. The last few weeks had been emotionally brutal. She’d been beat along her heart, and her mind hung on by a loose, practically serrated thread. Everyone knew what she’d been through, but Martin didn’t seem to care. There was no acknowledgement, no kind words—sincere or not. His paper-thin lips had not offered one utterance of sympathetic consideration. More seconds passed, and the jerk still stood there, huffing and puffing, trying to draw her to him with his damn near pornographic heavy breathing. Two more minutes passed, and she refused to budge. She scrolled down the screen, inputting information after reading her fill from the last report. Two could play this game. At that moment, she had the patience of Mother Theresa in a hospital full of dying children vying for their last wish to be granted…

Dying…

You douche. Why can’t you just say, ‘Excuse me?’ like everyone else?

She stomped the keyboard with her gel-nail fingertips, as if all ten of her flying digits were marching beasts, beating out paragraph-ridden drumbeats for the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade.

He loudly cleared his throat, as if that would tempt her, reel her in.

Persistent fucker aren’t you, Martin? If you used half this effort to do a good job, you’d be a force to reckon with…

Instead, she stuck it to him by reaching over her keyboard and paperwork to pick up her work phone and dial a vendor. His fate would be sealed.

“Hi Fran! This is Milan Parker from Collins Accounting Services…yes, I did receive your email, thank you so much!” She added extra cheer in her voice, causing the man to turn and storm off. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him hightail it in the reflection of her computer.

She shoots…she scores!

She curled her lips in a smug smile as she continued on with her conversation. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her good work buddy, Bryant. He was silently laughing as he impishly eyed her; he was up to no damn good, with his mouth agape, his dark brown eyes tight with mischievous merriment, yet he dared not utter a word in the sterile environment. They simply winked at one another, acknowledging that the joke was on Martin. Soon, a new email notification popped up on her computer screen.

New Message from Bryant McKenzie.

She dared herself to click on it while still on the phone with the client. Bryant was a notorious office clown, her best pal in the whole place. He’d kept her semi-sane over the past few weeks, her right arm in time of need. Nevertheless, he had a sarcastic wit about him, and it usually led her down paths of extreme laughter, at times inappropriately. She chanced it, needing the reprieve.

I saw your buddy shadowing you… You know you want that sexy hunk of man meat. He kept popping up like a damn rabbit. He is like Easter, keeps rising up! He thinks he is the resurrection!

She spun around in the man’s direction and placed her hand over her quivering lips, stifling the pending showing of amusement, but Bryant’s back was towards her as his long fingers flew across his keyboard. Her email chimed once again. She clicked on it, and read.

He needs to sit his trapezoid shaped ass down somewhere. I bet he had a woodie for you, all of three inches on hard. He was standing so damn close, it is amazing he didn’t impregnate the back of your head. When is the baby shower?

Dying with laughter, she shot Bryant another glance and found him looking at her. Making a face as if she were about to vomit, she caused him to burst out into full-fledged hysterics. Composing himself, he quickly gathered his bottle of water, cupped his hand over his mouth and turned back to his work.

“Uh, yes, I completely agree, Fran. I will send over the files before the end of today.”

Milan had no idea how she’d kept the two conversations going at once, but she managed, and it was a welcomed relief. She also realized she’d won this battle, but the terror on two legs would be back, to harass her every hour on the hour. If anyone, ever, in the history of America, despised their direct manager, it surely was Milan. Since the chump had been promoted, no one could bring him back down to this lowly place called Earth. The fucker had sprouted homegrown angel wings and flew the fuck away, his ego larger than life, and his smart-ass mouth, too. As her friend Bryant would say, ‘You could no longer tell Martin, shit…’ And that summed it up perfectly.

To make matters even worse, she was reporting directly to the halo-bopping tyrant. She couldn’t believe her miserable luck. He was the man that everyone in the office loved to hate. Her life had gone from challenging to almost unbearable, thanks to him. At that moment, she wished she were a sorcerer. She’d make that asshole vanish quicker than a bursting potato sack filled to the drawstrings with money, left smack-dab in the middle of Time Square.

I need a damn vacation. I wish someone would come and steal my ass away from here… Better yet, I wish Martin would just vanish into thin air!

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Chapter Two

Cedrick’s notorious, meandering smirk irked Julian to no end. The stocky man, with his square jaw, smooth dark skin and even darker piercing eyes, had a presence about him but he spent entirely too much time flirting with the women—particularly the college girls that would stroll in searching for a ‘tramp stamp’ to brand their supple lower back … or the MILFs who needed to resurge their sexy quota. His mannish horsing around was causing Julian to grind his teeth into dust, something he only did during times of mounting stress. Stress. Yeah, things had gotten particularly hectic and way over his head. He was accustomed to being a one-man show, running his business how he saw fit, but in the last few months, he realized he needed more help, and he needed help badly. He still hadn’t done a damn thing about it. But that was simply his way.

He needed additional staff, and his old-school system of checks and balances was antiquated. His receptionist, Angela, let him know this on a weekly basis as she sat her freshly tattooed body in her plush, blood red leather chair with faux white fur trim framing the damned thing. It was a freaking throne, a monstrosity she’d wanted so badly. He finally folded and let the little manipulator have it after she’d shown its picture to him in the catalog almost every day for over three months straight. He’d been beaten into saying ‘Yes.’ The harassment was simply too much. What could he do? The Piedmont college student kept his messy, unorganized books in order; she was on time every freaking day, unlike her predecessor; and the customers loved the foul mouthed yet friendly pale skinned beauty with purple hair, styled like the historic Betty Page—and she favored her a bit, too. Angela had pouty lips, the kind that brought men to their knees, and the most alluring set of gray eyes he’d ever seen. He saw her like a little sister, one that he wanted to choke and hug, all at the same time. Regardless, the little minx still wasn’t as bad as the guy seemingly fighting back tears on his table.

No, this over-grown child was working his nerves into a soppy pulp. It was just his luck to be stuck with a whiner. He was sure he was going to have to hand him the infamous pussy ball—nothing more than a tennis ball given to the patrons who couldn’t take a little pain, the ones that acted as if they were getting their spleen extracted through their nostril with no anesthesia, ancient Egyptian surgical style.

His five o’clock had cancelled, and here he was with a guy who’d had three previous tattoos that looked like they’d been sketched with a cheap, sticky, ball-point pen on it’s last damn leg. He didn’t know who the asshole was that drew the crap, but he wanted nothing more than to punch them square in the face for placing such spotty work on the human canvas, and then demanding payment for the defilement.

“I need all three covered, man,” the guy wailed, his west-coast accent strong through each word he choked out. “I was drunk when I got ’em. Can you cover ’em up? Please, man! You were referred to me, I need it done.” The man practically had tears in his droopy, brown eyes, and he hadn’t even been touched. Julian tried to hide his annoyance as he twisted the man’s arm to and fro to peer closely at the distorted five-point star, a shooting comet and a planet. Instead of a star, it looked like a kite that had gotten mangled in a tree after a wild cat had chewed it to stringy bits and pieces. The shooting comet looked like a renegade, angry erect penis flying through the damn galaxy on a mission to splooge on anything in its way and the planet was no more than a crumbling chocolate chip cookie with a crudely drawn ring around it. He was certain his nephew, his step-sister’s son, could’ve done a better job, and Georgie was only three…

“Okay.” Julian took a deep breath as he continued his investigation. “This is what we’re going to do. You said you wanted something cool, right? And you wanted maybe a woman, and you like Asian art. That’s correct, right?”

The guy nodded his head rapidly, causing the fleshy rolls around his rounded, meaty head to jiggle.

“Let’s turn the star into the top of the head of a Geisha. I can use this as her headdress and hairstyle.” He pointed to where the comet and star almost touched. “I can take this comet here, and turn it into an arm…make her hold a lotus.” Julian began to draw on the man’s skin as he mouthed the possibilities. The planet is a bit trickier, but I think I can make it a part of the design on her kimono, and the other part a fan. How does that sound?” He continued to quickly sketch all over until the rough, fast etching was complete. The man looked down at his arm, then bounced his view into the nearby mirror, and back at his arm.

“Man! That’s bad ass! Yeah, let’s do it… I know it’s gonna hurt like a bitch, though.”

“It won’t be too bad.”

Why do I always get the wimps?! Grow some balls, man! Better yet, it’s pass the buck time…

“Okay, cool,” he offered instead, careful to not insult the man. “I need you to fill out your paperwork, go up front.” He pointed towards Angela. “She’ll also get you prepped, and then Alex will do the tattoo.”

“Wait! I thought you were doing it, man.” The man’s eyes grew wide as a state of panic spread across his face.

“You are in good hands. Everyone in here, I can vouch for. They are either as good as me, or even better, okay?” Julian tossed the man a sincere grin, hoping to talk him down off the cliff. “Not to mention, Alex is king when it comes to these sorts of designs. You couldn’t ask for better craftsmanship.”

And that was true.

“Oh…okay. I hope so,” he mumbled as he stood, pulled his falling blue jeans up, and made sloppy steps towards the front of the salon, his head a bit low as if everyone should crowd around him and assure him all was well.

“Yo Alex!” Julian called out as he rolled up his sleeves and tossed a lazy glance his way. “That guy there,” he pointed to the nervous, big man up front now speaking to Angela, “he’s getting this design. It’s a cover up.” Alex sauntered over, his buzzed dark brown hair glistening from freshly applied gel and his diamond stud nose piercing shining under the bright lights. He perused the sketch on the tracing paper, turned it over, nodded and walked back to his station to finish an eye-catching dolphin jumping out of the rippling ocean on a man’s calf. Julian pulled up his schedule on his cellphone, hating that he’d had no other choice but to start checking it that way. Angela had sat him down, bum rushed him with an intervention, and made him bite the technology-ridden bullet. She’d explained to him that the popularity of his shop now required it and he’d miss important opportunities unless he stepped into modern day knowledge. It was like pulling teeth that had been reinforced with industrial strength super-glue, but as usual, she’d gotten him to fall to her nonsensical whims. Ahhh, they weren’t so nonsensical actually. That was just an excuse and he knew it. He understood completely why he allowed the little woman to boss him around regarding these matters; it was in his best interest—something he could accept, embrace with both hands, even if he simultaneously gave her the ‘side eye.’

He blew his nose and glanced at the half eaten grilled zucchini sandwich on his workstation, the dull, translucent parchment paper turned up on one corner. He tucked his necklace sporting Hamsa with the ‘all knowing’ eye into his black tank top, grabbed a small beaten up broom, and began the busy work of clearing up his area. As he got into the groove, the bristles moving lazily along the glossy, wooden floor, he heard the door chime. Another customer had entered. This was about the time that the weekend crowd began to arrive, pouring inside the doorway with their pendulum swinging hopes and daredevil dreams soon to be written across their reddened flesh. Typically, the potential customer brought a friend or two to lend moral support because this time, instead of the tiny, salacious dripping cherries on their ankle, or their girlfriend of the month’s name scrawled across their chest, they wanted something enormous, significant and overpowering.

People wanted to be bigger than life over the weekend, and then come Monday, accept their small pecking order in the big, bad world. That ecosphere, with her hard hitting ways, swallowed them up late Sunday night then spit them out like stale, flavorless chewing tobacco once the sun rose Monday morning, reminding them that they were no longer dazzling and beautiful, draped in their favorite faux personalities and fueled by liquid courage. On the weekend, the hermit-like nerds became swaggered-out gangsters, the repressed wallflowers morphed into vibrant sexual fiends, and the habitually ostracized were declared intelligent, innovative, highly sought after lives of the goddamn party. Julian kept on sweeping; the tan bristles of the brush collected various debris, as well as a tiny spider web as he half listened to a feminine voice speaking to Angela. The words were faint—from a great distance away, and the music made it even more convoluted.

The door chimed once again. This time, he looked up. A group of five men came through, laughing obnoxiously, their mouths hanging open while beaten ball caps obscured half their faces. Julian kept his eye on them then shot a glance at the front desk and … stopped sweeping. A shapely woman stood there in a plum two-piece suit. Her off black hair, partially swept and cut in soft, feathered layers, framed her face like a picture. A swaying half-bang hovered over one eye, obstructing it from his view as she proudly wore a fuchsia-lipstick-covered smile. Her long, curvaceous legs were covered in sheer hose, sparkling ever so lightly under the recessed reception area light.

Nice fucking legs…

The long, graceful limbs poured into a pair of sensible, black low heels that displayed an endearing rose across the leather ankle straps, joining into silver clasps. He continued to stare her up and down, unable to turn away despite the boisterous men that played around in the front lobby, friskily throwing bows at one another, sure to break something in his well-decorated salon not designed for such horseplay.

“And you spoke to Julian?” He barely made out what Angela was saying, but he strained hard, as hard as he could muster. The woman’s smile was warm, her ochre complexion smooth with a slight sheen along the apple of her cheeks. Her dark eyes glimmered as if a shard of galactic space had fallen inside of them and soon, he found himself sucking his bottom lip and gripping the top of his broom with both hands as he jumped at a new viewing opportunity. He zoomed in close to her ass. She’d turned part way, pointing to something outside as she continued to speak to his receptionist. The woman’s waist was small, her thighs a thick, supple meal for a man with a hearty appetite.

Bon Appétit…

Her ass stood high and round, begging for his fingers to brush against those globular cheeks… and her breasts no doubt spilled forth into a 36D bra. He knew a good pair of tits when he saw them…

Suddenly, Angela popped up from her seat like a damn gopher, forcing him out of his carnal deliberations as she pointed the way in his direction. He cleared his throat and immediately looked away, as if he hadn’t been standing there ogling the woman for the past thirty seconds. He played it cool as she advanced, her shoes clicking against the floor. When she got near, he paused and looked up at her casually, pretending he hadn’t initially noticed her approach. Finding this whole routine he was attempting to dole out plain silly, he pulled his fucking self together.

He looked straight at her, casually leaned the broom against his table and extended his hand.

“Hi, you must be my 6:45 appointment. Milan, correct?” He said it so damn coolly, he almost had himself convinced that he wasn’t sporting the beginning stages of a hard-on.

Her lips curved into a sly smile as she extended her ring-covered hand.

“Yes. I almost chickened out, but I’m here.”

He gently shook it and pointed to his chair.

“Please, have a seat.”

Milan sat down and crossed her legs. Her skirt rode up, exposing more of which he craved. She gripped the armrests of the seat, her glossy nails digging into the pleather, sure to leave indentations.

So tense…

“Okay.” He casually leaned against his table and crossed his arms over his chest. “So, first of all, congratulations for making it here.”

She lightly laughed and nodded.

“And secondly, let’s get right into it. What’s your aim? Your goal regarding getting a tattoo.”

“Well.” She looked around the salon, her eyes appearing vacant for a second or two. She then shot the beautiful peepers back in his direction, running her palm up and down the armrest, her nerves jumping out of control no doubt. Her chest rose and fell, the rhythm a bit off beat, as if she was trying to control the very air she breathed. “I want to get something in honor of my mother.”

“Mmmm hmmm.” Julian picked up his bottle of warm water and took a leisurely sip, then set it back down, returning to his previous stance. “And what did you have in mind?”

“Well, that’s just the thing.” She offered a slight grin, smudged with a dash of timidity. “I’m not really certain. I thought about, you know, her name and her favorite flower on my arm. Something like that. But,” she shrugged, “I don’t really know.” She ran her fingers through her hair, moving her bangs out of her eye. It swung back and landed smack-dab at its original location anyhow. Her smile was now etched with what appeared to be glimmers of despondency, and it tugged at him a bit, made him warm to an un-bestowed touch.

“Well, let me help you brainstorm some ideas. Is that fine?”

“Yes, I think I need that.” She smiled a bit wider, lifting her head higher, catching his eye as she traced the side of her neck with her fingertips.

Julian grabbed a 10x12 pad of sketch paper and an ink pen.

“Is this a memorial, or is she still amongst us?”

“A memorial…” She looked down into her lap. He could tell the grief was fresh, like a knife had sliced right through her damn heart—the blood still bright red and wet, falling onto her raw emotions and making the sting of recently spent tears come alive.

“Okay.” He scratched his upper lip with the end of the pen then put it to the paper. “Tell me some things about your mother, like her personality, the things she liked, what you two did together…”

“Well…” Now her smile was more optimistic, a bit brighter. “She loved the color yellow. She wore it all the time. Her beloved curtains were yellow, too. They hung in our living room… Her favorite flowers were golden roses, you know, the dark yellow ones that look so rich with pigment, like they are made of melted pennies?” She paused, seeming to drift away in thought. “I love yellow roses, too. I suppose I got that from her. She was funny, always making people laugh, too. Let’s see…” She placed her finger to her lip. “Oh yeah, this is an important one, she loved listening to opera, I mean loved it!” The woman was now talking with her hands, fully animated as if he’d reached behind her and wound her up, turning her key counter-clockwise then set her free. She had rejuvenation, as if her vivacious words were bringing her mother back from the grave, and in some ways, they possibly were…

“She loved going to the opera house plays and musicals. As a child, I found that to be a bit strange. I didn’t know many, uh…” She paused to size him up, as if becoming suddenly aware of his existence.

“You didn’t know many what?” Julian questioned without looking up from the paper.

“Black people that liked opera,” she said in almost a whisper, like it was some great secret that she’d been sworn to never divulge.

He was duly amused at how she was talking so low, but kept his face straight. “… But, now that she’s gone, I listen to it, too. It makes me feel closer to her.” Her voice was now clearer again, confident.

“Mmmm hmmmm….” His hand kept moving along the paper. “Keep going…”

“Let’s see.” She sighed loudly and clasped her hands together as she looked up at the ceiling. “Yeah, that’s right…” She was drifting further into her thoughts, so deep, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to retrieve her once the time came. But, he was okay with that. He understood clearly, inexplicitly, the need for this to play out just as it was.

He quickly glanced at her then back down at his paper. She grinned a bit wider, and began to speak again. “We played scrabble when I was a kid, and then again…towards the end, when she was getting sick. I always looked forward to it.”

“Mmmm hmmmm…now, how do you feel about portraits? Did you want her actual face, or just her name, or just images that evoked the fondness of her memory?”

“Well.” She winced ever so slightly. “A portrait, I don’t know. I never really contemplated that. I mean, I’ve seen some really nice ones on other people, but I never considered myself to be that type of person, you know?”

“Mmmm hmmmm.” He continued to sketch and write. “Do you have a photo of her with you right now by chance?”

“Oh.” She seemed slightly put off as she searched about her person. “I didn’t expect that, um…” She laughed nervously. “You know what? I do.” Her confusion dissipated. “I have her obituary in my purse… For some reason I don’t want to take it out, get rid of it.”

“Well, sometimes things like that make us feel closer to the person we lost. It is like the last notification, to some degree,” he offered as he waited for her to find it.

She’d paused, seeming to reflect on his words, then continued her search.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did she die and how long has she been gone?” He looked back down at his paper while she dug inside her over-sized pecan colored leather purse. Julian felt the more he knew about someone, the better the artwork turned out to be for memorial tattoos. If he could grasp onto something tangible, something that turned them into not only the customer’s loved one, but his friend too, then he could transfer that passion into the ink.

“Oh, well, she had dementia. We found out it was due to the fact that she had Alzheimer’s.” She swallowed and averted eye contact. The woman drifted away right before his eyes, though her mouth still moved as if she were living for the moment. “She died two and half weeks ago…on the 8th.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said sincerely, though he had to say it to many people that walked through his doors. It didn’t matter; each woeful confession was like a new fallen leaf, and each one was individually unique along the forest floor of life. No two were alike. Nor would another be created that emulated the exact likeness…

“Alzheimer’s?”

She handed him the obituary and nodded.

He immediately opened it, taking a good hard look at the photo of the woman. She, too, had a pleasant smile. Typically, dementia was associated with older people, and he was surprised a woman as young as Milan, could have a mother in that age bracket. He didn’t dare go there however; he kept it to himself. He perused the written words, catching the woman’s birthday. As if on cue, Milan was inside of him, roaming around amongst his veiled thoughts, and plucked out the one at the vanguard, the notion sitting front and center.

“I was an only child. A surprise baby… My mother had me late in life. She was told she couldn’t have children, and my parents accepted that as truth. She was 48 when she gave birth to me.”

Ahhhh, now it all makes sense…

“Mmmm hmmmm,” he handed her back the obituary and continued to sketch. “Give me just a couple seconds.”

“Of course,” she said, barely audible as she placed her folded hands into her lap, the creased obituary in her tight grip. The woman looked wounded, down on her luck, and if it had been appropriate, she’d probably drop to her damn knees and pray; maybe cry a bit, too. This sort of thing never got easier for Julian. He was happy to serve the people that weren’t just coming in there to get something ‘bad ass.’ Badass was fine, hell, badass was great, but heartfelt was better…People like Milan made his job soul enhancing. He got his rocks off, his thrills, his spiritual boost based on these sorts of individuals walking through his door and telling him, “Hey, I’m suffering right now, and I need to feel a little pain, to get some healing pleasure.”

“Okay.” He looked over the paper one last time, then turned it toward her. “Here is an idea.”

“Oh…my…God.” She raised a trembling hand and traced the sketch, while the obituary slipped from her lap, falling softly like autumn foliage, apparently without her notice. “It’s…beautiful!” As she clasped both hands around her mouth, a tear streamed down her face. His chest felt tight as her eyes continued to gloss over until her cheeks were wet from top to bottom.

There she goes… I knew it was coming. She held out a long time, though…

The tattoo design featured a heart, outlined and framed with of a cluster of dark musical notes. Along the bottom portion of it were theater masks and seven scrabble board pieces that read her mother’s name:

K.A.T.R.I.N.A.

An intricately drawn rose sat in the woman’s hair, and the portrait of her face was soft, but the flower, immense. The woman wore a bright smile, as if she were laughing after hearing a wondrous joke.

“I was thinking, keep it with no color, you know? Except the flower…” he licked his lips as he glared at her, unable to turn away from the invisible pain etched in the deep crevices that ran along her forehead now. He wanted to smooth them out with a kiss, make her relax a bit in his embrace. “I, uh, was going to make the flower, bright yellow with a coppery glow, just as you described,” he offered as he allowed her to have her moment.

“Yes…yes, that’s perfect. I have no idea how you drew this that fast. It …it is just, just perfect… Oh my God, I can’t believe it.” The paper trembled in her quaking hand.

“Well, the finished production will be better. If there is anything you don’t like, or want me to change or move, let me know.”

“…No, I think I like it just like this…just like this.” Her voice trailed and her eyes appeared suddenly vacant once more.

“Fine. So, here is the next step, okay? I am going to have you wait twenty-four hours, sleep on it.” He glanced up at the turtle clock on the wall then set his sights back upon her. “Then, you can come in tomorrow night, or sometime next week, and we can do it. I want you to read this information.” He reached behind himself and handed her a small packet. “Everything in there describes what you should expect. Like, how I do my tattoos, forms you need to have filled out, after-care of your tattoo, associated costs, medical history, things like that.”

She nodded and handed him the drawing back.

“You get to keep this. I’m going to make a copy of it, then give it back to you, okay?”

She nodded, seemingly unable to speak for several moments as she nervously massaged the side of her neck. The tears had slowed down, but still trudged down her face.

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. Her voice had deepened during her choked-up episode—richer, more haunting. He hated to admit something at such a time, but it was even sexier than when he’d first heard her on the phone.

“No need to apologize.” He reached across his table, strained and grunted, and pulled a tissue from a small green and white box. “Here you are. I’ll be right back.”

He came from the school of thought that believed tears had a purpose, a reason. A tissue stifled the process, caused the emotionally wounded to be bound a bit longer, needlessly. He’d waited until he couldn’t any longer, fearing to be perceived as rude or uncaring. No, she’d purged a bit; now it was time to give her a rest from it all so he’d offered her the tissue for her to calm down and collect herself. Still, at least for a short while, her heart had been fed.

Julian swallowed and sailed into the back office area. He stood there for a moment, his heart racing. The woman was so fucking beautiful, and her energy was amazingly pure, so clean, like the spirit of a newborn baby. She was in tremendous poignant pain, and he feared she didn’t have an outlet to truly grieve properly. What perplexed him most was, he couldn’t sort out why he cared. People came in there all the damn time with hard luck stories, but with her, he felt a pull, as if he wanted to make it all better, make the pain go away. He was genuinely concerned about her, as if they’d been friends or something. He found it a bit unnerving, for he realized his attraction to her was bleeding into his natural desire to heal others. It created a cocktail he wanted to drink from, a recipe he craved to try out to see if it tasted as good as she looked. He feared her torment was still all bottled up inside. No, he didn’t fear it on second thought, he simply knew it. He didn’t want that for her. Oddly enough, she mirrored what he still wrestled with from time to time—the mourning of those gone, never to be heard from again. After a while, people think, ‘Hmmm, still upset? It’s been a while, right?’

That was the kind of shit that made Julian want to punch a bastard dead in the middle of their throat. He wasn’t the overly sensitive sort, but he was a spiritual person—one that revered life, understood death, and embraced both. He had a healthy respect for the living and the dead. Who the hell had the right to define what time frame was long enough to grieve?

I wonder what she likes to do to relax?

He surmised from her attire that she was a career woman, probably had some stressful job that wasn’t making things any easier. He sighed and made his way to the copy machine, opened the top and placed the sketch under the hood to make a couple reproductions. Once he returned, he found her sitting a bit higher, the obituary put away and a forced grin on her slightly reddened face. Her eyes, still glossy with recently fallen tears, pulled at his damn heart, which bled a little on her behalf.

Iron and Wine sung, ‘Fever Dreams’ in the background.

“Okay, here you go.” He handed her the drawing back. “Read that information and if you have any questions, any at all, call me. Um, hold on.” He gently took the packet from her lap, and scribbled another telephone number on the front page. “This is a number to reach me at in case for some reason I’m not here.” He scratched the side of his head, no doubt ruffling up his hair, possibly undoing the bun he’d loosely braided that morning, jamming an ink pen inside of it to hold it in place. One thick spiral of black hair hung over his face now as he met eyes with her.

“Oh, okay. Thank you, Julian—”

“My last name is Savant, Julian Savant. Like I told you, I own this place, and we take a lot of pride in our work, so,” he shrugged, “you have nothing to worry about. You’re in good hands.” He put his palms up, as if surrendering.

“Thank you so much. I’ll uh…” She sniffed and rose from her seat, grabbing her purse. “I’ll take this information, look it over and maybe come in sometime next week.” She began to walk away. “… Maybe tomorrow, but I know you’ll be busy and I—”

“Wait a minute, Milan,” He gently touched her shoulder, forcing her to turn and face him. “I told you that we can pull curtains, and we have a private area.” He pointed towards the back. “If you tell me now, I can ensure that you have one for tomorrow, if you’d like to come in. Just make sure you have all your paperwork completed, and that will save time. I’m not trying to rush you, but I do want you to come back and get…”—he paused, feeling his heart moving faster than his mouth—“…get something beautiful, in honor of your mother. You deserve this.” He felt like his mouth wouldn’t shut up, but he was compelled to tell her this, and he meant every word.

I wonder if she likes white guys…

She smiled weakly at him and nodded. “Okay.” She took the tissue he’d given her, relaxed her grasp around it, blew her nose gently into it, and looked back into his eyes. “What times do you have available tomorrow?”

“Uh, that’s a good question!” He laughed as he made his way past her and up towards the front of the room where Angela was busy on the phone and with a customer. He impatiently tapped her leopard print covered shoulder causing her shirt to bunch a bit beneath his touch. He then did it once again, with a bit more urgency.

“Hey,” he whispered. “Pull up my schedule real quick for tomorrow.”

“I don’t need to, you’re booked solid. You know how Saturdays are around here. We even had to turn some people away.”

“Shhhh!” he reprimanded as her voice carried. Angela reared back like a snake ready to strike.

“What do you mean, shhhh?!”

“I mean, shhhh! You’re talking too loud!” His face flushed with hotness as his brows dipped low in anger. “Look, I need you to clear off my last appointment for tomorrow night.”

“What for? Never mind, I can’t do that, Julian.”

“I didn’t ask you for your opinion, Angela. I’m not giving a request, I’m telling you,” he said sternly. “Now look, call the customer, and tell them I will give them thirty percent off due to this late notice, and then reschedule them for either Sunday afternoon, or Monday morning, their pick.”

Angela sighed, nodded in understanding, and returned to the customer and an incoming phone call while he stomped away, back towards Milan.

“Okay, it just so happens that I could get you in tomorrow night. Does seven sound okay?”

“Hmmm, can I think about it?”

“Of course you can, just let me know as soon as possible.”

“Okay, well, schedule me for it, and if I change my mind, I’ll let you know.” Her eyes sparkled with bubbling tears that threatened to resurface and possibly a dash of consternation, too.

“Alright. Yes, just sleep on it.”

“Sleep on it?” She laughed dismally as she spun in a half circle. “I don’t know what sleep is anymore. If you do, send it my way.” She chuckled as she began to maneuver towards a growing crowd in the incense-swarmed lobby.

He stood there and watched for a second, then called out, “Hey! Uh, Milan, can you come back here for a second.” He curled his finger, motioning for her to come close.

There it was, his heart beating a bit faster again. The woman looked at him in confusion, but complied.

“You know,” he smiled sheepishly, “I run a little shop in here, too.” He pointed to an adjoining area, covered with rich, burgundy curtains, one side pulled back with a gold rope as if a playhouse stage were soon to be revealed. “I could stand to take my own advice, but I have some natural things that I sell that aid in sleep, in relaxation. You want to come take a look?” His brows lifted in hopefulness as he pointed to the partially exposed area.

She smiled and wrinkled up her nose. “Oh, Julian, I don’t know. I’m not really into stuff like that.”

“Do you take aspirin, vitamins?”

“Well, yes, when needed.” She nodded.

“Well, this is better for you, and more effective. There are people who come here just for this shop, because my prices are lower and my herbs are fresh. This is my specialty.”

“You’re an herbalist?”

“No, but I know a lot about it. I’m into medicinal, holistic healing. I’m into us, as human beings,” he pointed to his chest, “healing ourselves from the inside out, not the other way around.” He cleared his throat and took a step back, not wanting to sound pushy or crowd her personal space. “I mean, it’s totally up to you. You don’t have to buy anything; it’s just that when you said you couldn’t sleep, I thought I’d offer. You should be well rested and relaxed when getting a tattoo. I just thought I could be of assistance.”

“Well.” She looked over her shoulder, then shrugged. “I guess it couldn’t hurt to look.” She followed him inside the shrouded area where people moseyed about, holding tiny brown wicker baskets filled with a bit of this and that.

“There are all sorts of natural herbs that aid in sleeping,” he began as he picked up various boxes, showing them to her. “Right here is a chamomile blend. It’s gentle. If you fall asleep, it will help you stay asleep. See? Nothing creepy or strange about that.” He grinned as he handed her the box. The woman laughed, a gut born chuckle that warmed him like a homemade bowl of steamy, vegetable soup.

“And right here is a dietary supplement with melatonin.” He pointed to a white, plastic bottle. “I’ve used it a few times myself, and it really does work. Matter of fact,” he said, grabbing it and tucking it under his arm, “I think I should take some right now.”

“Not right now! You have customers!” she joked, causing them both to laugh together this time. He liked how her dark eyes were now turned up at the ends and half their size as she rolled in gaiety. The apples of her cheeks rose and her lush lips framed a prize-wining grin.

“You’re right, that would be a bad idea.” He winked. “I’ll save it for later.” He didn’t miss her expression slightly change as he openly flirted with her. He knew what he was doing, but it was happening, and he was having a hard time corralling it—not that he truly wanted to.

“Now, this is way more heavy duty. This is called valerian. If you take this, you shouldn’t take anything else with it, not even a Tylenol. It’s safe, but if you are really struggling to fall asleep, this will give you a one-two punch. It has no adverse side effects, but I’d set an alarm, that’s for sure.” He grabbed a basket, freed her hands and placed the items inside.

“Just a little advice, too,” He continued to navigate the narrow aisles with her trailing close behind. “Sometimes you may not need any of this at all. You may just need to listen to some relaxing music on low, take a nice warm bath then get into your favorite pajamas.”

I bet she wears over-sized T-shirts and shorts to bed…

I’d love to find out…

“And keep the room pitch black, you know? No lights, no television, no cell phone. Everything turned off, completely. The outside world just pushed away.”

“I do tend to fall asleep with the television on,” she admitted.

“Is that what your boyfriend or husband likes?” He glanced at her casually over his shoulder until she’d caught up with him, then looked her directly in the eye.

“No.” She grinned a bit shyly. “It’s just me. I was taking care of my mother for a while towards the end, so…” She paused, her lips twisted as she glanced away from him, breaking their eye-lock. “I didn’t have time for a social life, nothing like that, anyway.”

“Ahhh, I see.” He slowly nodded and tried to throw on a face as if he were truly sorry, but he wasn’t… far from it. Relief flooded through him like a gentle ocean wave, leaving behind nothing but a trace of paradise across his pallet.

“Well.” He shrugged. “Hopefully after you get some shut eye, in the morning, you will feel much better.”

She looked down at the basket, perusing the items, turning them here and there with a discerning eye, clearly reading the small print and taking in the illustrations of plants and the like.

“I think I’ll just try the chamomile tea.” She set it aside as they approached the counter, then opened her purse and removed her wallet.

“No.” He put his hands over hers, not missing the way she sucked in her breath at the touch. “It’s on the house.”

“Awww, thanks, Julian. That is very sweet.”

But I bet you’re sweeter… Wish I could find out…

“You’re welcome.” He watched her walk out the small shopping area, then look over her shoulder at him as he was now the one left behind. They both stood there for a moment, just staring at one another. He waved and she waved back, a slightly crooked grin on her face before she disappeared out the front door. The customary chime rang as she exited, letting him no with no shred of uncertainty that an angel had vanished from his mist. He stood for a long while, relishing that moment until a grunt and impatient tapping of a foot brought him out of his quixotic daydreams. Angela now stood right beside him, and he hadn’t even noticed.

“I take it she’ll be your last appointment tomorrow?” Her matte red lipstick appeared slightly shiny as she slicked the tip of her tongue over her upper lip and eyed him up and down, an ‘all-knowing’ expression on her face.

“If I have it my way, she will.”

“Mmmm hmmm, just as I thought!” She crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed in mock disapproval.

“Mind your business.” He grinned, thumped her on the nose and walked away.

“Don’t get comfy!” she screamed out. “You have an orange back lizard crawling up a grape vine in ten minutes! We’re prepping now!”

*

It was six in the morning, and for the first time in weeks, Milan had slept like a newborn baby. She’d forgotten how good it could be, and boy did her body and mind appreciate it. She flung the thick, cream-colored sheets off her long, bare legs, then stood and stretched.

“Mmmmmm!”

Distending left and right, she pushed up on her tippy toes, causing her over-sized black T-shirt to rise, brush against her hips. She turned to her nightstand and smiled happily at the ripped open bag of tea, and the teabag in the cup, with its string hanging gracefully over the rim after a job well done.

Drank it all up…it was tasty, too…

Making her way out of her master suite, she moseyed into her chocolate and taupe kitchen and retrieved a ceramic bowl to make some maple oatmeal. The slightly chilly morning had put her in the mood for the comfort cereal of rolled oats with just the right touch of cinnamon to top it off. As she got her spoon out of the island drawer and started the hot water, she glanced over at the shiny, onyx kitchen table and took notice of the pile of paperwork with ‘Soul Inscriptions’ written in big, black font across the top of the first page.

Oh yeah…

Taking small steps towards it, she reached the stack and sat down, crossing her ankles as she leaned comfortably to the side in the chair. Flipping through, she read page for page, only pausing to get back up and finish making her breakfast. She returned to her seat, slowly stirring the aromatic breakfast, the sweetness wafting, causing her stomach to fuss as she continued to painstakingly read each sheet. Reaching forward, she grabbed an ink pen that had been lying there from the evening before and signed her name on the bottom of each page in between bites of warm deliciousness.

Swallowing, she continued on, then accidentally got a dollop of the oatmeal on the final page. The light brown blob set pitifully, soiling the sheet in an unsightly way.

“Damn it…”

Milan rose from her seat, grabbed a napkin off the island, and did her best to rub at the stain until all that remained was a semi-wet splotch. Somewhat satisfied, she slumped back down into the seat, signed the last page, and turned back to the front page, noting Julian’s number. She cleared her throat and finished the meal, savoring the final morsels. Her mind drifted to the previous evening, one filled with her doing what she hoped she’d stop soon—cry.

It dawned on her right then, too. She hadn’t had oatmeal in months. She knew why; it had been a conscious choice, but she shoved the thoughts out of her mind. Instead, she drifted back into the moment when her face became wet while she’d sat in front of that man, making a damn fool of herself. She hated public scenes like that, but once she felt that dry lump in her throat, there was no going back. Before she knew it, the tears were flowing, and she thought she’d been all cried out. Mom was gone. Mom had been gone, in most respects, for over a year.

No, not physically—that happened all too recently—but she had checked out quite a while ago. That was the worse part of the shit. The woman’s once steel-trap mind had rotted like a two-day-old apple core left out in the searing sun. Her body wasn’t functioning properly, skin-hugging bones, becoming one and the same. The woman didn’t know who she was or where she was at, the majority of the time, her hazy eyes dancing about in wonder…

It had been an uphill battle with no end in sight, and emotional exhaustion set in as hired hospice nurses tended to the woman while Milan used up all of her family emergency time. Soon, she had to return to work, because it would have turned to unpaid leave, and she simply couldn’t afford that and pay for Mom’s medicines and treatment, too. She’d known the end was near. Hospice was ready, but her heart wasn’t. She’d grip her mother’s frail hand, and just sit there beside her, listening as the woman moaned and groaned, and oftentimes woke up frightened from a sound sleep, like a little child certain that a hideous, malevolent monster dwelled in the recesses of the their bedroom closet. Yeah…the one with the brand new yellow curtains…

“It’s okay, Mom…” she’d whisper as she’d dab at her mother’s moist face with the carefully folded edge of a cool handkerchief. Katrina’s eyes had become more and more expressionless as time passed. How very cruel the disease was, stealing the most essential bits and pieces of what the woman loved most—her treasured memories, wrapped in golden delight yet slipping away as if they were hot and greased with the greatest of ease. What a vicious, calculating, evil way to go.

A quintessential personal legacy was aggressively erased, leaving a woman behind who didn’t, at any given time, know her own name, what day it was, where she’d been, or where she was going. The child she’d birthed and the ones before that never drew breath had neither appellations nor distinguishable faces, and the people she loved were distant, cloudy blurs, never to be clear and memorable again. Milan had been told in church as a adolescent that there was a place called Hell that was heated with ever-lasting flames designed to singe the flesh over an entire demonic lifetime. The place was a dungeon of travesty and wrapped in brimstone, but surely, what her mother endured was her own private viewing of such an experience.

All Milan could do was mourn her while the woman was still technically alive, and she hated herself for at times looking down at her mother in that bed thinking the unthinkable. A thick breathing tube ran out of her mother’s nose and catheter attached to her form while she barely moved under the stiff white sheets. This only spurred on the obsession as she listened to the woman’s at times labored breathing, and her eyelids flutter just so. The deliberations haunted Milan, chased her, and made her look them in their dirty faces, making her feel all the guiltier.

She would at times, way past midnight, stand there biting her nail down to the crux wishing that the poor woman’s pain would cease, realizing that only death could administer that damnable command. It was at these times, angry, heated tears would flood her face and she’d internally curse the world, the universe and all that dwelled within, across and in between. Katrina had clung to a stingy shred of life, a semblance of dignity, but oftentimes, Milan questioned if her mother was hanging on for herself or for her daughter, who cried almost every morning right outside of her closed bedroom door before entering. In those moments, she realized that she really understood nothing at all. She had no knowledge of what her mother recalled from day to day, for the information changed as quickly as a coin hitting the ground.

Every daybreak, she’d sit at her mother’s side and read an article out of a magazine, usually Vanity Fair or Family Circle, two of the subscriptions the woman enjoyed. The glossy pages being turned were the only sound, as perfume samples from the printed thing wafted up, making her queasy as it mixed with the strange odors from the ointments covering her mother’s frail body. Milan would push that aside, and tend to more pleasant matters. She’d comb her hair just how her mother liked it, taking the brass brush and moving the fine, thinning hairs just so. She’d apply a thin layer of shimmery pink lipstick along her lips, and place her gold clip-on earrings just right, to make the woman look as she did when she could do all this and more, on her own. It didn’t matter that Katrina could no longer appreciate or care about her own appearance. Milan knew in her heart that her mother would never dress without putting on a bit of lipstick and earrings. It simply never happened.

Happened…yes, what the hell happened?

To this day, Milan wasn’t sure what transpired. It was literally like a light switch had been flipped inside of the woman, shutting the woman’s entire world down. The lady that would race about, listening to opera music, helping at her church on Sunday mornings, and cooking home-made, savory stews during the cooler months while joking and re-telling the latest celebrity gossip. Who was the woman her mother had become?

One day, Mom forgot a thing or two, nothing severe. Then, within a few weeks, they were arguing—something they rarely engaged in. Her mother simply wasn’t the quarrelsome type; she was a peaceful soul with a zest for life. Regardless, the spats began, marched in as if they’d always been a part of the lady’s fabric and dared anyone to think it peculiar. One of the worse episodes had to do with an incident that could have had dire consequences. Mom had almost set her own house on fire. Had Milan not stopped by after work to bring her some dinner, the place would’ve been up in flames, engulfed and swallowed by a treacherous blaze, never to be seen again, with her inside it and the news stations on site.

Her mother ferociously protested, calling Milan a balled-faced liar, declaring she wasn’t cooking a damn thing. She could see on her mother’s face that she’d meant what she said; this was no act. She’d never seen her mother become so wound up about a thing such as this, her defenses at a fever pitch. But the old woman griped, balling her fist tight and shaking it about in her face, declaring that Milan was stupid and a complete fool. Her mother had never spoken to her that way before. Ever. Yes, something was quite wrong…

So wrong, that Milan questioned if she were going crazy her damned self, but there on the counter sat a partially cut onion, a butcher knife with a few thin slices of the thing clinging to the serrated edge, two yellow peppers and a packet of ground chuck defrosting in a plastic bowl on the counter, it’s bloodied juices warm to the touch.

The pan burned oil and before long, a fire had ignited. She knew then that something terrible was happening with her mother, something absolutely dreadful. She couldn’t ask anyone what they’d seen. Mom lived alone. There were no witnesses to the manifestations, only a burnt pan that was now airing out and cooling down on the patio. Her father had died several years prior, and Milan was all the woman had. After a couple days’ deliberation and a few more exhausting disputes, she took her mother to the doctor. During the visit, she couldn’t believe her ears. No, she must’ve misheard… Her heart sank somewhere lower than her knees, her feet, and the soil beneath them. It travelled to the lowest place on Earth and her faith soon followed suit. Katrina Parker was diagnosed with dementia and it was also determined, she’d had at least two recent mild strokes. Milan gasped and lost her footing at the revelation, slumping onto the wall, clutching the fabric of her white and pink polka dot shirt.

How could it be that this woman, so full of life and with a heart of the purest kind, was going out like this? No, she wouldn’t let this happen! Milan and Katrina fought, side by side. Determined to beat the odds, resolute to keep ahead of the vicious, unpredictable tide—but it was no use. More strokes came, and soon, Mom could barely speak. The doctors didn’t know what was causing them, this was a great mystery with no conclusion, never to be solved. It was apparent that her mother was unable to care for herself, and at times, she even grew violent during forgetful phases. How could this be? Her friend, the person she was closest to in this entire wide world, was losing her grasp on reality and an enriching existence, right in front of her eyes. How could survival be so punishing?

This caused Milan to question life, period. She went into a dark purple tunnel and came out coated in tar-covered debris that clung to her emotions, dragging her away within its depressing clutch. She wrapped herself in it like a blanket, despite how it tore at her need for relief. She would not speak or eat for quite some time. What the hell was there to say?

Why did good people die in painful ways, while the bad people slipped away of old age in their sleep? Who was making these rules?! Who was responsible for allowing these sorts of injustices to take place, all day, every day? Was it the same God that demanded to be worshiped, while simultaneously snuffing out the woman that had praised him for the majority of her life and made sure her one and only daughter did, too?

We’ll understand it by and by?

No! Milan wanted an explanation right NOW! Yet…God wasn’t answering. He was the same God she’d read about while gripping her Bible and reading the scriptures in Sunday school. He said all she had to do was ask. She asked that her mother be healed. Did God lie?

God, how did you let this happen? Is this some sort of game? Perhaps a joke?

Here was the same God that allowed her childhood best buddy to be molested by her stepfather. The same God who sat back and watched her father have a heart attack while later that evening, a mass murderer got to enjoy a three-course meal with tax payer dollars. Was it the same God that allowed the innocent to be damned, and the damned, to be declared innocent?

As she contemplated all of this, a tinge of poker-hot anger moved inside of her. It sparked internally like a flung cigarette spark, leaving a hole inside of her heart. Where are you, God? Just curious…

She burnt up with antagonism, and was destined to be a mountain of molten ashes. Actually, that was only what she told herself so she could simply survive her current lot in life, day by day. Rage over the whole, sordid mess was Milan’s gasoline. But in reality it was more than a damn twinge of anger; it was a full throttle apparition that had walked across her room, in its murky form, an embodiment of her own hatred for a Creator that was so pitiless and brutal, one she vowed to not have anything further to do with. Once a deeply spiritual person, and believing in the golden rule, she tossed that aside while the grieving process took hold of her and wouldn’t relinquish her to her former glory. She’d changed. She no longer liked herself. The unhappiness and heartache was killing her slowly but surely, and she wondered if she’d ever wake up and feel okay again. But then, one evening, she found herself on her knees…

God, I need you…help me get through this!

Some days, she had to give herself pep talks simply to open her eyes and face the newfound daylight. Other days, she promised herself she was okay, everything would be just peachy, and then she’d find herself wishing she could just go somewhere and disappear without a trace.

She only wanted to be free again. She wanted to forgive herself, forgive her mother for leaving like that, forgive God, forgive the world and everyone involved with aiding in her pain. She didn’t know what would make it better, and for the festering sore inside of her heart to finally heal, but then she’d seen a co-worker donning a beautiful tattoo of a bird on her arm and it struck her. She could step out of her comfort zone. Just maybe, she could do something personal like that, something totally different, and memorialize the woman that she’d never forget, and owed everything to. She was a successful accountant with a major firm because of that woman. She had a sense of self, because of that woman. Milan’s mother raised her to be self-sufficient and goal-oriented, but to also have fun while she was doing it.

Milan understood how to be responsible and enjoy life, but now, enjoyment was something she could no longer comprehend, let alone relish. Being responsible felt like a shackle attached to her ankle, dragging her down farther than she already was, and at times, that felt pretty fucking low.

I can’t do this, today…

She pulled herself out of the depressing thoughts before they mounted too high, destroying her entire week. This was a constant battle, but today, she wanted to attempt to win this mêlée. She took hold of the beautiful sketch Julian had drawn and focused on it, smiling down at it like the fine thing that it was. She went somewhere else, somewhere that was safe, but much to her own surprise, her thoughts morphed into more pleasant territory—Mr. Savant himself. His appearance, his smile, his eyes…his body. She grinned to herself, then palmed her heat-flushed cheek and tossed the drawing aside. Oh my…

He sure was cute… Men hate being called ‘cute’. I didn’t call him cute though; I’m just thinking is all. No harm in that…

She’d seen her share of glorious eye candy and enjoyed appreciating, unwrapping and tasting the flavors before a hearty bite and swallow. Her world was open, though she had to admit, Julian wouldn’t have typically been her type, despite her eclectic desires. She went for a more ‘put together’ package—the suits, ties, a polished look. Julian had elaborate tattoos running up and down his damn arms, some menacing, with glistening, jagged teeth and black-skulls with hair-raising, soulless eyes while others were the polar opposite. Those ones were the most moving, profound and magnificent, while yet a few she viewed, she didn’t understand, but still found to be well constructed and amazing.

Some were done in white ink, barely visible, but their beauty astounding. Some looked tribal, and those spoke to her in a special way. A part of her at the time of her consultation wanted to ask him about all of his body art, she was certain that beneath his partially unbuttoned shirt and slightly fitted jeans covered a world of fleshy art she could never imagine but then she’d get distracted by his piercing blue eyes and the silver bar running through his pitch black eyebrow. He had an alluring scent that caught her by surprise as he leaned over during her embarrassing breakdown, snatched a tissue, and handed it to her. A mixture of zesty soap, sweet incense, and something earthy…

He must be old school…

She also didn’t miss the hint of sweet oil, like a cologne perfect for an autumn day.

His hair was almost jet black, and she could tell it was long, but how long, she wasn’t certain for he had it pulled back in a sloppy ball that hit the nape of his neck. A few wispy strands hung across his broad shoulders while the rest had been wound loosely around a pen. She hadn’t seen many people wear their hair that way, but somehow, it suited him. His Adam’s apple was prominent, and though she wouldn’t describe him as muscle-bound, he was slender yet chiseled…and tall. He must’ve stood at least 6’4. If his smile weren’t so warm and kind, he’d be damn near daunting. His jawline was hard, yet not overly so. One feature that drew her in were the man’s high cheekbones. Prominent, the kind models starved themselves for, yet, he had them naturally. His features were so defined, so rigid, so masculine, yet…so stunning and sublime.

He might have some Indian in him… But his last name is Savant… What is that? Sounds French… Yeah, I bet that is what it is. It even sounds like, ‘croissant’, and when he said it, it had that French pronunciation going on…

She made a mental note to look it up for her own curiosity, to put the matter to rest, then fell back into her daydreams. His carefully cropped goatee presented a stark contrast to his otherwise ink-covered skin. Milan didn’t mind a man with one or two tattoos, maybe even three or four, and though she couldn’t see all of the man’s body what she had seen, left her with no doubt he was a damn walking collage. She found it disturbing, yet intriguing all the same.

Why would someone do that to themselves? Why so many?

She stumbled upon Julian in a fair enough way. She realized she’d need to make her own go of it, after discovering her coworker had received hers out of town, all the way in California while on a family trip. She set out on her own to discover a place that wasn’t terribly far away and also had great reviews via her online research. During that investigative process, she uncloaked all sorts of information, such as the rather bizarre matter of tattoo addiction and that obsession aspect was completely unfathomable in her wildest imagination.

She was certain that would never be her, addicted to ink. Though she wouldn’t coin herself as a wuss, afraid of a needle or two, it definitely wasn’t her notion to turn into reality and she couldn’t possibly envision how it would ever be, no matter how beautiful the finished result. No, this would be a one-time thing. An experience that would always remain in her memory bank, and then she could move on. Making her way towards her refrigerator, she pulled out the carton of orange juice and poured out a big glass, thinking about what she had to do at work that morning. She checked the time.

I better hurry up and get in the shower…

She gulped down the juice, made a mental note to stuff the ‘Soul Inscriptions’ paperwork in her purse and made a mad dash back up the stairs to her bedroom, her red-sock-covered feet barely touching the carpet as she took flight, fighting against the clock. On the way, she felt her jaw twitching. She resisted, but it was rather short lived. She was smiling again.

Yeah…he is really cute…no…handsome…mmm, the ‘Good Looks’ fairy blessed him…

‡

Chapter Three

Julian scratched his inner thigh as he stared at Angela out the corner of his eye. His employees were busier than a can of oil during a bald man’s competition. It felt good to finally take a breather. He made sure to personally do no more than three appointments per day now that he’d begrudgingly agreed to hire more help. He wanted to become accustomed to doing less, and supervising more. Thus far, he hated it. He had been told by Angela, what was the point of having a successful, lucrative business, if he never got to feast from the fruits of his labor? And the little lady was right. He checked the time. Almost 7:30 P.M.

His heart raced as if he were expecting a blind date, and it felt rather foolish to behave in such a way. Regardless, he had little to no control over it. He had thought about Milan quite a bit the previous evening. He wondered if she enjoyed her job and what she did for a living. He had a myriad of nosy questions about her likes and dislikes, from songs to cuisine, to a wish for full discovery of how open her mind truly was. That was an ongoing issue Julian had had in his dating life. Here he was, almost thirty years old, and he’d had a hell of a time finding a woman to meet the criteria for his relationship checklist. He didn’t enjoy dating; he preferred a committed venture. What he desired was too personal to simply be putting around. Besides, he enjoyed setting up roots. Nevertheless, he was certain that the problem was not the women, but him.

He was particular; others would simply say persnickety, maybe too fussy. He wanted a woman that was, in some ways, his polar opposite. Many would see that as an odd goal. To him, it was ideal. In other ways, he needed this dream woman to be open, like a blossoming flower, available to receive original philosophies and experiences, and to give them, too. He’d had it up to here with women giving him the wonky eye when he offered them a bag of fragrant herbs instead of a lit joint. He’d even been told his lovemaking style was a study within itself, the source of questions and surveys for his lover to pose after she lay there exhausted, her naked body beyond satisfied but her brain unequivocally confused. He did things…said things…made the women he’d taken home feel a way they’d never experienced before according to their utterances. To him, it was natural, normal. Nothing to marvel at…

Things he treasured doing, he wanted to take his time…do it right.

He knew he wasn’t like other men. He’d known he was different from the average Joe at a rather young age. For one, he was into art and math, versus sports, like his peers. Drawing and mathematics was a rather odd combination to excel at, one being right brain dominated, the other left—but it was who he was. He always preferred pen and paper for anything, and since he believed all art was a series of geometric shapes, it seemed easy for him to incorporate one into the other. Accuracy was important; it dealt with measurements and attention to detail. He thought girls would be the same—easy formulas to crack with the right attention to detail once he began to actively date at the age of thirteen. He soon found out, not everyone with plush, pink lips and a name that ended in an ‘A’ came with such easy instructions. Matter of fact, there were no formulas, periodic charts or flow diagrams that could assist him. He had to find his own way into understanding a woman, and he took it case by case. He was intrigued by the way they moved, spoke, smelled and carried themselves. They became his muse, so it was no surprise that at one pivotal point in his life, his best friend was indeed a woman. And then, there was his other roadblock…

Julian still had an issue controlling his lack of a filter. He was born with a strong blunt gene, but had learned to tone it down over time. Still, every now and again, it bit him in the ass. If a woman would ask him if her dress made her look fat, he’d answer, “Yes,” if it did. If he was asked if he liked a new hairstyle, he might say, “It’s okay; it looked better the other way.”

Needless to say, he rarely heard from these women again. He had been a bit younger back then, in his teens, didn’t have the handle on the whole dating thing quite yet. Now, he had accumulated plenty of feminine consideration, as well as a shitload of ex-girlfriends, many of which were physically exquisite. He did have a ‘thing’ for physical beauty, especially if the woman exuded sexiness—but he needed more than that. After a while, many of his ex-loves bored him and the relationship would fizzle out due to his blatant lack of continued interest.

He was tired of this. He wished to find someone he was mentally compatible with, someone that made him not only want to see them, but miss them hard as hell when they were away. More importantly, they needed to have a sense of humor as well as intelligence. He desired someone willing to learn and accept who he was, even the weird shit he did and said from time to time. He was done apologizing for being himself, didn’t want to have to ask, ‘Do you get me?’ He could see on their face that they did.

Toying with his cellphone, he blocked out his surroundings and drifted into his own homemade world full of homespun daydreams. His tensed muscles relaxed just so; he became calmer, simply knowing that the workday was almost drawing to an end. He scrolled through his text messages from various friends, not quite in the mood to respond. As his thumb swayed back and forth over the illuminated screen, he wondered if Milan would come, but he wasn’t going to worry himself about it. He hoped she would, but if she didn’t, he was fine with that as well. He knew how these things worked. People had the best of intentions. People made promises they didn’t keep, said things they didn’t mean and lied to save face. Fear drove human beings to act in nonsensical ways, and for others, fear was never a factor, causing them to be a menace to society—soulless. Hurting others gave them much gratification. He didn’t feel for people like the latter; so much so, he’d often crossed that line, plotting revenge if such a person sunk their claws into him or someone he loved. Julian’s kindness had been mistaken for weakness a time or two, his love of nature and all it entailed misconstrued for him being some sort of novelty item, a ‘peace maker.’ Nothing could have been farther from the truth.

He appreciated the concept of war. Combat in the world was natural as far as Julian was concerned. He believed it was an ‘after all else has failed’ concept, but never the less, rivalry was genuine and purposeful. The intramural wars were always the most difficult, and he’d had his share. He believed all man kind suffered from various internal battles: war with one’s emotions…What shall I do? There was a persistent clash between doing the right thing versus taking the more frequently travelled short cut, ‘Wrong Way Avenue.’ He knew about pain and pleasure, too. How the needle going into the skin and the ink injection, felt euphoric while swirls of hypnotic agony danced together, creating the perfect blend of self-enchantment giving birth to art. It was a spiritual high, especially since the pain endured from tattoos didn’t register with him any longer. He no longer felt, saw, heard or tasted the discomfort, only the indulgence. He was built for hurt, and the jagged edge of the thing made him bleed with exultant hedonism. Hurt now tasted delicious going down, even as it sliced his throat, cutting off his airways. Just then, the bell chimed, and in walked a 5’7 golden brown beauty with toned, thick legs that had no beginning or end. Her shiny gold heels clicked against the floor while her long, sheer red shirt swayed over a black sports bra.

Well, well, well…

He glanced at the clock, noting it was 7:34 P.M.

She wore tight, blue capri jeans that hugged her hips and maneuvered just so, enchanting him, swaying, forcing his eyes to pay attention to her every move. Out of Julian’s peripheral version, he noted how a few other heads turned too, especially the resident pervert, Cedrick, who stood straight as a newly sharpened number-two pencil and ran his hand across the front of his pants, manipulating his cock like Vanessa White turning letters. Angela smiled at the woman, held up her finger as she spoke on the phone. Milan nodded, not yet looking in his direction.

Beautiful. She’s here…

He grinned inside so hard, his chest and face flooded with warmth. He pivoted in his chair and watched as she handed her paperwork to Angela, who in turn flipped through it, checking everything out. And then, it happened. Milan looked up at him, and the side of her upper lip curled into a slight smile, then that smile grew up into a full-grown grin right before his hypnotized eyes. A gold and red bangle slid back and forth along her wrist as she bent at the waist to sign another waiver. Soon, she would be over, so he stood and turned towards his equipment, placing everything just so, laying his irons, guns and works out like a surgeon. He could smell her perfume as she drew close. The scent reminded him of spring—light, airy, feminine with a touch of something Asian infused, like the blossoming bud of jasmine.

“Julian?” She uttered his name as his back was turned. He continued to set things along a silver and black tray and collected a pair of extra gloves and ointment, placing them into a money green satchel.

He looked casually over his shoulder at her, and winked.

“Heeey, how are you, Milan?” He turned his attention back towards his preparations.

“I’m good…a little nervous, but good.”

“Nothing wrong with being nervous. It lets you know that you’re alive. Since Angela sent you over, that means she questioned nothing in your medical history, so that’s a good start. As far as your anxiety, I can help you with that though. You can follow me in here.” He started towards the private back room that he’d promised her. Once they entered, he flipped the switch to reveal a bleached room, immaculate and sterile. Clean lines of silver, white and black made up the décor, as well as long mirrors, art work of beautifully inked women and men in sensual lip lock, and a CD player in the corner of the room with sticks of burning incense and candles all around it.

“Please, have a seat here on the table. Do you have the drawing with you that I did yesterday?” he asked as he perused the musical selections. “If not, I can get my copy. I left it at my work area.”

“Yes, I have it right here.” He heard a zipper and assumed it was her purse.

“What type of music do you like, Milan?”

“Um, I like all kinds… Something relaxing right now though, I suppose.”

Nodding in understanding, he decided to grab his iPod and hook it up to the system. He had way more selections to choose from there.

“How about some old school? Like Steely Dan?” he asked, looking back at her questioningly.

After he said it, he wondered if she even knew who Steely Dan was. Most of his customers didn’t, it seemed.

“Hey Nineteen…” She grinned as she gripped the folded paper nervously, twisting it to and fro like bike handlebars.

Girl, you’re messin’ with my heart… She fucking knows who Steely Dan is. Named a song, too…

He smiled with pleasure at her eclectic musical knowledge, which turned him on, got his blood pumping.

Steely Dan’s Greatest Hits began to play and he made his way back towards the beauty, stood before her, arms crossed over his chest, looking down at her like he wanted to eat her ass up. He knew what he looked like, and he just hoped she didn’t catch on. It was difficult to hide how he really felt; he tended to wear his feelings on his tattooed sleeves, no matter if those emotions were good or bad.

“How’d you sleep last night?’

“Decent.”

“That’s it? That’s all I get? No praises, gifts of gold and silver, a ‘thank you card’ that smells like your perfume?” He chuckled, flirting his fucking head off.

She was staring at him as she crossed her legs—looked at him as though she wanted something he had.

I have what you need…

He slicked the tip of his tongue to the corner of his mouth as she blushed and looked away. He kept flicking his tongue there, unable to reel the damned thing in until he surmised his mouth was getting dry.

“Actually.” She grinned. “The tea was really good, surprisingly good.”

“No need to be surprised. I told you it would help.”

She smiled and shook her head, then handed him the sketch. He opened it up, nodded and tossed it to the side.

“Now, do you wish to keep the design as is?”

“Yes, I believe so. I really like that.”

“This is for the rest of your life, so be sure.” He walked away from her and locked the door, tugging on it for insurance’s sake.

“I thought you wanted my business? I thought you wanted me to be relaxed?” she joked. “I know it’s permanent. You’re making me want to rise up and bolt right on outta here.”

He looked over his shoulder at her and cracked a grin.

“Don’t do that. I just don’t want anybody doing something they regret. Obviously I like tattoos. Look at me.” He rolled his shirtsleeves way up to his shoulders, exhibiting a tapestry of images he’d collected over the years.

“Those are really nice, Julian. I like that one, right there.” She pointed to the silhouette of a baby with clouds all around him.

“Yeah.” He looked at it. “That’s one of my favorites, too. It is of my son.”

He couldn’t believe it, but he saw a glimmer of something reminiscent of hope leave her face. As if, wielding a large pin, he’d let all of the billowy air out of some magical dream she was fostering. He normally didn’t discuss the matter, but felt compelled to at this point.

“I was very young when I got married, only eighteen.” He moved towards his supplies and slowly revealed them from the silky material. “The marriage only lasted a year. We’re still friends. She’s getting married again, actually, I think like next week…a destination wedding. At the time though, neither of us should’ve been married. This is a tribute to what she and I created.”

He witnessed a perplexed look come across Milan’s face.

“Our son didn’t make it. She lost the baby, seven months pregnant. It was a hard time, for both of us. We weren’t mature enough to handle that sort of loss.” He swallowed, and collected himself. He hadn’t discussed it in quite some time, and never with a customer.

Milan’s eyes now held something he’d seen one too many times—a look of regret, of discovery mixed with smidgens of sorrow. She appeared to withdraw within herself, on the hunt for the right words.

“Oh, Julian, I’m so sorry,” she mumbled, as if afraid to even speak.

He shrugged. “It’s okay. I’ve had years to process what happened, to grieve and move forward.” At least, that was what he told himself. “This happened, you know? It was part of my life. I married my best friend. She and I went to high school together, we loved one another, but we weren’t a good couple,” he explained. He wasn’t even sure why he was laying all this heavy stuff at this woman’s feet, but she seemed to need to hear it, more than he needed to hold it close, keep it hidden. Besides, there was nothing to conceal and every time he thought of his son, he smiled a bit on the inside, too. This was good, he surmised, for now; this discussion meant that someone else in the world knew his baby, too… That made his child all the more real.

“We had this experience, and it bonded us together. I’ve endured all sorts of losses, Milan. That’s one reason why I can empathize with you, you know? I lost my father to a motorcycle accident just ten months ago. I can’t show you, it’s on my back, but I have a tattoo in his memory as well.

“Two of my really good friends also perished in the last three years. It’s been one loss after another. If it wasn’t some disease, it was an accident or some act of nature.” He folded his hands across his chest, clad in a white T-shirt. “I understand that, for me, death is just another level of life.”

Milan remained quiet, but her eyes spoke a whole lot. He was feeling rather talkative with her, believing somewhere deep inside of her, she needed to hear what he had to say, as much as he desired to share it.

“I don’t believe our spirits can ever be destroyed once they are created. I believe that whole-heartedly. The death of this,” he pinched his flesh wrapped around his wrist, “is just our shell, you know? All this ink, I can’t take it with me. But I have it now, while I am walkin’ around in this temple, in this human form. Later, I’ll have something else, or maybe a new human form, I don’t know. But, I do know that death isn’t it. For many, it’s just the beginning.” He sighed. “Sorry to go off on a tangent there.” He grinned. “Just explaining my philosophy about it is all.”

“No, I appreciate that, I really do.” And then, she cut it short, but her lips were still parted, as if she wanted to speak a bit more. He decided to break the silence, let her off the hook.

“Hey, would you like a cup of tea?”

“I think I need to be awake for this, Julian,” she quipped.

“Not chamomile.” He grinned. “How about some white tea? It relaxes a bit, not to the point of sleepiness though, and has great antioxidants that would help infection.”

“Oh well, sure, yeah. That sounds just fine.”

“Okay, I’ll be right back. Um, before I go, I’ll need you to remove your shirt.” He winked, then turned and headed out the door to fix a hot, relaxing elixir to help soothe the woman’s wound up nerves…

‡

Chapter Four

Milan found herself clearing her throat over and over in the most grotesque way. She hated when that happened, a feeling usually brought on by stress and anxiety.

He’s bringing tea…good. He keeps winking at me, too.

She bit her inner lower lip, stifling a smile at the revelation, but just as fast as that smile was born, it went away to live its life somewhere else.

Poor man lost his child. That had to have been horrible. Then lost his father to a motorcycle accident, and friends, as well. My father is gone, too…

She suddenly realized that she’d been wasting time, sitting there in contemplation. He’d told her to undress, yet, her shirt was still on, and a cold chill ran down her spine.

Of course I have to take it off…but I only have my sports bra under here. I don’t want to be in front of him with only my bra on! Why didn’t I wear the tank top? That’s what I get for dressing flirty, instead of thinking this through. I must be desperate… This man isn’t even my type. I couldn’t keep a relationship after Mom got sick, and here I am, jumping on the first man I see, just silly.

She snatched at the buttons of her red, sheer shirt, angrily tearing them apart from the holes. She loved that blouse, but now, it took a beating as she took out her angst and worries against it. She flung the shirt on the nearby table, slumped back down and ran her hand through her hair as she waited, smoldering in her own thoughts. Soon, the door opened, and there the man was, holding the cup of tea and a silvery-blue bag.

“The crowd will be thinning out some, but you are safe back here. No one will see you or walk in, or anything.” He re-locked the door.

What she found so amazing was, the man didn’t size her up. He didn’t try to get an eyeful; he simply went on about his way as if nothing out of the ordinary were taking place. And why wouldn’t he? She smirked a bit. Surely he’d seen his share of half nude bodies in his place of employment. Hell, probably even completely nude. She was small potatoes. He handed her the warm cup.

“Thank you.” She took a hearty sip, regretting it once she realized it was a wee bit hotter than she’d anticipated.

“You’re welcome. Now, are you still getting it on your upper right shoulder?”

“Yes, that way I can cover it if need be, you know, but not need long sleeved shirts necessarily.”

He nodded in understanding as he grabbed a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a bag of cotton balls.

“Finish your tea if you wish, then when you’re ready, lie across the table on your stomach.”

She took a couple more sips, nervously set the cup down, then looked both ways as if waiting for crossing traffic. Looking down, she noticed he’d laid a clean, white towel along the table. She laid her chin on the headrest and looked straight ahead, at a calendar with red numerals. She wished she had a fast forward button, especially once she heard a chair moving about, the wheels rolling around as if in a doctor’s office.

Oh shit…

She sighed as she heard him wearing gloves, snapping them in place.

“Milan, I’m going to explain everything that I’m doing, step by step. You have nothing to worry about.” He gave her a reassuring tap on her upper back and then, before she knew it, he poured the cool liquid on her arm and made gentle strokes, cleaning the area.

“I’m just cleaning the tattoo site, getting it ready. After that, I’m going to shave the area. Once I do that, I will clean it yet again. At that point, I’m going to make some lines on your skin, points of reference, in order to get the outline of the tattoo complete. Any questions, sweetheart?”

Did he call me sweetheart? He did. Just let it go…

She shook her head.

“Okay, good.” He scooted up a bit closer to her and, after applying shaving cream to her shoulder, he took out a small, wet razor. Suddenly, he rose and moved away, as if he’d forgotten something on a stove and rushed to switch it off. The music came to an abrupt halt.

“Is something wrong?” she called out.

“No, not at all.”

But when the music changed, she gripped the table and sucked her breath. He’d put on Delibes’ ‘Flower Duet’—the one song that always turned her into an emotional mess.

It’s still… so… beautiful… takes me right back to resting on her lap…

“Is that okay, Milan?”

“Mmmm hmmm…” She was speechless. There were literally billions of opera songs in this big, wide world, yet he’d somehow chosen one that she and her mother adored. To make the whole situation even more heart stopping, he lessened their distance by drawing near, his crotch close to her face. Like a gentle wind, he placed a yellow rose behind her ear—eliciting a small scream and a smile—then returned to his seat.

“Okay, let’s continue.” He just went on, as if what he’d just done was customary. A few minutes later, he was outlining her skin.

“This is called a thermal-fax. This method is far faster than the old school methods we used for tracing, which, many times, were by hand.”

“Oh boy, that kinda tickles…” She smiled, looking next to the calendar at a silver-framed mirror, which allowed her to see him more clearly.

“Does it?” He offered a crooked smile, his eyes glued to his work. Boy did he have a beautiful smile… She looked at him a bit closer, taking liberties as the mirror allowed her to steal secret glances.

He is so sexy… What am I saying?

“I’m just using a little deodorant as an adhesive. It’ll be over in just a moment…violà! It’s on.”

“Mmmm, that wasn’t so bad.” She laughed lightly.

“Yes, if only it were that simple.” He smiled indulgently. “Milan, now, I’m going to place these ink caps, which is the ink coloring, into this machine here. My tools have been sterilized. I’ve already got the distilled water here for cleaning the needles during your procedure. In your case, I will only be using black, white, a little green, yellow, orange and a little brown. The colors are for details in the flower, it will allow me to draw contrast, causing the flower to appear realistic in appearance.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve put a little ointment over the image transfer, and that will help the design stay on there, not be smudged as my hands move around. I’m left handed, so I tend to tilt my arm in odd ways sometimes, which could force me to stop and redraw, and that could make things harder for me. This application helps prevent that from being a problem. … Now, I know you’re nervous, so, I want you to take a deep breath.”

He looked in the mirror at her, waiting for her to follow his instructions. Milan sucked in air, and then exhaled.

“Good. Try to breathe normally from here on out, okay? Try to stay relaxed, and keep it steady. When I put the first needle in you for the outline, it will be uncomfortable. After a while though, I promise, it will get better. Your skin will acclimate to it. Any questions?”

She liked how he kept checking in with her, making sure she wasn’t about to pass out or lose her mind.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she lied. And he seemed to realize it, too. The man gave her a reassuring grin and then, her teeth clamped down as he began.

Oh shit!

She wanted to curse and tell him off, let the world know she’d been wounded, but the music was so beautiful, as well as his face. She melted into her pain, rendered quiet. Thoughts of what a fool she was for doing this flooded her mind but dissipated as his hands worked against her body.

“Everything is juuuuuust fine. You’re doing great,” he said over the quiet buzz of the needle as he worked his painful magic on her form.

“This hurts!” she finally blurted, daring herself to stay put.

“A lot of things hurt that are worth having, and doing. Pain is a part of life. You’ll live, I promise.”

Is he being a smart ass?!

How could he go from being so wonderful, kind and loving to one that ripped the sheets right from under her? The man she’d been crushing on, she was now cursing out in her mind. Actually, he’d done nothing wrong. She understood what he was doing. He was trying to get her to focus. He’d tried coddling her, and now, he was down to business. The show had already begun; there was no need to back out now. She expected some pain, but this was worse than she’d imagined. She figured she was a fraidy-cat, and tried to suck it up the best she could, at least for the time being.

“When I switch mags, I’ll let you know. I will need to in order to take care of the shading, and the coloring of the flower. I will remind you when that’s happening, but by then, I assure you, you will be much more relaxed.”

“What are mags?” She winced, but kept her declarations of torture to herself.

“The needles. Mags is short for magnums.”

Magnums…unbelievable. She was in too much pain to fully enjoy the sexual twists she could turn with such information.

“Um, I read about the aftercare, but to kinda take my mind off of what is going on right now, and to help me envision the finish line, can you tell me about it?” She knew she looked downright pitiful, but she couldn’t help herself. He offered a warm smile and scooted in a bit closer to her.

“Absolutely.”

Her stomach flipped. His voice was deep and soothing, rich with flavor…she loved it. It preceded him, aged with wisdom, while his body stood out in pristine, youthful form.

“Once we are finished, I will apply another layer of ointment and this one will be anti-bacterial. I will then bandage up your shoulder and have you leave it on for approximately three days, but check it every night for unusual reddening, anything like that. Milan?”

“…Yes?”

“You’re going to love this, I can guarantee it. You’re not going to regret it. And look, your muscles are relaxing already.”

The man was right. She hadn’t even noticed that, as he continued to speak to her over the music, she’d heated a bit to his touch.

She cleared her throat. “You said anything worth having is painful, or something like that. What did you mean by that?” she asked as she glared at him in the mirror.

“I mean, the good things in life sometimes hurt at first. Like childbirth. The end result is wonderful. And like…oh, nevermind.” He smirked and stuck his head closer to her, as if trying to hide himself.

“No, like what?” she begged, still needing the distraction.

“It’s not something that would be appropriate for me to say to a customer, so let’s just move on and—”

“No.” She shook her head. “Come on, you can tell me. I want to talk. I need to talk or I am going to go crazy.”

Julian sighed, his shoulders slumped as if she’d asked him something deeply personal, yet his eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Alright. What I was going to say, it is kind of like the first time a woman has sex, her first time being penetrated.” He turned away, avoiding her gaze, as if slightly shy about his own admissions, though he said it with confidence.

“Mmmm.” She smirked and shook her head. “Never thought about it like that.”

“Well, there are similarities. Like, the needle going into your body is a type of violation. That first time you felt the needle hit your skin, it hurt, but now, look, ten minutes later, you’re okay, riding the wave of pain. Once it is all over, your first lover or, in this case, your artist—if he is any good and cares about you and the quality of his work—will make sure that though aspects of this experience may have been unpleasant, you are pleased and satisfied in the end. The final product is your completed tattoo, your climax, so to speak.

“Some people believe you can’t have pleasure in the midst of pain, but that’s not true. The same nerves are being used to deliver either message to your mind and that is why a very thin line separates sensations of pleasure and pain. Our brains tell us which feeling we are receiving, but with a few adjustments, pleasure and pain can turn into their total opposite and what may hurt one person, may make another person feel completely euphoric. Additionally, should you decide to get any future tattoos, you’d want to return to me…as your first tattoo artist, to do it again and again and again.”

“And why would that be?” she egged him on, feeling even more relaxed the longer he spoke. She could feel her eyes hooding as he lulled her away somewhere illicit and wicked.

“Because it would have gotten good to you.” He paused and looked at her through the mirror, as if trying to read her mind. “…And you know I’d be happy to give a repeat performance, hopefully better each and every time…”

Her fucking groin was quaking. Did this joker really have to compare what he was doing with sex? And he did it so damn eloquently.

“That almost sounds like drug addiction,” she joked, trying to switch up the mood, break the sexual tension lest she explode.

He nodded. “Sex is a natural drug. The hormones our bodies release during intercourse are similar to those found in opiates. Pleasure is addictive. Dopamine is released during heroine addiction for instance, and sexual climaxes, alike. Addiction is a personal story. So is pain, for some people. Love within itself is a drug. We spend our lives trying to be accepted and loved by people. It’s a never ending chase to a finish line that doesn’t exist; it just wasn’t meant to be.”

He swallowed, then got back to work, as if he were holding back, biting his tongue. No, she wouldn’t let him. The conversation was too interesting for her to release just yet.

“What do you mean?” she urged him. She had an idea, actually, of what the man was saying. At this point, despite her discomfort, she just enjoyed hearing him talk. His voice was slightly raspy, and he spoke slowly, as if he were teaching a class. His voice was so damn relaxing, the man should have been doing hypnosis tapes—and she didn’t want him to stop talking. Not now, not ever.

“Being perpetually in that state of ‘falling in love’ is an illusion. True love is what we should become attached to. I was just saying that, too many times, we follow our suns instead of our moons, when we should follow it all…the stars, the planets, everything.”

She chuckled. “So we’ve gone from sex to drug addiction to astrology.”

“They’re all one in the same, in some respects,” he said matter-of-factly as his thick, dark brows bunched while he concentrated extra hard on his work. He paused, dabbed at her flesh with a moist cotton ball, and then continued. “You think astrology is a bunch of bunk?” He grinned wide.

She looked at him through the mirror and knew that smile wasn’t genuine. One thing she’d learned about him during this brief interaction was that the greater he smiled, the more serious something was to him, or at least, it appeared that way. He’d smiled while talking about the tattoo of his stillborn child; he’d smiled when discussing the loss of his father. Julian was either hiding pain, learned to live with the shit side by side, or had found some mysterious, glittery pill to cure it. She wanted to know what made the man smile during tragedies. Whatever it was, she needed some.

“Well, let me put it this way—I don’t believe in astrology, it’s silly and a bunch of nonsense. Anyone with half a brain would be able to see that it is all a bunch of hogwash. Those that are lost follow such foolishness. I think we’re all searching for something to believe in, something that will make this messed up world make sense.”

He grinned at her, and that grin made her slightly uncomfortable, as if he were planning to launch an attack.

“Do you believe in God?” He temporarily removed his gloves, grabbed what appeared to be an old-fashioned cinnamon stick she’d seen on the tables of dilapidated coffee shops. He popped it in his mouth, as if he did that sort of thing every day and, she surmised, he probably did. He did have a continuous scent of cinnamon about him; only, she hadn’t recognized it as such during their first meeting. He rolled it around, then took a few leisurely chews.

“Yes.”

“So…” He removed it, set the thing down and continued. “You’ll believe that a man can walk on water, turn water into wine, cure the blind and fight Satan atop a mountain and survive, but you don’t believe that that same entity, in this case, God, could have assigned meanings to the days and times when we are born? Something so small, in the grand scheme of everything else He can do. Hmmmm…” He cocked his head to the side and grinned a bit wider, as if pitying her, feeling so very sorry for her complete and utter ignorance. Her face flushed with heat. “I never said we didn’t have free choice; we do, despite what our astrological sign says, but we could be predisposed to some notions, some ways of life. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Well, because—” she started, but he cut her off, his brows dipped a bit. She assumed he was revved up, possibly angry, but his tone remained calm.

“That’s crazy to me… You’ll believe this man Jesus can cure a disease by just touching someone, but couldn’t possibly have the forethought to create something as magnificent, yet so simple, as astrology. It’s amazing how some people can limit themselves…”

She couldn’t believe her ears. The man had initially shied away from heavy topics with her, but then it started—first the concept of sexual intercourse and its comparability to his line of work, now he’d gone overboard, delving into her religious beliefs which were none of his damn business, and yet, he attacked her all the same.

“It is general, that’s why and the Bible speaks out against astrology.”

“You really believe that?”

“Yes I do!” She twisted her neck in his direction, her lips slightly apart.

He chuckled, for now she was the angry one. Her heartbeat accelerated, her relaxed state completely compromised. She couldn’t believe his audacity. She turned away from him, gripped the pillow in front of her, stifling condemning words she yearned to hurl his way. All she wanted was a damn tattoo; she wasn’t paying this man to chastise her and talk about some damn moons and stars! Her life was not a box of Lucky fucking Charms!

“Look, don’t get mad at me. You are the one who came in here insulting my beliefs. I didn’t say anything about your own views not being true or legitimate. I never said God wasn’t real, or a figment of your imagination. I know the word; I’ve read the bible from cover to cover.”

“So has Satan. He even played a starring role. Big deal.” She rolled her eyes, causing the man to chuckle.

“When was the last time you read Leviticus? Huh? ‘Leviticus 19:28, You shall not make any cuts on your body for the dead or tattoo yourselves. I am the Lord.’ Matter of fact, no woman during her menstrual cycle is to even leave the damn house!” He laughed. “That’s in there, too! On top of that, you shouldn’t even have a job, Ms. Fancy!”

He kept on laughing, causing her to want to reach over and grab his beautiful face with her bare hands, and rip the flesh right off his damn skull. But then, she looked at him closer, really took him in. The man was truly amused, in a joking mood. She didn’t find it the least bit funny but he did have a point; she may have come on too strong regarding the whole astrology bit. She surmised he’d gotten worked up, defensive.

“Look,” she said calmly, determined to keep the conversation on the right track. “You can read one horoscope and say, ‘Yup, that sounds like me.’ Then, you read another, and it sounds like you, too.”

“Consider the source. The Saturday newspaper horoscopes are bullshit,” he blurted.

“Ouch!”

“I didn’t do anything to you.” He kept his head down, his eyes hidden, but she didn’t miss the smirk on his face like the tiny instigator that it was.

“Something jabbed me. You poked me.”

“You moved… I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary. If I’d truly poked you, trust me, you’d know it…”

Yes, her mind went there, even during this damn argument and despite the pain she was in. She couldn’t believe her sensual response, the way her damn pussy liked this motherfucker and the more shit he talked, the wetter the little kitty became… What a mess she was in, betrayed by her own crotch.

“Try to not move your arm.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did. When I said the word ‘bullshit’, the rotary muscle under your shoulder slightly revolved, and that is where I was working. As that muscle moved, it had a domino effect, causing the needle to skip, dig a bit deeper due to your sudden motion.”

Just like that, Julian was no longer so fucking charming. A sinister layer lay under his cool, calm exterior. He had a trigger, and she had inadvertently pulled it. He was not kind and sweet, at all! Matter of fact, it became rather apparent that he was the wrong motherfucker to try and toy with. As her mother used to warn, ‘Don’t poke the bears!’ But Milan didn’t know Julian had fangs and worse of all, she liked that he bit…and he bit, hard. Oh how she loathed that this was happening.

You know nothing about this man, and you were falling deeper into your crush for him as he spoke. He is probably a looney, a psycho… Aren’t all these tattoo guys? Talking to me about astrology, taking me to that strange shop of his, talking about losing one’s virginity is like a damn tattoo and smiling while discussing horrible deaths. He’s crazy…

She rolled her eyes, dismissing him.

“You’re tense again.” He kept working. “When something irritates you, your muscles tell me before you do.”

“If I was annoyed, then it was your fault but for the record, I’m not irritated.”

“You are. You are the type of woman who thinks logically, and wants others to agree with you.”

“Now to that, I say bullshit, at least to the latter part.” She smirked.

“Let me guess, you work in a high stress job. You were tense when you called me the first time, you were tense the first time I met you, you are tense now. You have to have everything go in a linear fashion. I tried to offer you things, natural things, to help you relax, and you wouldn’t even look at first. I know what you think of me, Milan, and it’s cool, really it is. I’m accustomed to it.”

“Well, since you believe you know everything, school me.” She chuckled. Now, he was doing it, too. She was irritated, but tried to cloak it under the guise of a laugh for she refused to let him see he was getting on her damn nerves.

“You think I’m some tree hugger, a hippy, maybe even insane. You probably think I get high, too.” He infused his tone with iciness. “You think I’m completely into astrology, using it as my personal God, and live my crazy life with no rules or regulations. You think I don’t take life seriously, right? All I do is sit around drawin’ all night and day dreamin’… Selling witchy brews. You think I don’t know about you, but I do. I spent the first years of my career honing my craft, talking to thousands of customers. I like talking to people. You hear all sorts of stories, you know?” He kept on working, his hands busy, his gaze averted. She couldn’t deny what the hell he was saying; he had her pegged and she was stone cold busted so she did what many would do—remain quiet, lest she incriminate herself.

“People open up to you like you’re a bartender when you do what I do. I’m not filling them with alcohol; I’m filling them with permanent ink, an intoxication far more powerful. Ink is binding. It fades, but never goes away, and a good artist will make sure it stays as beautiful as the first day it was done. So, people come back to me, and then they tell me more and more about their lives. Now, you’ve told me little of nothing, but we’ve only known each other for a short while. That doesn’t matter though. You don’t get me, but I totally get you. I can tell that you are smart, very smart. You carry yourself a certain way, to try and send a message that you’re in control, though today’s attire varied greatly from before. Today, you were trying to get attention.”

“What?” She twisted her body and her face, too, now unable to ignore his rambling.

“Stop moving or you’ll get stuck again…”

It almost sounded like a threat.

“Milan, I’m not trying to upset you. You said you wanted to talk, so I’m talking.”

“Well, maybe from now on you just need to be quiet.” She rolled her eyes and turned away.

He shrugged his shoulders, his grin even wider now, but kept silent.

Oh no…you don’t get off that easy! She’d changed her mind just that fast…

“What did you mean, trying to get attention?”

“Do you want me to talk to you or not? You just said for me—”

“Forget what I said,” she snapped. “Just tell me what you meant.”

“You are dressed provocatively, as if being dressed that way would give you more courage…maybe even to flirt with me.”

“You can’t be serious!” she guffawed, but made sure she didn’t flinch. “Please don’t flatter yourself. I hope you are just kidding; you have an odd sense of humor.” She softened a bit, realizing the man may have just been putting her on once again; at least she hoped so. The fact that he was right didn’t mean anything at all. She dismissed that thought, swept it under the rug in rapid speed.

“No, I’m not kidding this time around, and you know that I’m telling you the truth. That’s okay, though. I’m not ashamed to tell you that I’m attracted to you.” His eyes narrowed as the buzzing seemed to increase. He leaned over and studied some detail on her shoulder with great intensity. “I can tell you that, and be okay with it. Doesn’t mean we are going out after this, or anything. It just means I appreciate beauty when I see it and my pride is not harmed by making the admission.”

“Hmmm…okay.” She huffed and glared at their reflection in the mirror. “You say you know me, right? That you get me, fine. I get you, too. You aren’t the only one able to read people, you know.” She refused to nurse his admissions of attraction, for if she did, a well would form between her legs and she’d be done for.

He smiled and sank his teeth into his bottom lip, driving her mad.

Stop that! Do you hear me?! Sexy…as…hell…

“Tell me about myself…” he dared as he kept on working.

“I will. I think you’ve had a hard luck life. I think you have all those damn tattoos to try and hide and protect yourself. You are witty, a bit quirky, and never fit in anywhere. You’re smart…too smart for your own good. It makes you think you are better than other people sometimes, too.” Her raised eyebrow was met with a smirk.

That’s right. I said it…

“I think you love women, and sex, and all that entails, but your intellectualism prevents you from becoming a full-fledged jerk. I think you believe in astrology because it matches how you interpret the world. Your head is in the clouds, but your foot stands firmly on reality. I get you just fine!”

She turned away and closed her eyes, pleased with herself, knowing deep within that his ass had been read, toasted and thoroughly roasted.

She heard him chuckle lightly, then louder.

“Jeee-suuuus, Christ…yeah, that’s me. You do get me. Holy shit, I think you just made me fall in love with you, baby!” He burst out laughing so hard, she had to look at him. A vein protruded in the middle of his forehead; she longed to touch it.

What in the hell?! I just handed him his own ass and he laughs, agrees and carries on like not a damn thing happened? Julian…Lord help you…

She kept quiet as she let his words marinate, a strange feeling of contentment sweeping over her. This conversation felt like a damn roller coaster and the more time passed, the more drawn to him she became. He was an enigma, but yes…she really did understand him…

“I’m an accountant.” She offered a peace pipe, fragrant and sweet like a succulent Georgia peach.

He nodded. “Yes, I can see that you’d be drawn to that sort of profession.”

“What, based on astrology?” she teased. “You don’t even know my birthday though.”

“I do.”

She searched her mind for when and where he could’ve found that out. He didn’t go up front to see the paperwork…

“I don’t know the exact time you were born, however, so I don’t have the full picture. Angela, my assistant and receptionist, always emails me in advance the birth date of each customer I work on,” he confessed, taking her out of her confusion-driven misery. “She knows I want it. It helps me find out things that can aid in their relaxation. When you made the appointment, she asked for your birthday, amongst other bits of information. That gave me twenty-four hours to prepare. That’s why you have the white tea, why I changed the music and also why there is a yellow rose behind your ear. It is also why I anticipated you becoming annoyed with me.

“I knew, the more I opened up and talked, what the potential of this conversation would be. We are very different people, but we have a natural curiosity about one another. On one hand, you are very serious—rigid almost. On the other hand, you want to know more about everything and everyone. You do believe that our existence is bigger than what we see. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t even be lying here getting your mother on your arm. You have questions…we both have questions. And for the record, just so you know…” He laughed. “I don’t get high, Milan.” He didn’t give her the chance to respond, to defend herself.

“I don’t smoke anything, though I’m not against those that smoke for healing. I do chew on the end of lit incense from time to time… I am into taking care of my body. I don’t eat meat; I’m a vegetarian. I exercise. I meditate. I run for relaxation, too. I like being physically active, especially since I’m required to sit so much for my job. It’s a way to get my negative energy out, to get balanced. I also enjoy reading.”

Milan buried her chin into the headrest and sighed.

“What do you like to read?” she asked. The man intrigued the fuck out of her. Resistance was futile.

“All sorts of things, especially non-fiction, like books on metaphysics, natural cures, sensuality, art, design, astrology, health. I’ll read almost anything though. I believe that we can learn from just about anything we see. It’s just a matter of having a good filter, and finding the gold even in something that appears to be worthless.”

Sensuality…

“Tell me a little more about yourself, Milan.” He moved his chair away, extended his arm. The needle became tight as he went into detail along his artistry.

“Well, I do work a stressful job, but it wasn’t always that way. It seems that when one thing goes wrong, everything follows.” She didn’t give a shit anymore. The man gave her a platform to purge. They’d already had their first argument like an old married couple; the ice had been broken. She lay half-naked, he was jabbing her, and they’d discussed everything from God to getting high. So she tossed her pride aside and cut loose. “I used to love my job, and then they promoted this bastard who can’t handle having a little power. He used to be just a co-worker, but now, he is the guy I have to report directly to. I can’t even bring myself to call him my manager and what really burns me up is, he is not qualified! Now, the guy above him, Garrett, is a really good person and I’ve been debating reporting his butt to him, but that could start all sorts of trouble.”

Milan shook her head and realized at that moment that Julian had been right. People did treat him like a bartender. Just like that she’d rolled out her woes, pushed the bastard face first down a hill, and lest she admit it, it felt good, almost healing.

“Go on,” he encouraged as he kept his hand steady, the needle moving about her stretched skin just so.

“Well, they are friends and though I know you may not agree with this, I’ve seen it too many times—white men will protect other white men, even if they like the person from the minority group that is complaining on an issue. No matter how much Garrett enjoys me as a person and thinks my work is good, he could take Martin’s side and then things could potentially get even worse for me.”

“You don’t have an argument from me there. I will say this however: it’s not only the white race that does that. Race is a made-up paradigm anyway, but there isn’t any need to get into all of that right now. Anyway, yeah, people with physical similarities tend to cling to one another. We evolve when we understand that we are not races at all in the first damn place. We are just people, with different cultures.”

This man truly surprised her.

“We tend to gravitate towards people we perceive as similar to us, and we will protect those people, based on that likeness. The key is to realize that just because someone appears similar to you, it doesn’t mean they have your best interest at heart.” And with that, he swiped at her flesh with another moistened cotton ball, and continued along his way.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, your manager and the big boss are both white men, right? They like each other, they have their sex, gender and racial identification in common. They may like similar teams regarding sports and have similar political and religious views. Find out what your boss likes, the manager, find something in common, and see if you can talk about that with him. People don’t naturally gravitate towards differences, oddities or strange situations unless they have that sort of personality. I am one of those peculiar people that do.” He grinned really wide now, showcasing that gorgeous, sexy grin of his.

“But I know, most people aren’t like me.” He shrugged. “So, what you have to do is get on this guy’s level, to see if he’d ease off you then. The more we have in common with someone, the more we see ourselves in them, and since we don’t want to hurt ourselves, we tend to make things easier for people we think are like us. He sees no commonalities between the two of you right now. Once he does, he may be swayed to change.”

This man actually makes sense!

“We do things for them, help them out. That’s what you want to try to do. It is hard for a woman to do this with a man though, because in a professional environment it can be misconstrued as flirting, so be careful. Now, if that doesn’t work, you’ll want to tell the head guy what the hell has been going on. You already have a good rapport with him.”

“Why not just go to him now?”

“Because you’ll be filing a complaint, a report. You first want to fix your current situation.” The buzzing seemed to get softer as he spoke, as if the entire place knew he was speaking important stuff. “You want to stop the troubled waters, if you will, the hemorrhaging.” He ran his forearm over his nose, then continued. “This accomplishes something really important. It shows that you tried to get along with your manager before you made a complaint. It would demonstrate that you attempted to work with him directly, to fix the issue before running to a higher-up.”

“You’re a damn genius.” She cackled, causing him to do the same.

“Hmmm, thanks.”

“I’m going to do that. I’m going to try it.”

He nodded. “Good, and I hope you are successful. It’s important to enjoy your job as much as possible.”

“I take it you love your job?”

“Eh.” He paused and shrugged his shoulders, his face in a slight grimace. “Yes, for the most part. I love aspects of it. I am struggling with the business part, quite honestly. I’m good with numbers, I’m great with people, my customers, but times are changing and I’m having trouble keeping up with inventory, ’nd shit like that.”

“There are all sorts of really user-friendly computer systems, software, you know?” She paused, wished to help. “You can just put all of your inventory in, and then—”

“That’s the thing, I haven’t found the time. I’ll deal with it later. I have more pressing matters to tend to.” He brushed her off, hesitating to discuss it any further.

“The salon is beautiful, by the way,” she offered.

“Thank you. I had some remodeling done to attract more customers. Well, they came alright, and we were already pretty busy but I wanted to meet one of my goals.”

“Which was?”

“I wanted to have this building paid off fast, and I managed to accomplish that not too long ago, actually. I rent out two rooms upstairs to responsible students. I save the rent money and put it towards any repairs that may pop up. The other efficiency I keep as my personal art studio. I basically just store a lot of my paintings in there and in the last one I keep additional supplies for the herb store and salon, and allow some of the artists to train apprentices in. I own two properties now—my own house and this building—and even though it can be a bit stressful at times, a huge burden is off my shoulders. All my school loans are paid off. I have freedom, finally.”

“That is wonderful.” Milan was duly impressed. “School loans? Where did you attend school?”

“Franklin College of Arts and Sciences. I have a Bachelors of Art and Humanities. I studied fine art, design, things like that.”

“Good for you!”

“Also, there is a tattoo apprenticeship scholarship I started. One student wins a yearlong apprenticeship with any of the local artists that sign up for it. It’s a great opportunity. Part of the prize is they get money, as well as a party once they graduate, and they can choose which artist they want to go under as long as that artist doesn’t currently have an apprentice. So far, I’ve got fifty-three local artists signed up and hope to get more.”

Now you’re talking…

“See? That’s what I am talking about. You’ve been blessed and you’re giving back, paying it forward. That is how it should work. Reciprocity…I love it.”

“It’s important to give back to yourself, too…kinda like what you’re doing right now.”

The mood shifted to something heavy, something soaked in shed tears and a throbbing heartache buried under blood-soaked cotton.

“You can’t see this from my vantage point yet, but it is turning out really nice.” His lips curved as he eyed his handiwork with satisfaction.

“I’m sure it is. I can’t wait to see it.” Her eyes moistened. She quickly shut them as the opera music continued to play, and a silence filled the room.

“You don’t have to close your eyes if you don’t want,” he offered in a soft tone. She slowly opened them and looked at him through the mirror.

“If you want to cry, you can. Tears are healing. Each tear has a specific reason, a meaning. They help with the abolition of emotional, mental and spiritual poisons. Unfortunately, we tend to keep pain derived from mourning in our bodies, in our gut.”

…And his words hit her in her core.

“That pain causes problems with our sleeping, self-awareness, digestion, emotional well-being, and self-esteem. We may have a skewed vision of the world as we fall onto the lap of negativity. We may lose meaningful friendships, not because they left us in our time of need, but because we’ve changed… we’ve become anti-climactic with our behavior, soul suckers. We don’t mean to be, but our soul is needy, and we don’t like that…”

Keep talking to me, baby…

She blinked to chase away the tears she still was too ashamed to let him see again just yet…

“The tears help cleanse that and whenever we try to block them from falling, we keep a bit more of that hardness inside of us. It’s like needing to sneeze, but delaying it. We are keeping the allergens in, when we need to let them go. We allow the grief to turn into a monster, and eat us from the inside out. So…I want you to cry, if that’s what you need… Keep your eyes open; they are trying to help you see the truth…”

All she could do was sniff and tell herself to ignore this man’s advice. To fight it, for all she was worth. But, he just wouldn’t let her heart go… He kept squeezing and squeezing, until she’d have to relinquish herself. This was what she feared the most for she couldn’t hold back much longer.

“Tattoos, if done for the right reasons, are a transcendent experience. Just like sex, just like taking care of your health, nurturing yourself…”

Something rather odd started happening. The man’s voice was soothing her again, even more than before, right in time with the music, as if he were delivering spoken word. It was one of the strangest and most beautiful things she’d ever experienced. So, she gave herself permission to follow his train of thought, to kick her internal battle to the curb and cling tight to his suggestion…and the tears flowed. Quiet and slow, they fell. She smiled through it all, but they kept coming, sliding over her cheeks, down to the towel that soaked them up. He continued on working, a peaceful expression on his handsome face as if he, too, were somehow released from bondage due to her free-flowing expression of immense grief. Without missing a beat, he handed her a tissue, then went right back to work, as if nothing were happening.

I want to know more about you, Julian…a whole lot more.

What an incredible man, an odd man, a wise man, beyond his years. Responsible, caring and smart. A bit of a smart ass at times, but that was a small price to pay for all of his other wonderful qualities. She’d never encountered a man like him in all of her life.

Maybe he is my type after all…

After a few more minutes, she drifted away… She hadn’t even noticed she’d fallen asleep until he gently shook her awake.

“Oh…” she moaned, coming to her senses. The snapping his gloves roused her the rest of the way. She watched him snatch them off and toss them in a nearby trashcan full of blood dabbled cotton and debris.

“You’re all finished. Are you ready to see it?”

“Yes!” She sat up, excited beyond compare, but then he gently wrapped his arms around her hips, shocking her as he spun her around so she could see better. She looked down at her arm, and then in the reflection and gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. She couldn’t help but tremble, as she was taken aback, coming undone.

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, her voice was muffled from her quaking palms. “It’s beautiful, Julian! It is even better than I thought it would be! I love it.”

Before she knew it, she had the man in an embrace, pulling him to her partially exposed bosom that heaved out of her sports bra. His inebriating scent swarmed her senses, making her pussy clamp tight between her thighs. He seemed hesitant as she clutched him hard, but then, she felt his arms encircle her waist, holding her firm to his warm, hard frame. God, he felt so good, smelled so serene. Yeah, if serenity had a smell, he was it…

Before she knew it, he kissed her cheek then took a few steps back.

“I’m glad you like it, Milan. It’s a wonderful dedication to one of your life vessels.”

“Life vessels? My mother… That’s beautiful, Julian.” She looked back at her arm, in awe of the exquisiteness of his creation. The damn yellow flower looked tangible. It looked as if someone, anyone, could reach out and touch it, as if she had freshly plucked it from a lush garden. The image of her mother’s profile made her heart flutter, and the scrabble pieces looked as if they were being tossed in midair—palpable, three-dimensional. He even detailed intricately designed wood grain on them…just…wow…

Then, one minuscule element caught her eye that she hadn’t noticed previously—there were numbers at the bottom of the scrabble pieces. She squinted at them, trying to make sense of it.

“It’s your birthday.” He offered. “You said your mother didn’t think she could have children, and you were a surprise; I imagine a pleasant surprise. I incorporated that in the illustration. The opera and yellow roses she loved, but I’m sure she loved you more than her own life itself. It was in the original design, but wasn’t as clearly drawn. If you don’t like it, I can cover it up with shading.”

“No, no! I love it! I can’t say that enough; I love the whole thing!”

He nodded, looking rather humble as he began to clean up the place. Grabbing her shirt, she put it back on but left her arm out of her sleeve. He turned the music off, and moved around, sweeping and tossing items.

“Can I help you?” she asked as she leaned against the bench and carefully dug into her purse looking for a stick of gum or a mint.

“No, you just relax. I need to cover that up, so don’t go moving around just yet. I just wanted to get the rest of this stuff up over here.” He placed the broom against the wall and had her sit on the bench again. Taking his sweet time, he delicately layered a bandage over it.

“This is actually a wound, it needs to heal.”

Just like grief… She smiled inwardly at the analogy she’d formed in her mind.

“I am going to give you a bag with what I call an aftercare kit. It will have gauze, cotton balls and medicated pads for swelling and itching. I also suggest taking any over the counter pain medications you prefer if you find that it is a bit more uncomfortable than you can tolerate. You could always use natural pain management as well, but the choice is yours. In the next few days, it will scab over, after which you can remove the gauze and not re-wrap it. Whatever you do, don’t pick at it. Let it heal on its own; our bodies know how to repair themselves if we just give them the space and time. If you run into anything that worries you, please call me, okay?”

He looked into her eyes, sincerity deep within him bubbling at the surface.

“Yes, I will.” She ran her hand over her face, catching any tears that tried to come after she’d already relinquished that episode.

He unlocked and opened the door, and much to Milan’s surprise, the place was completely empty. She reached for her cellphone and looked at the time.

“Oh my God, it’s like two in the morning! I thought I’d only been here a few hours.”

“Nope. It was quittin’ time a while ago.” He walked into the lobby area, checking to make sure everything was picked up. The Open sign was shut off, the receptionist station clean and clear, and no one loitered about. It was just the two of them…

“This was four hundred dollars well spent.” She set her purse on a nearby stool and removed her wallet. “You really do some impressive work and now I see why everyone wants you.”

“Not everyone wants me…”

She paused, then decided to ignore his comment, though she sensed the note of flirtation loud and clear.

“Okay, here you go.” She handed him her credit card, daring to look him in the eye.

She could hear her own accelerated breathing, especially now that the place seemed like dead space. No music, no laughing, no candles and incense and people moseying about in the shop. It was just she and Julian. The man rang her up, then handed her a yellow carbon receipt to sign.

“This says…two hundred.” She stared at it for a short time, then looked at him curiously. “Previously, you told me that it was four hundred.” She held the pen in her hand, prepared to sign, but hesitated.

“Call it a discount.” He cleared his throat, ran his finger over the bridge of his nose and leaned against the wall partition behind him as if waiting for a bus.

“You’ll never make any money this way…” she teased as she leaned over and signed the receipt.

“I don’t give most people half off discounts, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”

Once again, she debated responding or not. She handed him the slip and he furnished her a copy.

“Well, thank you. And…thanks for the outstanding work you did…and the conversation, too.” She meant every word she uttered as she placed her purse over her shoulder. “Ouuuch!”

He grinned. “Yeah, you need to be careful with purses ’nd such the next few days. Keep the area clear.”

She nodded woefully in understanding, then turned towards the front door to leave.

After she took a few steps, he called her name.

“Milan…” His voice carried throaty and rich, smooth like black, imported coffee with a dash of something cool and minty. A voice steeped in a mature notion, like the motherfucker knew exactly what to do and how to do it…and that made her pussy sigh. She paused, her damn heart beating hard within her.

“Shit, what do I have to lose?” he asked aloud, as if sharing his innermost secret thoughts with an invisible best friend.

She turned towards him and caught him shrugging. Then, he reached behind himself and loosened the thick, black ball of hair, allowing his tresses to fall against his shoulders like liberated waves released from a broken dam. The long hair now framed part of his face, so unbelievably dark, the locks shone almost like velvety royal blue. With his slightly tanned skin, that dark hair made a stark contrast against his flesh. He was naturally a bit Goth in appearance, yet soaked in the richness of the Deep South. What a combination…

Does he dye his hair? I can’t imagine that he does. Slight highlights in some areas…His hair is even darker than mine…

He fidgeted about while she studied him, waiting, for she knew he was about to say something to her that could change everything all at once. His gaze turned hooded, while the whites of his eyes seemed more brilliant than freshly fallen snow on the tip of a diamond. Before her stood a man with broad shoulders, created from God’s vivid imagination. His penetrating cerulean eyes unsettled her, their kind of blue you didn’t see very often, but all in all, the man’s sexy meter flew off the motherfucking chart. He was oddly gorgeous. Enigmatically divine. No denying it. He embodied eccentric sexiness to the tenth degree and beyond.

“I wanted to know, if I could…” He slicked his tongue over his bottom lip as he casually rubbed his hands together, “…take you out sometime?”

She stood there, unable to stop her mouth from curling upward in a rascally grin. She waited for a moment, pondering over his invitation, drawing closer to the words as if they invited her to dance.

“Is that why I got the discount?” she joked, causing him to laugh lightly, cross his arms and look down at his seemingly brand new red and white Pumas before he set his sexy gaze back upon her.

“Maybe, but anyway…” His stare narrowed as he shoved his hands into his slouchy jean pockets and rocked back on his heels. “I’m attracted to you, like I already confessed, and I hope you wore that get up,”—he pointed casually to it, a smirk draped across his face, “because you might have at least a slight interest in me, too.” Now, he was offering that sexy ass smile again. She wished he’d stop it. It made her damn pussy pulsate like a Bayou frog’s throat.

“I did.”

“I know you did.” He cocked his head to the side and moved his jaws a bit back and forth, as if he were chewing gum. “Glad you finally admitted it… So, what do you say? A date with a hippie? It just might be fun.” He smirked, rocking back and forth a bit harder now.

“They say Jesus was a hippie, and as you know, I like him and accept him as my personal Lord and savior…so maybe I can like you, too.”

At this, he burst out laughing so hard, he turned red. “Normally, I would scoff at such things, but seeing as it is working in my favor, hell, I welcome it with both arms. Alright, cool… Oh, I almost forgot!” He shot his finger up in the air as if to say, ‘One moment, please.’

After disappearing for moments behind the dark red curtain of the little shop, he returned and handed her eleven yellow roses.

“The twelfth one is in your hair.” He pointed to it, reminding her of its presence.

“Oh my goodness. These are so nice, thank you!” She sniffed them, taking in their aromatic bouquet. “A dozen roses, how nice…you’re kinda sweet.” She winked at him as she gathered them in her arms.

“I didn’t get you twelve roses because it is customary. I got you twelve roses because your birthday is in the twelfth month of the year. If you’d been born in July, you would’ve received seven, and so on and so forth.”

“So not only do I have to hear about astrology some more, I have to hear about numerology, too?” She laughed. “I don’t think I’m going to survive this date with you, Julian.”

“You’ll endure it, and I think you’ll actually like it…maybe even love it.” He winked. “Now, let’s make arrangements.” He rubbed his hands together again, this time as if he were about to plop down and feast on something extravagant and mouth watering. “You can either meet me here at the shop, or I can pick you up. I’m free Wednesday night, at least I am now.” He grinned.

“Hmmm, okay. I can do Wednesday. You already have my number…”

“I do.” He removed his cellphone from his pocket. “But give it to me again and I will put it in my phone.”

They exchanged numbers and set a time.

“Well, I guess that’ll be all. See you on Wednesday,” she said, getting a whiff of his cologne as he drew closer, stood beside her for a brief moment, then breezed by like a ghost. Gripping the chrome locks, he removed the chains from her voluntary imprisonment, allowing her to be released into the night.

“You’ll hear from me before then.” Straightening, he stood close to her, so close, she could smell his warm, cinnamon-scented breath.

I sure hope so.

She grinned and stepped over the threshold, only for the man to pull her arm, bringing her abruptly back to him, making her yo-yo and stumble clumsily against his chest.

Shit, he smells so good…

“Can I have a kiss before you go?”

“…We haven’t even had a first date, and I—”

Stifling her protests, he pressed his lips firmly into hers, and moaned as he gripped her tightly to his stiffened body. Upon contact, her body responded instantly and her libido flew through every active cell inside of her physique. Her damn groin was at it again, too—flipping, tossing, making waves. The kiss was full of pressure, tight, sensual, and dare she say it—devoted, as if the man were making love to her with his mouth, and his tongue hadn’t even dared to leave its hot, wet confines. He hooked one of his hands behind her neck, forcing her into him even more so, not leaving room for the air, the night nor a thought to form and process. It felt like some sort of tantric oral reflexology, which made her melt into him even further, lifeless as she was.

He finally released her.

“Alright, now you’re free to go.” He closed the door in her face, locked it and disappeared like a cocky phantom.

She stood there for a moment, staring at the damn closed door with the ‘Closed’ sign swinging against it from his abrupt departure. She didn’t know rather to laugh or scream as she touched her mouth, his kiss still searing her lips as she gently ran her fingertips along them.

Damn…

She savored the faint taste of cinnamon as she slicked her tongue along her bottom lip, taking Julian in, tasting him, absorbing him whole…

Mmmm… what a kisser…

‡

Chapter Five

It was five minutes after six, and the street corner restaurant had a rustic charm as it ushered in the thickening dinner crowd. The dusky brick building looked as if it had once been something else, something long forgotten. An oval, weatherworn sign, or possibly recently distressed emblem, hung from a rusted, iron rod high above, wedged between two darkened, dusty windows that hadn’t seen a bottle of Windex in a mighty long time. The sign read, ‘The Grit.’ Milan took a deep breath and waited as Julian opened the door to the establishment, allowing her to enter. She was immediately taken aback by the pungent, delicious aromas swirling abound, infused with paprika and peppercorn. The small tables were full of white people smiling and laughing, their forks busy and their mouths just as hardworking as they labored over their food and delighted each other with conversation.

Vegans and vegetarians…Oh joy…

Julian moved closer to her, delicately placing his arm around her waist as he bent forward to speak to the hostess in a hushed tone.

“Table for two, please.”

The woman nodded and negotiated the crowd and oddly placed tables, while Milan and her tattooed friend trailed close behind. He’d asked her where she’d like to go, and she made the mistake of saying ‘Surprise me.’ Nevertheless, she tried to stay optimistic, though it was a definite challenge. Soon they were seated, and menus placed before them.

“Now.” He opened his tariff, his eyes quickly scanning it as if he knew exactly what was there, but was simply doing his checks and balances. “I am assuming you aren’t vegetarian or vegan. Am I right?”

‘Sail’ by Awolnation played low in the background…

“I eat meat.” She crossed her legs and wrinkled her nose at the word, ‘tofu’ in one of the menu descriptions. Tofu was synonymous with Styrofoam, but that simply wasn’t fair. Styrofoam probably had more flavor.

“Uhhh huh.” That notorious smirk of his sneaked onto his face as he chewed his jaw, making it seem as if a toothpick should have been bobbing out the side of it. “I bet you will like this, Milan. The food here is really good.”

“I’ll try. I’m open to new things.”

Just as she finished her statement, he looked up at her, and something she couldn’t quite make out had made his smile fade. He kept a pleasant countenance, though, as he hooked his gaze with hers.

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“When was the last time you had meat? Oh…thank you,” she said as someone came up and handed them two waters, and him an iced tea as well. He smoothed his napkin out with both hands, as if it were important to him that it stay tidy for his glass to be set upon it.

What a strange man.

“Over ten years ago. It was a burger.”

“You say it like you remember it fondly. Did you give that burger a name?” She teased as she crossed her ankles, settling a bit more into her seat.

He grinned a tad wider. “I didn’t know it would be my last burger. I bought it, went home, ate it and then stayed up all night to party with friends. I saw a documentary the following day about meat production. I’d already been contemplating to stop eating it, but that pretty much sealed the deal for me. I don’t like the ill treatment of the animals in the slaughterhouses; it’s unsanitary, and I don’t find it necessary to eat it. Not trying to tell others what to do though. Just for me, I’m not interested anymore. I feel a hell of a lot better, too.”

“Hmmmm.” She took another sip of her water through the black straw, leaving her red lipstick laden kiss upon the tip. “So, you’re cool dating a person that eats meat?”

He shrugged and looked back down at his menu. “Honestly, I’d prefer that my future girlfriend, whomever it may be, not eat it. The reason being is, I don’t want to be in a position to try and force anyone to do something for me, against their will, just to please me. I’d want them to do it because they want to. These things should happen naturally, through observation and education, you know?”

Milan nodded.

“I don’t want her to feel pressured, I want it to be sincere. If I fall in love with someone that eats meat, I just do, but it would be easier for me if they didn’t, is all. Plus, sex is better with vegetarians. One day I’d like to prove that to you.”

Milan sprayed water out of her mouth until it landed on his menu. As if nothing much had happened, he stifled a broad smile and gently dabbed at his menu with the napkin he’d just ironed out with his hands.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! You just…surprised me. Why do you say things like that?!”

“Things like what?” He looked up at her, as if truly clueless.

“You know what.”

“Well, it’s true.” He showed that sexy smile again, the one she loved to hate, then turned away, looking around the restaurant. “Is that not what men and women want?” He focused back on her.

“I would hope it would be more than that.” She stuck her lips out, certain she looked like a duck as she reprimanded him.

“Of course it’s more than that, but sex is a goal, right?” he argued. “Look, if I’m involved with someone, I expect that it will eventually happen. Do you not?” He appeared confused, as if she’d grown a horn in the middle of her damn forehead.

“I think when two people know that it’s the right time, they move forward. No need to plan out every little aspect of it. Otherwise, it is just premeditated nonsense and it gets people into a lot of trouble,” She said.

“Trouble, what kind of trouble?”

“Like not being on the same page. The woman may think she is in a relationship, and the man just sees her as a friend with benefits. That’s why giving things time, and for that chemistry to be there, is important. People don’t talk enough before sex happens to know where they stand, but some things just come about. There isn’t a discussion, you just kind of know.”

“I totally agree with that…and I know exactly what I want, so do you want to discuss us making love now or after dinner?”

“What?!”

“I’m only kidding!” He burst out in laughter. “Look, here comes the waitress. Are you ready to order?”

“Uh.” Milan looked down at her menu as if just noticing it. “I have no idea what half of this stuff is…”

“You want me to order for you?”

Milan shrugged and slammed her menu closed as if it were to blame for the lousy selections written inside of it.

“That’s fine I suppose.”

He flashed a smile in her direction then turned towards the waitress.

“Hey, how are you doin’? Let me get the Mid-E Platter for my friend here, the falafel platter for myself, a cup of your black bean chili and—”

“Large or small?”

He hesitated, shot Milan a look, then answered, “Large…I want to share it.”

The waitress nodded. “I’ll bring out an additional soup spoon. Did you wish for anything else?” She reached for their menus.

“Milan, do you prefer root beer or coke?” he asked, throwing her for a loop. She hadn’t planned to order a soft drink.

“Um, coke.”

“Okay,” He looked back at the waitress, his elbow on the table, gesturing as he spoke. “At the end, when it’s over, bring me a root beer float, and my friend a coke float.”

“Got it!” The waitress disappeared, leaving them alone. They remained quiet for a little while, though she didn’t miss the man staring at her, damn near drilling holes into her clothing with his intense eyes. He ran his hand across his chin and leaned back in his seat, real comfortable like, as if he were chilling on his own couch.

“So how’s that tattoo healing? You didn’t mention it when I picked you up.”

“Oh, it’s fine. A little tender, but I looked at it and it looks normal. I know you said I could stop, but because of the tenderness and slight redness, I applied the ointment again this afternoon and re-covered it.”

“Good. Soon that should be unnecessary.”

He nodded and tapped the table, his fingertips slightly dragging across it.

“So what is in this medieval platter you ordered for me?”

He burst out laughing and rolled his eyes. “It’s called the Mid-E Platter, and it will allow you to sample a few different things, you know, get a better idea of what you like and don’t like. It’s really good. It has…”—he began to count off his fingers—“pita, hummus, some nice uncooked veggies, you know, whatever’s in season, falafel and tabbouleh.”

“What’s tabbouleh?”

“It’s buckwheat, tomatoes, olive oil, parsley, lemon juice and a little seasoning to taste. It’s really nice, and the one they serve here has lemon sauce drizzled over it. It’s a salad, basically…really tasty.”

She nodded, trying her damnedest to not show her displeasure. It didn’t help that her stomach was rumbling.

“You are either perplexed or putting on some act,” she blurted as she took another sip of her water, her hunger pangs making her slightly aggressive.

“What do you mean?”

“Last weekend when you were doing my tattoo, you were initially the perfect gentleman. You turned on music you knew I’d like, put a flower in my hair, all of that. And then, during the course of the conversation, you started to poke me like a bear, rearing for a fight. But then, when I left, you forced me into a kiss and—”

“Forced?” he repeated, a slick smirk on his face as he beat his short nails against the table.

Damn smirk.

“Yes, forced.” She grinned, barely able to get out the statement, knowing it sounded skewed. “…And then we get in here, and you are talking about sex is expected. I honestly have nothing against the conversation within itself, but that choirboy act you tried to pull initially sure went away quickly. I’m not buyin’ it.” She theatrically rolled her eyes.

“Choir boy?”

“Yes, are you going to repeat everything I say back like some recorder?” She shook her head. “You heard me right the first time.”

“You’ve got it all wrong.”

“Do I now?” She crossed her arms, waiting to hear this silvery-tongued bullshit he was sure to deliver. It was time he had a mirror up to himself, Mr. High and Mighty Vegetarian Man…acting so holier than though. Besides, she was in the mood for entertainment; it would make the bland meal she’d be urged to try go down a bit easier.

“That was no act. I didn’t know you. My mind was racing faster than my mouth, and then I caught myself. That could’ve made you uncomfortable, you know? I had no idea. What I did know is that I picked up we had a mutual attraction for one another, so I relaxed a bit, and went on and told you. Now, as far as the kiss, I didn’t make you do anything…”

“Oh boy…” She burst out laughing and turned away, giving him a glance that said, “This mothafucka right here!”

“I asked you for something that you wanted to give me. So, I took what was mine, and sent you on your way.” He bit into his bottom lip as if suppressing his mirth, no doubt enjoying how she squirmed about in her seat. “Now, isn’t that true?”

She shot him a withering look, as if he were a demon sitting before her, trying to seduce her with promises of fame and glory in exchange for her soul. Still, she couldn’t lie. She tried to paint him into a corner, out of sheer boredom, and the slick fucker came out victorious, once again, seamlessly skated his way through without missing a beat.

“Maybe.”

He burst out laughing and slapped the table.

“You just can’t give in, not even a little bit, can you?! Everything has to be a struggle, hmmm? I think you are all an act, Milan. All this shit right here,” he swirled his fingers around a few inches above the table as if circling an imaginary map, “is Milan-flavored bullshit. It is what you do.”

“Oh really now?” She laughed hoarsely. “So you know all about this right here?” She pointed at herself, put on an innocent expression.

“Yeah, I know your type. I am what I am. It is your choice to take it or leave it. I’m not going to perform for you or anyone else. That’s not me, baby girl.” He grunted.

“Baby girl?!”

“Now who’s the recorder? I actually know more about you than you realize.” He stabbed the table with his finger, while she turned away to avoid his gaze. “I think some women just think men only see you as physical conquests, that we don’t pay attention. That’s not true.” He served her another wink on a platter, smothered in charisma.

Player…

“From what, astrology?” She guffawed.

“Not just that. I know women.”

“Oh… you know women, huh?” Her brow shot up. “How old are you, Julian?”

“Twenty-eighty, one year older than you.”

“And in your twenty-eight years, you learned all about women, huh?” she egged on.

“What does age have to do with it? If I were fifty-eight, would I then be considered more wise on this topic? Maybe, maybe not. Knowledge on something is based partially on interest. It interests me…you interest me.”

Before she could respond with another snarky remark, their food arrived.

Fifteen minutes later, after her first taste of the platter that the man fed to her from his fork, she decided she was having a culinary love affair. Initially, she put up a bit of a fight, but damn it, she ended up in epicurean love.

Soooo delicious!

She could not believe how flavorful and rich everything tasted. Rendered silent, she stuffed her mouth, though she was a bit embarrassed at how she was sure putting it away. This was a first date after all, and she was supposed to be putting her best high-heeled foot forward. Julian, however, seemed at times so crass—a cutie pie with a penchant for being a bit abrasive—but the man was on point about most everything he said. She was making things difficult for him, but truth was, she couldn’t have it both ways. She wanted to date a guy that was strong-willed and honest, and that always seemed like too much to ask; but Julian was beyond forthright and to top it all, the man had her personality pegged perfectly.

Milan studied the man as he sat there, looking as if tangled within his own thoughts. She tapped her fork against her lip in contemplation. She didn’t believe his guess had anything to do with astrology. Rather, she placed the blame on him simply being perceptive. Yes, that had to be it…

“Here, take a bite of this.” His fork floated over, chock full of what appeared to be flaky white meat. That terrible tofu—and though by appearances it looked like chicken, she understood her expectations needed to remain low. Surely, something out of this meatless place would be less savory…

She was wrong.

She wrapped her lips around the fork, forfeiting her reservations about eating from others’ utensils. Feeling a bit sheepish at the way his lips parted as he watched her, she tried to not stare him in the eye as her mouth had a damn orgasm. It didn’t matter; it was useless. She looked at him, and found that little predictable smirk clear across his face. His gaze never left her mouth…

He was a pervert, and not doing a very good job of hiding it.

Regardless, she played on this, relishing in the moment as she, too, began to delight in the flirtatious game they played. After swallowing the toasted tofu, she daintily dabbed at the side of her mouth with her tri-folded napkin and regarded him with a smile, her head cocked to the side.

“That was delicious,” she admitted, tired of toying with the man. He’d fight her on every slick comment anyway. No, right now she just wanted to relax. He’d passed her little litany of tests, at least for now.

“I know. So, eating like this ain’t so bad, huh?” He took a sip of his tea. “Dessert is coming soon.”

“I’m stuffed.” She sighed. “And I can’t take a cola float home.”

“You’ll eat it,” he teased. “They are really good, too. I don’t know what brand of root-beer they use, but it tastes old-fashioned. Like the ones we used to have as kids.”

“You know, I can’t really recall having any floats as a child.”

“You didn’t have pink cows? Root beer floats?! Awwwww man!” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “They were the best. My mom used to fix them for my stepsister and me and she’d put a cherry on top.” He took a deep breath to emphasize that detail of the fond memory. “I think she stole those candied cherries from work.” He burst out laughing—a carefree sound that made her want to grab it from the air and tuck it in her pocket. “Anyway, they were theeeeee best!”

“Stepsister, huh? Were you two close?”

“Kinda. She was like four years older than me, so…” He shrugged. “You know how that is. My parents got divorced when I was nine. My mom remarried when I was thirteen. My stepfather was kinda strict, but a decent man all around. We didn’t really talk much, just stayed out of each other’s way. As long as he wasn’t hittin’ her or treatin’ her bad, I couldn’t nitpick.”

Though his words were void of much emotion, underneath, Milan sensed a layer of cloaked pain.

“He kept the bills paid so my mother didn’t too much complain.”

“You make it seem like they were just friends with benefits.” Milan dug a bit deeper. She was interested in this man, and she wanted to know everything about him.

Shit. I like him. I really like him…

“Hmmm.” He shrugged. “I mean, I’m sure she had some sort of love for him, but it was kinda one-sided I think. My mother was just the type of woman that couldn’t do long term commitments, unless it was me or a damn cat, or something like that. She wasn’t really a one-man type of woman, ya know?” He laughed. Again, his words, though rolled in chuckles, sounded a bit forced. Milan listened intently, knowing now without a shadow of a doubt that under that faux merriment lay a torn heart and the birthplace of Julian’s personal brand of cynicism. The launch pad for what and who he was today…

“She was a good mom, though, you know?” His eyes narrowed as he drifted in thought and played with his fork, tapping it against his now empty plate. “Anything I needed from her, she took care of. She let me get away with too much though.” He nodded, his head low. “…But she loves me, always did. I needed that most of all.”

“What about your biological father?”

He looked up at her and grinned.

“This is interesting, Milan.” He clasped his hands tightly together, intertwining his fingers. “People don’t generally ask me about my family, so I don’t talk about it a great deal.”

“Oh…do you not want to?” She resituated herself in her seat.

“Nah, it’s fine.” He glanced at her arm, at the new tattoo that was partially exposed, though covered in gauze. He seemed to study the area out the corner of his eye. “I feel like I know so much about you and your mother… I like this, us sharing.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, he and I had a good relationship, although strained at times, like when I was a teenager. Typical stuff, I suppose. He never remarried. I think he was kinda bitter after the divorce…always asking me about what my mother was doing. Anyway…” Julian sighed.

“After the divorce, he changed. Became less enthusiastic, but we still had good times. In retrospect, I think my father suffered from some sort of chemical imbalance, mainly depression. He’d be there, but not be there, if you know what I mean.

“It was kind of like, out of sight, out of mind. He didn’t come over as much later, either. He apologized to me about it years later, stating that my mother always rode his ass when he’d try to come over…but you know what?” He huffed, running his hand across his forehead as if he had a headache. “I only told you part of the story regarding my father and…it’s not exactly good dinner conversation.” He bit into his bottom lip through a grin.

She knew that grin well, now. He crossed his arms real tight over his chest and turned away, his complexion warm. Hesitating on making a move, she just stared at him for a moment.

“Julian, it doesn’t bother me,” she finally said. “Look, if you want to tell me, tell me; if you don’t, I understand.” She didn’t want to push him, but…what if he was trying to push himself over the hurdle, if somewhere deep inside, he believed this had to be done? He folded his hands on the table, looking down at them as if he needed a moment.

“My father died in a motorcycle accident, but it wasn’t actually an accident, Milan. It was on purpose. He left a suicide note…”

Milan’s heart dropped lower than low. “Oh Julian, I’m so sorry…”

…And here she was again, drowning in a world of regret.

“Yeah, well, I’ve never told anyone that before. Wow…” Now, his smile was weak, as if it needed some special vitamins just to gain any leverage ever again. “I guess, I just never wanted anyone to think badly of him, even strangers. I didn’t talk about it, not because I was ashamed, but to try and protect him, I suppose.” He shrugged. “I know people are real judgmental about suicide. I know how people think. Shit, I’m that way too, probably.” He shook his head. “There were days when I wanted to die, but I didn’t! Things happen, ya know?” Julian threw his hands up and his protective grin resurfaced.

For the first time since she’d laid eyes on the man, she could see deep trenches of intense sadness in his eyes. Heartbreaking.

“He was a good person,” he murmured. “He had some sort of outlandish obsession with my mom, though. The love was gone, and he had trouble accepting it. … Honestly, I think she was tired of him starting arguments with her, trying to get her back, too…sleep with her at least.” He snickered. “It’s not funny. I’m just laughing because, well, it still upsets me.” His eyes became a bit glossy.

Damn. The truth hurts…

“Actually, I do think they were still sleeping together up until his death, but of course that’s none of my business. It was never confirmed.” He rolled his eyes. “Is this too much, on a first date? Of course it is.” He answered himself. “Shit, I’m really sorry,” he said, leaning forward on the table.

“You know what, Julian? I asked you the question, and I got the answer…and I don’t regret it. I think you needed to discuss this. It helps sometimes to do so.” Milan tossed her napkin in the middle of her plate, feeling a bit depressed her damn self now, though it wasn’t his fault. “But, with me crying in front of you, and everything we know about each other now, I think we can do this, and be okay with it. Plus, I want to know. Continue, please.” She tilted her head ever so slightly and smiled at him. She wanted to give him a place to be the real him and, she hoped, that place was with her.

He took a look at his tea and glass of water, opted on the water and took a sip.

“I have one more thing I want to say. I don’t know why I want to tell you, but I do… Something about you makes me feel like I can, and something about you, Milan, makes me feel like you could benefit from me hurting a bit more…”

“What is it?” She braced herself.

He looked down at the table, refusing to make eye contact. “The other day, you asked about the tattoo of my child. It’s the most important one I have. I am going to tell you what happened. You see,” He looked away for a moment, ad if needing to catch his own breath. “My son…my son’s umbilical chord was wrapped around his neck. For about sixteen hours, according to the doctor, he struggled inside of my ex-wife, trying to breathe, trying to live.” His voice shook. He swallowed hard as Milan swiped a tear from her eye. “This should not be going on, not on a first date…this is too much. Why would I think this was okay?” He shook his head, seemingly upset with himself for even going there. “I promise you I’ve never done this before, spilled my guts like this. This is wrong. I’m so damn sorry.” He kept his head down and angrily slapped the table.

“Stop it. Don’t ever apologize to me for sharing such a personal thing again…” she murmured. “It is happening right now because it is supposed to be happening right now. We can’t plan these things, Julian. Now, finish telling me what happened.”

He shook his head. Emotion drifted from him to her, heavy on the air. “When he was born, it was…it was obviously too late. I held him in my arms. Seven month old fetus…practically fully developed. He looked…he looked just like me. Head full of black hair, same eyes…it was like looking at myself, like seeing my own death, and you know what? I did die a little bit after that!”

Milan choked back a sob, placed one hand to her mouth and reached across the table, gripping Julian’s hand with all of her might. He kept his head down, but she didn’t miss the sight of one lone tear stream down his face.

Jesus… Lord have mercy! He’s never talked about this before, either!

She knew it in her heart; this was Julian’s first time really sharing what he’d gone through, what he endured the day he lost his baby.

“I was able to say goodbye to him.” He sniffed. “I don’t know how this whole heaven and hell thing works, if it is even real, but it might be. If it is, I want to see my father and my kid again…but while I’m here…” He slowly looked up, his cheek shiny from the recently fallen tear. “While I’m human and on this planet, partaking in this lifetime, I want to be able to try again, you know? I want a second chance. No one can replace anyone, that’s impossible. But…I want to try the whole marriage thing again, because I liked it. And…I want to succeed. Next time, I know I’ll win.” He squeezed her hand a bit tighter, driving some point home that she wasn’t prepared to fully encompass. “And…I want to be a father. I want a couple kids, maybe three or four… Yeah, I know I was meant to be many things, and two of those things are a husband and a father. And not just any husband and father, but a devoted one, a good one, the kind a great woman wants and deserves, the kind that my kids would say after I’m gone, ‘Dad was crazy, but he loved the fuck out of me, and he took care of me…and he was a damn good person.’”

They paused for a long while, holding each other, giving quiet support in their time of falling the hell apart. Time ticked on by, and time cared for them, too.

“Well, speaking of marriage and families, what were your parents like?”

He’d broken the silence, given up the ghost, and switched lanes. She accepted that he wanted out. He was done. After all, he’d shared something so intimate, and so devastating. Milan came to the realization that it was true—Julian was the ‘bartender’. Everyone came to him about their problems, but no one gave a damn about his own. He was the listening ear for so many, yet he never had a place to fall apart, to unleash his own beasts. What more did he truly need to say? The truth was out now, and he was, at least for the time being, finished discussing it.

“Well, I told you about my mom, Katrina.” She couldn’t help but smile as she looked down at the table. “She was always encouraging. Like you said about your stepdad, she could be strict sometimes, but she was loving, too. I could open up to her. My father was older than my mom and though he was a good provider, he was a bit…” She grimaced as she searched for the right words. “I suppose emotionally distant is the word. Don’t get me wrong, I know he loved me; we just didn’t have that coziness, you know?”

Julian and I have some things in common. He may not be so different from me after all.

He nodded and leaned in closer, hanging on to her words.

“No family is perfect. Like yours, my parents loved me, so…” She felt a bit awkward, not quite sure as to why. The conversation was getting heavier, like clumpy gravy atop stiff, lumpy mashed potatoes, and she couldn’t stomach it. “Here come the floats!” She clapped her hands, thankful for the reprieve now that the focus of the conversation was on her. Moments later, they sat quietly devouring their respective desserts. She thought her appetite had waned, but she was suddenly more than ready to demolish the tower of sweet, fizzy power.

This shit has got to be home-made… It is a crime for anything to taste this good!

He sucked on his straw diligently, then paused.

“You wanna try this?”

“I don’t like root beer. Thanks though…you want to try this?” She pointed to her half eaten float.

“Nah, I’m good.” They kept the silence for quite some time. Then, as if after much thought, he grasped her hand. He intertwined their fingers, the straw still in his mouth, eliciting a smile from her.

“So.” Finished, he moved his glass aside. “I want to see you again.”

“I want to see you again, too.” Her cheeks pricked with heat.

“The conversation got a bit heavy tonight, but I agree with you. It served its purpose. I’ve…I’ve never really told that story to anyone before. That means your special to me already.” She couldn’t help but smile, a grin born of gratitude. “Now, that aside, let’s get down to business. We’re both kinda busy, but…I believe people make time for what they want to make time for.” He had a longing in his eyes.

She nodded in agreement and looked down into her empty glass with the long silver spoon, coated with a thin layer of ice cream. He was speaking earnestly now; it was time to straighten up. She desperately tried to hide the new, growing smile on her face. She tried, but trying and doing were two different things.

“So, I take it you had a good time, and the food wasn’t too bad? You’ll give me another chance to make you blush?” He bit his bottom lip seductively and tilted his head forward, forcing his long black hair to fall forward and puddle on the table.

“Yeah…”

He nodded, appearing quite pleased with himself. “Good. So, pencil me in; let’s secure a day and time.” He slowly removed his hand from hers, and scratched his ear lobe. “Tell me where you want to go, but take some time to think about it.”

“Actually, I think I already know what I’d like to do.”

He leaned back in his seat and ran his hand through his hair, combing it back away from his face as he kept his eyes keenly upon her.

“And what would that be?”

“Actually, um, this isn’t it, what I’m about to say.” She fumbled over her thoughts, hardly believing the words she had on the tip of her tongue. “See… we are having a company function in a few months.”

“I want to go out with you again before that,” he teased, causing her smile to tighten.

“Yes, I know. I just understand how your schedule is and wanted to know, well…” She looked down at her lap, nervously fidgeting with the tablecloth. “If you’d be my date.”

“So you trust me to not embarrass you, huh?” he goaded, causing her to shake her head and smile. Then he added, “Do you even have to ask, baby?” He grinned. “I’d love to.”

Baby…

“Great, it’s the last Saturday in April.”

Julian pulled out his phone and looked at his schedule. “I’m booked, but I have enough notice where these appointments can be switched around. He began to punch information into his phone—she assumed text messages and calendar updates.

“We’ll be dressed up; the restaurant is kinda fancy. The party will be in Atlanta. It’s for one of the upper management guys. Darryl Perfeti is retiring…a really good guy.”

“Got it…now, I want to see you again, soon, but before all of that, I need you to do something for me.” He arched his eyebrow and a mischievous grin creased his face. The perfectly trimmed goatee completed the roguish look.

“What?”

“Lean over this damn table and give me a kiss…”

She looked at him for a while, toyed with the notion of protesting just for the sake of it, then thought, ‘Fuck it.’ Tossing her hair back, she leaned over the table and pressed her lips into his like he was her man and there was nothing left to consider. Soon after, she reclaimed her seat. The soft music in the background didn’t match the tempo of her beating heart. Not with the swarm of busy butterflies in her gut. Hard as it was, she tried to act adult about this, yet her attraction to him kept growing and growing until she couldn’t contain it any longer.

“Actually, I have a meeting tomorrow night… However, the next day I’m free. Would you like to do something then?” she offered, finally coming back into the moment.

“Yeah, that’s cool. What did you have in mind?” He leaned casually back against the chair. His eyes said things to her. Things like he was waiting and wanting…

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “Maybe the movies, something like that?”

“I tell you what, and there is no pressure. How about you come by my house after work. We go to see whatever movie you want, and then come back to my house for a nightcap. I don’t like taverns too much, but I have a really nice bar that I built myself, in my home.”

“Your house? Hmmmm.” The butterflies made a back flip. “I don’t know about that.”

That perfectly arched brow shot up again. His eyes sparkled with devilry. “And what is going to happen when you come over? What are you worried about?”

“I suppose nothing. Don’t get your hopes up,” she countered, semi-joking. “Can I trust you to not try to touch me?”

“No, but if you don’t want me, I won’t.” He looked dead serious.

“You just said I couldn’t trust you!” She laughed.

“No, you asked ‘Can I trust you to not try to touch me?’, and I said ‘No.’ But then I added, if you don’t want me to, I won’t. Meaning, if you tell me you don’t want me to touch you, then I’ll respect that but otherwise, I may do just as you’ve mentioned. You’ve got to pay close attention, sweetheart.”

“I’m so sick of you and I don’t even fully know your ass!” She laughed.

He grinned and nodded. “You know me enough, at least for right now. That’s why you’re still sitting there…”

They simply stared at one another for a long while after that. He paid for their dinners and they walked out, hand in hand. On the drive home, he told her a story that had her stomach cramping from laughter.

“…And I just shouldn’t have done it. You know, that’s how it was back then though. You’d experiment on your best friend. My best friend at that time was a woman, my ex-wife. I was good with pen on paper, but skin is slightly different. Skin stretches, moves. Skin is alive. So she uh…” His vibrant eyes turned into tiny, blue pools as they narrowed in thought. He was stifling a damn laugh but she knew he couldn’t last long. He turned the car down the next street and continued. “I started up again, and she wouldn’t stop moving, and I was laughing, and she was too… She said it tickled real bad. It was supposed to be a dragon, but instead it looked like a long piece of shit with a tail…”

Milan burst out laughing, unable to hold it in any longer. She’d asked the man about the worse tattoo he’d ever given, and this was his damn story.

“I had the nerve to try and draw scales on it…so now, it just looked like a dried out piece of shit, with a tail.”

“Stop it! Stop it!” She cracked up even louder.

“I then drew a smiley face on it, so now, it was a happy piece of dried out shit, with a tail.”

“Oh Jesus take the wheel!” She leaned over to the side, panting. “Why in the world did you do that?!”

He shrugged, a goofy smile on his face. “I was trying to correct it! Of course, all I did was make it worse.”

“Okay, okay, tell me about the worse customer you had.”

“Ohhhh man. Nah, I can’t do that. You might hold it against me.” They reached a red light.

“No I won’t.”

“Alright.” He swallowed. “This actually just happened not too long ago. This guy walked in, and I accept all people, okay?” He gave her a quick glance, as if trying to convince her of his sincerity. “I don’t care what someone’s body type is, how old they are, none of that, as long as they are legal and in decent enough health to receive a tattoo. Well, this guy walked in and he had a bunch of tattoos. They didn’t look like much so I assumed they were homemade or from some artist that didn’t know what they were doing. So, he walked in, and no one jumped up to help him. It was like…instinct. We all just kinda knew it was going to be a mess. It was strange, like a universal premonition. As the owner, I had to eventually go up.”

“Why didn’t you just make one of your other guys go up?”

“Because they had customers already and Angela was on the phone with a potential client. Still though, if a cute woman walks in, Cedrick will stop whatever the hell he is doing to try and claim her and schedule her in, and Alex will always jump in to help, too, like, he’ll say, ‘Hold on, someone will be with you in a sec,’ and tell his customer to hold tight. But this time, they didn’t budge. So anyway, the guy was like four hundred and fifty pounds, easily. It is harder to work with people that are extremely skinny, or very obese, because the skin, the canvas basically, doesn’t act the same. The more layers of tissue, the harder it is at times, or if there are too many bones jetting about…but I’ve done it, no biggie. Yet this guy was just giving me a vibe, you know.”

“Oh boy…”

“Yeah, I’ve got good intuition on shit like this.” The light turned green and he began driving again. “So, I introduced myself to the guy, and asked him what he was looking for.” Julian ran his hand leisurely over the steering wheel, and took a deep breath. “He wanted something on his asshole.”

“What? You mean his butt cheek, right?”

“No, he wanted a tattoo drawn around his damn asshole, Milan!”

That did it. Milan slumped in her seat and covered her face with her hands as her body rocked with laughter.

“He wanted me to tattoo, ‘T.P.B.H’, which means, The Portal to the Black Hole.’ I refused.” Julian threw up his hand; his face twisted in a grimace, as if he were re-living the traumatic ordeal, making Milan laugh all the harder. “I knew for a fact I wasn’t doin’ that shit, and he couldn’t pay me enough. I told him we don’t do those kinds of tattoos and he made a big stink about it.”

“A big stink?! Couldn’t you… couldn’t you have chosen different words just now?!” She gasped, trying to regain her composure, but miserably failed.

“All this dragon shit and asshole talk is so mature, isn’t it?” He smirked as they drew closer to her home. “Oh man, it was crazy. I could spend hours telling you about some of the stuff I’ve seen in that shop. Georgia has all kinds, I tell ya.”

“Who are you telling!”

“Speaking of assholes, how are things going at work?”

She looked out the window, noting they were only a block away from her house. She resented that. She didn’t want the date to end.

“Well, I put what you said into action, and I haven’t seen much improvement unfortunately, but we’ll see.”

“Keep at it, and if he doesn’t change, go to plan B. Life is too short to deal with that sort of shit. Besides, you’ve been through a lot lately; you need to be trying to get level, get back to your base.”

She gave the man a curious eye as he turned into her driveway. Shutting off the engine, he got out of his car, opened her door, and took her gently by the elbow, escorting her out the vehicle. He walked her up to her door, and for a moment, just a moment, she thought about inviting the bastard in. Funny thing though, he made no attempts to enter. No ‘may I use your bathroom’ excuses; no ‘can I step inside and just sit for a moment’ line. None of the stuff she was accustomed to hearing. When he picked her up, he’d done the same—stood right outside the door, like a perfect tin soldier gentleman.

Taking the initiative, she leaned in, wrapped her arms around his neck and touched his lips with her own, eliciting a throaty moan. He took over then, parting her lips with his tongue, and easing his way inside. He held her tight around her waist, bringing her a bit closer into his body. Cinnamon wrapped root beer flooded her taste buds, and the sweet, odd mixture tasted beautiful going down. She clamped onto him tighter, causing his soft, long hair to brush against her cheek. After slowly rotating his tongue inside of her mouth over and over like a slow hip grind, the ride eventually came to a complete stop. He stepped back and ran his hand over his lips, his keys dangling in his hand.

“I’ll see you soon… Give me a call tonight if you want.” He kept walking backwards, leaving her standing there with an impish grin across her face.

“I’ll do that. Thanks!” she called out. “The food was good; thank you for the experience.”

“Thank you for coming and being open minded enough to try…” He winked and blew her a kiss, then drove away.

I want to fuck that man…

She slammed and locked her door.

‡

Chapter Six

Julian couldn’t fight his surprise once Milan told him she had to reschedule for later that evening and to nix the movie, because first she needed to go grocery shopping. According to the gorgeous accountant he’d been fantasizing about non-stop that day, she realized she barely had anything in her cupboard, like old mother Hubbard, and was afraid of the predicted snow fall to come. Just like most of Athens and its surrounding areas, the mere threat of a deathly, white flake daring to hit their red soil covered ground caused everyone to go into an uproar, as if the second coming of Christ was woven into the eye of the pending storm. He laughed it off and let her know that he would take her to the grocery store later that evening. Of course, this seemingly struck her as odd, and she said so, but she agreed to his new terms, stating she’d be arriving soon.

Even still, he could tell from her tone of voice, something was amiss. He asked her if she still wanted to go to the movies, and she said no. He didn’t push it, but something wasn’t right. Regardless, he had things to do before she arrived. Milan had never been to his home, and due to this, he made extra sure everything was just so. One thing he was certain of as he went over his small, glass end table with a hearty helping of glass cleaning spray he’d concocted out of vinegar—she’d never forget this evening. Anyone that stepped into his house was in for a treat and had a mélange of things to focus on; odds and ends to sort out in their minds. He had items organized, somewhat tidy, but he surrounded himself with articles he felt were important, but many others would find, well, weird. Extraordinary tribal masks here, bottles filled with various ointments there, collected spiritually charged gems, bowls of pretty, round things, sparkling healing crystals, stacks of fresh, unopened tarot cards and some over a century old, enough incense to smoke out the entire state of Georgia, and a golden bowl filled with the cinnamon sticks that he loved to chew like gum.

The plans had changed, but he was okay with that. He was able to roll with the crashing tide. He ran a hand over his semi-exposed chest. A button-down blue denim shirt clung to his form. He loved that shirt; it was the perfect blue, paired well with his eyes.

I know she’ll be hungry…

He put on a pot of tea and checked his vegetarian cheese rolls in the oven. He then walked into his first floor hall bathroom and made sure there was enough toilet paper, wet wipes, all the things he surmised a woman would want. After a while, he sank onto his olive green couch, picked up his ‘Inked magazine’ and crossed his ankles, enjoying the break. He lounged about, the few candles glimmering from the fireplace hearth aiding in relaxation. Not a good ten minutes had passed before he heard the bell. He tossed the magazine on the black ash wood cocktail table, stood to his bare feet and made his way to the front door of his duplex home. There she stood, her hair parted down the middle, a light tan leather jacket on, some form-fitting dark blue jeans and evergreen boots with white fur trim. He wasn’t the least bit surprised that Milan stayed on the edge of the current fashion trend. It didn’t bother him though; hell, it suited her personality, and he was just fine with that.

“Hi, gorgeous.” He smiled at her. “Come on in.”

“Hi, thanks…”

She handed him a large golden box of imported teas wrapped with a big silvery-blue bow, then shoved her hands in her pockets.

“How nice, thank you, Milan.”

“You’re welcome.”

She stepped inside and immediately began to set her sights to varying areas of the house. He closed the door and locked it, placed the box of tea down then stood there quietly, allowing her a moment. He didn’t miss the way the material of her pants hugged her perfect, round ass.

An ass like whoa…

He stroked his goatee as he sized her up, drifting in sexual thoughts, embracing them fully.

“Wow! What a house,” she said, looking around. “Those are crystals, right?” She pointed across the room at a lit display of therapeutic, iridescent rocks and gems. Sade sung in the background, ‘Hold On.’

“Yup. Go on over, don’t be shy. Take a look around… Hand me your coat first though.” She handed him her jacket, and he took notice of her emerald green V-neck sweater. It looked wonderful against her complexion. It only took him moments to hang the coat up. Milan moved around the display, carefully surveying his wares. Soon, he was right beside her.

“I collect them.”

“Some of these are beautiful. What’s that one?” She pointed into the glass cover at a large light pink gem shaped like a dull sword.

“That’s rose quartz. Is that the one you gravitate towards? Does it call to you?”

She chuckled. “Well, I don’t know about all of that, but yeah, it’s pretty.”

“If it is the first one you noticed, or the one you keep coming back to, then it is the one you need.” He gently scooted her out of the way by clasping his hands around her hips. They met eyes for a moment, the sexual tension mounting like a jockey on a horse. He opened and lifted the case, removed the large gem, and placed it in her hands. “Feel it, rub your hands along it.”

She looked at it, turning it all different directions. “This thing is huge. You must’ve paid a lot for it.”

“Well, it wasn’t cheap. Do you know what that one is specifically for?”

“You know I don’t know anything about this new age sort of stuff.”

“It’s old age. The medicines you all use now are new age, but I digress. Rose quartz, sometimes just called pink quartz, helps with negative emotions, love and relationship issues. It helps to attract love, too.”

“So it’s the match maker of the gems.”

He laughed lightly. “I suppose you could say that.”

He thought about how he’d had on a rose quartz pinky ring the night she called the shop. He’d slipped it off to work that morning, then right before he began to clean up, he’d slipped it back on…

“It also helps with grief…” He hesitated then continued, placing his hand along her back. “What happened today, Milan?”

She opened her mouth, and got ready to no doubt lie to him. To tell him she didn’t know what he was talking about, or to laugh it all off. The more he stared at her, the more he wanted to touch her. He couldn’t help but pull the woman even closer into his personal space. She hung her head and gripped him.

“It was a terrible day at work, and…for whatever reason, I found myself angrier than I’ve been in a long time.”

“Come with me.” He took her hand and walked her out of the living room, into his family area which blended into his modernized kitchen equipped with black appliances. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Yes…” She sat down, gripping the crystal. “Your home is a little strange, Julian, but I like it. As odd as it is, it feels comfortable, you know? The swirly tattooed artwork is really nice, boarded in red. You have a really good eye…you’re talented. Did you do those?”

She pointed to the life-sized paintings on the walls by baseboard to ceiling windows.

“Yes, I did…and thank you.” He came over to her and handed her a cup of tea. “I don’t know if you are hungry, but I’ve got some things cooking. After we talk, I can take you out to the grocery store, too.”

She nodded, then sighed.

“Thank you.”

“So, tell me exactly what happened. You had a bad day, you got mad…” He sat next to her and crossed one leg over the other, his ankle on his knee.

“Well, Martin is at it again.” She rolled her eyes. “It seems he thinks I was kissing ass, because I was being nicer. I don’t know. He’s been making comments like, ‘You must really want that promotion, huh?’ and saying ridiculous things like that, as if I’ve sold out. No, I agreed with you Julian, that I should try to change the situation a bit, you know, try to let him see that we had some things in common—but all he did was use it to boost his own ego. Now he thinks he has me in the palm of his grubby hand. I…I hate that man.” Her eyes darkened. She appeared more saddened than angry in his opinion, but he didn’t interrupt. “Do you know what he said to me the day after my mother died? I had come into the office to get a few things and take a week off for her funeral.”

“What did he say?”

“Well, maybe now you can get some work done and concentrate when you get back.”

Julian scratched his chin; his lips drooped, as he was certain his disgust showed. “He sounds like a real prick.” He leaned back against the couch, propping one leg up on the table. In the background, Sade now sung, ‘I Will Be Your Friend.’

“He was one of those people that told me she was in a better place now, then two minutes later, asked me about an expense report.” She snorted, as if her throat were clogged with mucous. “Sorry…”

“No need to apologize.” He casually glanced at her and pointed to the teacup. “Drink up. Sounds like you have a sinus issue. This will help… No dairy for you tonight, though.”

She chuckled.

“Thanks for being so understanding about my bad mood, Julian. I know that this is not exactly the evening we’d originally planned, nor is it pleasant conversation for a date. I’m sorry.”

“Come on now, Milan. We’re beyond that. You said it yourself,” His teeth sunk into the fleshiness of his bottom lip as he surveyed her breasts for a brief spell. “We are having these sort of discussions because we’re supposed to. I’m your friend, okay?”

“Yeah.” She huffed, looking down into her cup. “Let’s talk about something else,” she said cheerfully, trying to no doubt switch up her miserable mood.

“Okay, fine. Let’s talk about what I just said to you.”

She looked at him in confusion. “What part?”

“About being your friend. I lied. I’m not your friend.”

She swallowed, circled her hands around her mug a bit tighter as her bewilderment undoubtedly grew.

“What I mean is,” he grinned and casually looked away before turning back towards her, his body warming as his eyes glossed over, ever so slightly. “I’m trying to be more than just a friend, Milan.” He couldn’t help it, the words came out and his eyes centered on her lips. “I see something I want…and she’s sitting right here.”

“More than just a friend, huh?” She took another sip of her tea, nervously tapping the cup with her fingertips as she broke their eye-lock.

“Look, don’t sit there trying to act like this is news to you, okay?” He smirked. “You already know how I feel. You’re too smart not to. Anyway, I really like you, want to spend all of my free time with you. When I’m not on the phone with you or we’re not together, I’m thinking about you. I like that. It feels good. I’ve been out of a relationship for a while now.” Yeah, he was having that sort of feeling—compelled to get it out, to be straight up with the woman and tell her where he was coming from, where he stood. He wanted her to open up completely to him. Her mind, body and soul—he wanted it all.

“How long?” she asked, her interest definitely piqued.

“About nine months or so. I’ve dated here and there in the meantime. I don’t need to keep doing that though…the search is over.” They were quiet for a while as he stared deep into her eyes, trying desperately to not kiss her just yet.

“Are you still good friends with your ex-wife?”

I like that. She wants to make sure the coast is clear for her…

“Yes, we are still friends. We don’t talk all the time though.” He shrugged. “It’s not appropriate and well, her husband doesn’t like it.”

Milan nodded. “You can understand that though, right?” Her brow arched.

“Well shit,” He ran his hand over his face, dragging his lips a bit. “Of course I can. The man knows I was her first love, her first everything.”

“Are you completely over her and your ex-girlfriend?” Milan set the cup on the table, slid off her boots then folded her white-sock-covered feet underneath herself. He was being interviewed, fuck that…interrogated, but he could take the heat.

“There’s nothing to get over. You see, Milan, this is how I see relationships.” He leaned forward and clasped his hands together. “They are chapters in my book of life. I shared a chapter with a woman, my ex-wife. A long, beautiful chapter, but we were too young to be in such an intense relationship. We are also far too much alike. We thought that was in our favor, but it wasn’t. It caused clashing.” He picked up his cup, took a quick sip then set it back down. “With the ex girlfriend, my last relationship, she and I just didn’t mesh well. She wasn’t a bad person, just not the person for me. Like I told you…” He reached over and caressed her chin. “I know what I want.”

“All chapters end,” she mumbled.

He knew it was coming from some place else, but he was going to set the record straight.

“Nah,” he shook his head. “That’s not true. You see, there is something called a ‘never ending’ story. It is like a series that just goes on and on, or a great song that you can place on repeat. We, as people, decide when something ends. Even after death, love never dies.”

She nodded, seeming to enjoy his words.

“I want you to be that song with the continuous beat…that story where the end is no where in sight, Milan.”

He moved in closer to her and wrapped his hand around her neck, bringing her to him. She smiled shyly as he gently titled her chin upward, brought her lips to his.

Kissing.

Slowly, their breathing intertwined. They took turns running their hands along each other’s bodies, one after the other, panting, reaching and grasping for air.

Nina Simone broke in, her voice coating the mood the way only she could.

“You’re going to heal…” He paused and looked into her eyes, so close together; their personal space became one. “You’re going to address your pain over losing your mother. The man at your job is just a symptom of unresolved issues. He is attracted to messing with you, because you’re vulnerable.” He gripped her face between his palms and laid a gentle kiss on her forehead. “You just lost your mother, baby…your best friend. No one can replace her. You did your best. Now, you have to start living again.”

Milan’s eyes glossed over once more. She swiped at them and looked into his eyes. “I love this song…haven’t heard it in years. Nina Simone singing this song reminds me of you.”

“How so?” he asked, getting up to go turn off the oven, then returning to her side.

“It’s called, ‘Black is the Color’ and that one lyric that goes, ‘Black is the color of my true love’s hair… That’s you.”

“I’m your lover?” he asked, knowing the answer, just wanting her to say it.

“I hope so…”

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’”

They kissed, looked into each other’s eyes, then kissed a bit more…

“Let’s have a talk before this goes any further…” He cleared his throat, growing serious.

She hung her arms over his shoulders, her gaze heavy with what he perceived was unadulterated lust.

I want to fuck you, Milan…fuck you good ‘nd slow, fast and hard… and all night long. But first, let’s get this shit out of the way.

“I have a question and a statement. I’ll say the comment first. I’m kinda, what’s the word? Wired I guess, to be monogamous. This aint to say I haven’t had what they term, ‘casual sex.’” He smiled and put his hands in quotes, causing her to grin. “But I don’t want this to be like that, okay? We know too much about one another.” He ran his fingers lightly through her hair. “We’ve shared too much; we have something deeper than that shit. So, my question is, are you interested in settling down? Of course, it is in the new stages, and if I’m moving too fast, tell me, and I’ll back the hell off.”

He could tell by her facial expression she was taken aback.

“Well, I mean, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought of you that way…or wondered what it would be like.”

He nodded. “Okay, well, no pressure. We can try it out, you know? We can be together, just you and me, and see how it goes. Now, that aside, there is something else I need to address.”

She looked up at him, her lips a bit pouty.

“And what is that?”

“I need to make love to you tonight…” He ran his hand along her cheek, then down to her neck, folding her pliant body into his own. “Can I?” He softly kissed her temple and waited for her answer.

“Yeah….” She tossed a naughty smile his way. “That’s what I want.”

“Well, I know this is kind of a mood buster, but it is a necessary discussion before I take you back there…” He pointed towards his bedroom. “I’m healthy, STD and HIV free. I have condoms, too. Are you on birth control, anything like that?”

“Not anymore… I’ve been off the pill for a few months. I didn’t see the reason to continue to take it under the circumstances. It wasn’t like I was seeing anyone.”

He nodded in understanding.

“And I’m disease free, too,” she added, her eyes glimmering.

“Do you have any allergies to latex?” He hated these sorts of discussions, but he was an adult, and he prided himself on being responsible. It had to be done.

“It is a little irritating, but not so much that I can’t deal with it,” she whispered as she circled her fingers around his collar, pulling him a bit closer.

“Okay, so here is what I’m thinking. We’ll use the condoms tonight, and then, since we are seeing each other, not going to date other people …”

She smiled at his words, no doubt realizing he was stamping ownership to her ass right then and there and it warmed his heart.

“We can both get tested sometime this week, together.”

“I’ll get back on the pill,” she interjected, her voice raspier as she tried to hurry his ass along. Her body language screamed to him as her gaze continued to wander back in the direction he’d pointed.

“Alright, and after we get the results, and you’ve been on the pill for a little bit, we can forfeit the condoms since they can be irritating to you. Enough of this shit, let’s go.”

Standing, he quickly picked her up, causing her to scream out in astonishment as he snatched her from her seat. The restraint he needed in order to get through the conversation damn near killed him. His dick throbbed against his blue jeans, ready for action.

He marched her down the hall and swung the door open, revealing his black on black bed. The coated wood in matte ebony perfectly matched the layers of black sheets. He loved his bed. It represented dominance and splendor, and he’d hand selected it himself for it’s high, hand-carved posts. When he placed her on her feet, she let her eyes dart about the room, filled with unlit red candles all around. The sizeable room wasn’t congested with furniture, or odds and ends. Only his bed and a fireplace, like the one in the living room were the main focal points. He didn’t even like a television in his bedroom. This was a place to retreat, his sanctuary. It served a few purposes: sleep, read, rest and make love.

She pointed to two paintings, also done by him in a similar style as the ones in the living room.

“I am going to have to buy one of these from you.” She turned and faced him. He could sense her nervous energy as she tapped her finger against her lower lip.

I bet she hasn’t made love in awhile. Maybe it’s wishful thinking on my part.

“I’ll give you one. Tell me which one you like most, and it’s yours, but we can talk about that later. Right now, I need you to take your clothes off, but leave your underwear on for me, baby.” He reached for the buttons of his shirt, undoing them slowly, methodically, as he watched her undress from hooded, hungry eyes.

She reached for her sweater, and pulled it over her head. He followed suit, tossing his shirt to the side. Soon, his jeans followed…then, she just stood there, staring at him with her mouth hanging open.

“Oh my God, you are covered in tattoos, Julian!” she blurted as she scanned his body. “And…they are beautiful! I’m…I’m sorry for screaming like that. I just never thought—”

“That you could find something like this sexy, right?” He nodded. He knew from the very first moment he laid eyes on her that they were different, but they had enough in common to cling to one another. He understood that his naked form was not something one would see every day. From his broad chest, down to right above his knees, Julian was a walking work of art. Most of the tattoos were devoid of color—simply rich, black ink against his skin, designs by illustrious tattoo artists from around the damn world. He took great pride in his body, and it was something he’d give away to the woman he was without a doubt falling in love with…

“Everything on my body, and inside of it, has purpose, meaning. Now, climb onto the bed. Sit in the middle of it with your legs crossed. I’ll join you in a second.” She did as told, then he briefly left her to bring the crystal, a long dark Eagle feather, a bag of sage and a lighter from the kitchen. He walked around the room, lighting the majority of the red candles he had placed about, then put a little ambient lounge music on.

“You like that?” he asked as he scratched behind his neck, under wisps of his hair that he’d pulled up in his signature sloppy bun.

“Yeah, that’s nice…” she said a bit timidly.

Her soft tone only turned him on further. Despite her apparent shyness, he knew that below that surface, he was about to take control of a very naughty woman and it pleased him deep within. He didn’t care if Milan was a bad girl, as long as it was only with him…

Sitting in front of her, he mirrored her expression and set about preparing her for something he trusted she wouldn’t soon forget…

‡

Chapter Seven

Milan tried not to stare, but it was no use. The man was stunning and the way his thick, long cock constricted against his dark gray boxer briefs made her pussy scream, ‘Lord have mercy!’

It had been a while; she felt compelled to tell him so. For days, she daydreamed about fucking him, and now, the dream was coming to fruition. Their mutual sexual attraction stood at its breaking point. She had to have him.

“I haven’t had sex in about a year,” she admitted, feeling like a fool once it rolled off her tongue, but she needed to warn the man to take it easy and not judge her rustiness too harshly. She thought of herself as a good lover, but everything takes practice and she’d been out of the loop.

“Oh…okay. It’s not an issue, baby.” His head down, he kept one hand on each knee, his legs crisscrossed, as if about to do meditation.

“Well, I just thought that would be something you’d like to know.”

“Okay…well, now I know.” He shot her a dark, lopsided smile—all knowing. The shit made her tingle. How could a man appear so caring, yet so dangerous at the same time?

“I want the same things that you do.” He caressed her knee ever so slowly with his index finger. “Right now, at this moment, I am addressing my needs and desires. Desires change; needs don’t, however. What I need in my life is a committed, monogamous relationship with someone who is a giver and receiver.”

She had never, in her twenty-seven years on the planet, heard a man say such things before a romp in the hay. Julian was blowing her fucking mind. It was like a slow torture, the way he spoke so leisurely. His touch, caring yet devastating and heated with desire. She drifted her gaze down to his dick again; the damn thing pushed like a snake against the fibers of his underwear. A line of downy, dark pubic hair started from his navel until it disappeared behind the material. If he had what she surmised, she was in for a real treat…

“I see a beautiful woman before me,” he continued. “Her skin is the color of a prairie sunset, or even more accurate, a flower pot…the old fashioned kind that is baked out in the sun.”

She grinned and looked down into her lap.

“I desire to touch her, to be deeply inside of her. I need to be with her. You see, all of the things you and I wrestle about—the astrology, numerology, reflexology, all those ‘ologies’, aside—there is one component that we agree on…and that’s love.”

“Yes, I concur completely.” She sighed as he continued to trace her flesh, slowly trailing his finger up her inner thigh.

“Love is simple, it’s not complicated. Case in point…” He cleared his throat. “The very first time I saw you walk into my shop, I looked at you and thought, ‘Wow, she’s really attractive.’ From physical attraction grows soul attraction. I found myself attracted to who you were.” He pointed at her heart.

“Because you were sharing with me, and they were things I could understand, agree with and relate to. They were personal things, words you hadn’t expressed, for whatever reason, quite that way, with anyone else. I was given those lyrics from your heart, as if they were a gift. And, they were a present, from you to me. You were wounded, we all are, but you were surviving, and that’s…that’s powerful.” He looked deeply into her eyes, pulling her into his web of mysteries, making every cell in her body jump. “Your suffering drew me to you. Your overcoming of such conditions is what makes me fall in love with you. From the top of your onyx-colored hair, to your cappuccino-colored eyes…” He traced the short bridge of her nose. “Down to your cute little nose, past your cupid’s bow, to those sweet, plump, naturally rose-colored lips, you are magnificent.”

She searched for the honesty in his eyes, for an inkling that she was possibly being misled. She knew the artist in him compelled him to say such beautiful things. He was a creator after all. His baby blues gleamed bright with sincere alertness, taunting her as she tried to talk herself out of the truth. The present was real, tangible. Her cheeks—her entire body—grew warm with the pleasure of his words, with the heat of his intense stare upon her partially covered temple.

She uncrossed her legs and brought her knee up to her chin, cradling it close like a favorite baby doll.

“Now, sit back.” His voice grew more serious, dripping with base like a damn subwoofer. That vocal energy that had lulled her into an easy trance was now gone as he sat back in his natural form, done with the lullabies. “Now, I want you to monitor your breathing. I want you to breath in and out, slowly…slowly… that’s good.”

She focused on him as he reached over to the side and picked up the pink crystal. As she sat there breathing, controlling her exhales and inhales, he took the tip of the large, pencil shaped gem and tapped it gently on her collar bone. It felt cool and smooth to the touch. He ran the thing slowly down her neck, back up and over one of her breasts, then back down until he’d reached her hips.

“I want you to fall into a memory, something pleasant. Something that makes you feel like you could almost float away. It could be the first time you went to the beach, the first time you fell in love; anything that is a pleasant memory, that brings you great joy will do.”

She searched her mind for such an account, but was left temporarily distracted by the man’s thick, dark lashes that masked his shimmering blue eyes as his face hovered above hers. The faint scent of cinnamon surrounded her. His skin glistened with what she assumed was oil, yet he didn’t feel slick to the touch. His face appeared practically flawless…

Damn, he is so fuckin’ sexy…

“Are you focusing?” He seized her out of her ornery deliberations, brought her back to the here and now.

“No…but I am now.”

He continued to trace the crystal up and down her body, and it never seemed to warm to match her body heat. Instead, it kept her mindful of its cool presence as he continued on the path, detailing her body as if she were a sculpture. So lulled into a pleasant trance, she fell into the recesses of her mind and plucked a memory like the petal of a golden rose, and brought it to her nostril for a hearty sniff…

She was sitting on her father’s lap in their living room. The television was on—the ‘Cosby Show.’ She was no more than six. While Dad hummed to her, Mom was cooking dinner. The smell of the food took her on a trip, for it was her favorite: spaghetti and meatballs. Mom had a special way of making it, and she always looked forward it…

The oddest thing occurred at that moment in time. It was as if she could really smell it. Suddenly, the scent of fresh herbs…pungent oregano and fragrant parsley got so powerful around her that she could almost taste them; even the garlic bread baking inside of the old oven.

The sounds grew louder, the sensations sharper. The television…Dad’s humming…the clicking and clacking of spoons inside of pots. Her bouncing lightly on Dad’s knee…

Milan gasped when Julian touched a feather across her shoulders. He went back and forth, but it was hard for her to keep her damn eyes open.

“It’s getting good to you now,” he whispered. “Your muscles are so relaxed…keep on.”

And she did; she played the memory out until her heart was overwhelmed with the shit.

I miss them!

Her soul screamed! But…through the misery, she was happy! Dad and Mama are together again, now.

She wandered back into the wondrous memory as this man continued to administer his gentle touch all over her damn body—the crystal again, his fingers, his mouth…

The plaid chair her father was plopped on, his tawny skin covered in slight facial hair sprinkled with gray…

Yes, she could see it. The man loved her, adored her!

Dad was just a man’s man but that particular day, he picked her up from the ground, gave her a hearty kiss and a hug and took her over to the chair, as if she were his favorite person in the whole damn world. All the while, Mom sang her own song in the background while cooking…

Julian broke her out of her remembrances once again when she felt the softness of something brush against her skin. The touch of the feather jarred her as he traced it down her bra, and before she knew it, he’d plucked one breast out of the satin cup, and then the other. He didn’t massage them though; no, his fingers didn’t even graze her nipples. Instead, he leaned in close and slowly blew warm air against them, all the while tracing her with that damn feather, teasing her to the point of no return. It was the oddest of combinations, but somehow, incredibly erotic.

“Keep resting…keep your eyes closed,” he murmured.

He paused and got up; soon, she could smell sage burning. A familiar aroma as she’d bought sage incense once. He was back at her side, now running his fingers through her hair, but in no ordinary way. No, he dug his fingertips into her scalp, applying slight pressure as he moved them around, as if trying to increase the blood flow.

“Damn that feels good…” How could a head rub be so therapeutic and so erotic at the same time?

“Let me talk to you, about the moon…” he said, continuing his massage. “The moon holds the keys to our memories. It unlocks historical personal references of elation and condemnation. It is our personal healer. Tonight, there is a full moon. That brings out a person’s true nature, their animalistic side. The things that give us the most satisfaction oftentimes are tied to experiences in our early childhood.”

Can he read my thoughts?! Of course not… I was just thinking about my childhood; how can he be so in tune with me?

“We try to mimic those emotions, those feelings, by chasing the moon… We go to other vices to duplicate the first time we fell in love, kissed, the first time we got a wonderful birthday gift. The moon stores all of those treasures and it stores the bad stuff, too. The time we fell off our bike. The time one of our parents, in a fit of rage, told us off or embarrassed us in front of our secret elementary school crush. Tattoos, Milan, are addictive because they are a form of healing. Tattoos are tied to the moon. The people that gravitate towards them want to be in pain, in order to receive maximum pleasure. It’s called purging, kind of like sweating a cold out. I lived in constant pain to remind myself that I was alive, and had so much to live for…”

He’s killing me…

She felt his fucking rock hard dick brush against her pelvis as he continued to lazily draw with the feather and his hands across her damn body.

“We must not leave the Earth without ever experiencing loving someone, and someone loving us back. If we are open to our moon, it will ensure that we have that, at least once. I believe that you called my shop not just for a tattoo, but for healing. Your moon drew you to that. My moon made sure I heard you calling. I liked the sound of your voice on the other end. I said to myself…” He continued to trace her skin, making her flesh goose bump to his touch and throaty, sensual words. “She sounds sexy as hell…”

Milan tossed her head back and laughed, arching her back, which gave him access to run that damn feather down her throat. He pressed his fingertips into the pit of her stomach, bringing forth a moan from somewhere deep within. Her pussy pulsated as he continued to touch and speak.

“Then, when I saw you that first time, well…you made my fucking dick hard.”

She swallowed, clutching a bit of the thick black fabric on the bed.

He leaned in closer then, to speak into her ear. Tossing the feather aside, he ran his hands up and down her stomach, careful to not disturb her love zone.

“…And then when I spoke to you, and saw you crying, you made my heart soft…” She heard his breathing increase as his lips hovered by her face.

“And then, when I gave you your tattoo, and we talked all night…you made my brain happy…because, you’re smart…opinionated, and not afraid to show it. Mmmmm…” His deep, husky moan stirred her groin like a spoon in a pot. He kept his hand over her panties, venturing down, rubbing her ever so subtly over the material.

“Uhhh…” She pushed into him, ached for his touch.

I can’t take much more of this!

Her horniness at a fever pitch, she lifted her ass off the sheets. He gently shoved her back down by placing his hand on her shoulder, but his fingers kept moving, roving over her again and again until she’d saturated her damn underwear.

He clasped his hands together behind her, and dug them into the hollow of her lower back. Taking one of her nipples into his mouth, he drew on it, brought it forth. His tongue rotated around the damn thing all while his lips clasped around it.

Oh my God he’s got skills!

The mixed pain and pleasure made her pussy lips soften and coat in honey elixir, but damn him! He wouldn’t touch her clit, would do nothing more than orally massage her breasts—and it was driving her insane. He pressed a bit harder into the pit of her lower back, causing her to utter groans of discomfort, but the sensations he gave her with his tongue added fuel to the fire, and she knew that somehow, if he stopped pressing into her, his sensual touch would lose its effect.

“Uhhhh!” She tossed about, losing herself.

“That’s it, Milan…that’s it. Just let go…relax. I’m pressing into your back, and it may hurt a little, to help your body release the pain and tension you’ve stored in it. You keep your grief in your back, neck and shoulders, even more so than your gut I’ve noticed and it rests here when you relax. It doesn’t go away; it just makes you believe that it has, so you can get through your day. But I’m here to tell you that tonight, I’m going to make it vanish for good…”

He pressed a bit harder.

“Oh God!”

“Tell me when you can’t take it anymore…”

“I can’t take it anymore, now! That…really hurts!” Her eyes rolled in the back of her head and before she knew it, he plunged his hand into her panties, keeping her down with the weight of his body, forcing her into the plump, black pillow and sheets, their erotic canvas shimmering with candlelight.

“Ohhh!” She arched her back when he pressed his lips to her jawbone, and his shoulder pinned her down nice and hard. His fingers were doing things, moving fast and quick as if they’d been trained in aerobics. His long fingers sprawled, then drew closer together until he cornered her clit between two knuckles and grinded them gently against her bud. “Mmmm! Oh God!”

After removing the pressure from her back, he moved both hands across her bare pussy, sending her into sensations she never knew possible. One hand held her flower wide open while the other danced in her valley, taking her there.

“Mmmm!” She gripped his arm, her fingers digging into it with no mercy. “I think…”

“You’re going to climax…let it happen…let it happen…Shhhh….” He cooed in her ear. “Just relax…”

He kept on and on until she was practically curled in a fetal position, her hands bear-hugged around his neck as his lean, muscular arms continued to strum her like a guitar.

“Ahhhh! Ahhhh!” She arched into him, her eyes feeling wide as she took in the ceiling, noticing the damned thing seemed to practically sparkle now. “Ahhhh… Oh God…” Her pelvis bumped and vibrated against him; he kept her steady in his strong grip as the pleasure exploded within, in a billion euphoric pieces.

“Goooood, baby….” He whispered in her ear, then gently layered kisses up and down her cheek. “Perfect…”

Panting, she found it difficult to catch her breath. He continued to gently kiss her, relaxing her just so. She finally settled and gradually ran the back of her hand over her forehead.

“Oh boy…that…that was intense.”

Cradling her, he looked down at her, a soft smile on his face. She smiled back.

“So, you think that would be enough?” She raised an eyebrow. “No, I need your dick, Julian.”

This caused him to laugh so hard, he rolled over and almost fell out the bed. She followed suit, caught in the moment.

“It looks like I’m a little too relaxed…just saying any ol’ thing.”

“No, no,” he said, composing himself. “That’s good. I believe in complete honestly, especially about things like this. You need to speak up when you want something from me.” He leaned over and gently kissed her lips, then lay back down.

“It was really good. I don’t think I’ve ever had an orgasm like that before…whatever the hell you did…”

He ran a hand along his cock, then he pulled his underwear partially down.

“Julian, stop playing.” She was going to hit him, and hit him hard, if he didn’t get this show on the road.

He cracked up laughing even louder this time, his hand landing lazily against his tight abs.

“Oh shit… You are so funny. I love it.”

Unable to take it anymore, she rolled over on top of him and tugged at the damn things. His cock seemed to swell against her groin; her wet panties bunched as she grinded against him and kissed him longingly. Burying his hand in the back of her hair, he kissed her just as diligently in return, and grinded against her, his pelvis working her to the bone.

A white boy with rhythm…it gets no better…

“Take ’em off…” he instructed between intense kisses.

She did as told, snatching his drawers down to his damn ankles. He kicked them away, but she didn’t notice where they’d landed because her eyes were too busy sizing this motherfucker up! Her mouth salivated at the sight before her. The long, thick member, veiny, and a couple shades darker than the rest of his body called her pussy by name. Equally amazing was the size of his balls, and though he had his share of pubic hair, he’d trimmed the black strands neatly. As she assessed him, mesmerized, he suddenly rose and cupped her dripping wet pussy with the cradle of his palm, then snatched the wet underwear off, causing it to fly across the room. He buried his head in between her breasts, then kissed them, his affections soft and warming…and then, he paused.

“Hold up…”

“Mmmmm,” she moaned and sat up, confused.

“All right, hold on a sec.” He grunted as he reached toward his nightstand, pulled out the top drawer, and removed a box of unopened Magnums. He tore the damned thing open with his teeth, like a ravenous beast impeded by a thin barrier from his main course. Grabbing the base of his cock, he slid the thing on in a perfect, swift motion. His dick looked so thick and juicy, it seemed the extra large condom would not suffice. That alone turned up her internal heat impossibly hotter and higher.

It’s always the tall, slender mothafuckers that are packin’…

“Mmmmm…nice dick.” Unable to resist, she reached down and touched it, making it bob back and forth.

“He told me to tell you ‘thank you.’”

They both burst out laughing and before she knew it, she was rolling around like a ball down a slope when he grabbed her and turned her on her back. He smiled down at her, looking like a naughty little boy that got a one-day pass to get a little pussy, and before she could say a short prayer, he slid the thick head inside of her, making her scoot toward the headboard at the unbelievably tight introduction.

“Dammmmmn….” He moaned low and throaty, clinging close to her, wrapping his body around hers so that she could barely breathe. His warm breaths coated her as his hands found their place against her hips. He took slow, shallow thrusts with only an inch or two at a time, opening her up. He threw his head back in abandon. “Fuck! You feel so damn good! Shit!” Those sweet, flowery words he’d given her moments before were now replaced with the sexual utterances of a man wanting to give in to his primal desires.

Despite the monster between his legs, he was as gentle and loving as one could possibly be. “So tight…baby…” He groaned and slowly closed his eyes, disappearing within himself as he continued to push in and out of her, ever so careful. Then, he went a bit deeper…

Shit!

“Ahhhh! Ah…” She pushed on his pelvis, trying to slow his already snail-like pace.

Damn, he is huge…

“Does it hurt?” He paused, concern etched in his eyes.

“It’s just been a while…” She smiled sadly, pissed at how the situation was going down. In her mind, she had butterflies and lilies all over the place, a fairy dripping pretty, pink sparkling dust all over them, and the sun rose and set on their bobbing asses. Towards the end, they were supposed to be hanging from the chandeliers, singing songs of utter enchantment with vibrant melodies and then eating breakfast in bed, by candlelight… turkey bacon for her and tofu for him.

“I’ll take it a little slower…” He lovingly kissed her forehead and continued on until he was invested in a rhythm, pumping with due diligence and fortitude. “Is it getting better?” he asked with a school-boy grin, right before layering her chin and neck with sweet pecks.

She realized it didn’t matter if it had been a year or one hour since her last sexual encounter. Julian’s cock was enormous, and it would take some getting used to, but damn did he know how to work it…

“Yes, it…it feels good now…real good…ohhh…” She held him a bit tighter, wrapped her thighs snugly around his narrow waist as he dove that big dick in and out of her, leaving her inked from the inside out. “Oh shit…” she gasped, barely able to keep afloat. The goodness turned into greatness, twisting her every way but loose. Relief was coming, in a way she never dreamed possible. She whined and braced herself, about to explode! The feeling crept from her stomach, inched its swarthy way down to her pussy petals, and hit the buzzer as he bumped lightly with each forward motion into her swollen love. Then, he sealed her fate when he rose on his arms, intensity showing in his eyes, love all across his damn face. He winked at her then, and she warmed with an internal squeal of delight as he marched within, faster and faster. Wrapping one hand across his ass cheek, she felt the damned thing compressing and the dimples on the side of his hip collapsing with each hard propel within her.

“Uhhhhh! Uhhh, shit!” He bit into his bottom lip and drew closer to her, keeping himself only slightly raised as he looked between their bodies, no doubt watching his own dick disappear and show again while he fucked her like he meant it. He ran his tongue along her earlobe, and hummed. The oddest thing, yet so befitting.

What song is that?

Then, she realized, it was no song at all. The vibration flowed through her temple and his thumb made tiny wet outlines across her clit as he kept pumping within her.

This sneaky, strange bastard!

“Ahhhh, ah!” She hugged him tighter.

“Release it…let it go!” he encouraged, as if feeling her astonishment that she was about to cum again. He slicked his thumb faster across her sensitive nub and dominated her entire form with his words, the pressure from his hard, strong body, his hand dedicated to her pleasure and his dick pushing her wide open, plunging deeper and farther than the depths of Hell. “Uhhhhh!” He grunted, his face reddened as a vein in the middle of his forehead and the side of his neck bulged. His eyes hooded, he gripped her thigh, heartily propelling inside her with no apologies. “Uhhhh, baby! Cum for me, baby…cum for me!”

…And she did as he asked.

“Ahhhh! Ahhhhhhh!” As if having an out of body experience merged with a spiritual awakening, she virtually climbed off the bed and hung from that archetypal chandelier she’d yearned for. So what that it happened all in her mind, she loved it all the same. Loved how he clung to her, keeping her tight in his grip, and ensured her hips stayed home to meet his continued demanding thrusts. He increased his pace, no doubt losing control of himself. Even a man like Julian had his limits with patience, and from the look in his eyes, his time was up…

“Ahhhh….Oh God…” Milan sighed as she fell back against the bed, suddenly aware that she was covered in sweat and hotter than a stolen car on a one hundred degree day. Her body had conked out, and now, all she could do was stare up at the man, who was pounding deep inside of her, making her feel every damn inch of his rock, hard arduous nature.

“Uhhhhh!!! Almost there!” he cried.

“Do it, let me see it!” she urged, suddenly filled with renewed life.

“Where do you want it?!” he screamed, fighting against the clock and his demanding cock.

“Cum on my stomach…”

Julian suddenly pulled out of her and ripped the condom off, causing a popping noise. Grasping one of her breasts, he stared into her eyes and pumped his dick a few, hard and fast strokes, forcing his copious, creamy load to shoot onto her tummy. “Uhhhh! Uhhhh! Mmmm!” he groaned, jerking his dick hard and rigorously, covering her in his liquid appreciation. “Uhhhh….shit!” He sat up on his knees for a spell, his eyes closed, his heavily tattooed chest heaving, and breathed hard and heavy. Ropey strands of sweat flowed down the man’s face like shower water in slow motion as his body glistened and contorted, making those damned tattoos dance as if they had legs, rhythm and reason…

He was…so beautifully made.

Milan looked up at him, her eyes struggling to focus as bits of blurriness took over her vision. During moments of clarity, she gained her appreciation of such a masculine, stunning display. Even if he had not had one illustration on his toned, fit, body, he still would be a walking piece of art that she wanted to study, savor and devour with her mind, body, and now, her tattooed soul. Julian’s temple shook against her, as if having an aftershock. He swallowed hard, let out a fractured breath. She was afraid to blink, afraid she’d miss one glimmer of magnificence. She stared at his dick, now only half erect, trembling at the sight of its splendor, and surveyed the mess he made on her. Dare she admit it, the sight of it turned her the hell on. Following her eyes, he glanced down at her, now reminded of his dick painting… Shades of white…

‡

Chapter Eight

“You want to take a bath together?” he offered, sounding a bit winded.

Milan nodded and sat up slightly, afraid to disturb the sheets too much, lest she get everything sticky. She had no reason to worry. Julian excused himself, and in the distance, she could hear him preparing the waters, tinkling around in the bathroom. She noted the fast moving shadows, but not too fast…no, just the right pace to let her know he was hurrying, but not rushing.

Soon, he was back at her side and lifting her in his arms. Incense smoke bellowed from behind him in lazy clouds, daring to be observed as they waved their flagrant scents for them to enjoy. He carried her away like a new bride, looking lovingly down at her as the incense continued to pet her face and kiss her nose with pecks of Egyptian musk. When they’d entered the blue and black tiled bathroom, she was in awe how he’d taken the time to place on some new music, some funky chill remix of Freddie Joachim’s, ‘Sweep Away my Sorrows’. He’d lit flickering jade tea candles that made the bathroom dance with sensual flames…

So romantic…

He lowered her into the water—at the perfect temperature—filled with glorious clear, iridescent bubbles and ripples that framed her languid form.

I feel so relaxed, so alive…

From the safety of her new wetland digs, she observed him remove two thick washcloths and towels from the slender shutter closet door inside their aquatic retreat. He laid them down on the toilet seat, then turned to her and placed one long muscular leg after the other inside the basin, until he was sitting on the opposite end, his feet on either side of her. The mischievous glimmer in his eye delighted her soul, called to her on so many levels. The drip of the faucet added the perfect percussion sound as they both just simmered, enjoying one another, melting into silence. The exchange remained nonverbal for quite some time, their shared glances saying enough. They said nothing, but said everything. No words exchanged for the time being…

The, he broke the quiet with the simplest and purest of declarations, while he moved his fingers along the edge of the tub, as if trying to remove a stain, or a sticker that refused to budge. “I’m not through with you.”

He shifted a bit in the water, causing it to crash against her breasts, now growing a wee bit cold while the rest of her simmered hot and bothered right below the surface.

“When we get out of this tub, I plan to have you again and again, until I’m too tired to do it anymore…and after I rest, I’m going to eat your damn pussy…then I’ll be inside of you again…until…the break…of dawn.” He slicked his long tongue over his lips, his gaze hooded.

“What about what I want? What about my wishes?” she teased, no doubt looking coy as her pussy throbbed from his commanding words.

“These are your wishes. And I’m in the granting business.”

“Well.” She grinned, looking at her toes that peeked up out of the water as they grazed against his upper thighs. “Since you think you know everything, what do I wish for right now?”

“I’ve already figured that out, too. You’re spending the night. The groceries can wait until the morning. Your wish is my command, baby…” And before she could respond, protest or tell him that her pussy was wet again but the damn tub filled with sudsy water covered her truth, he rose on all fours, crawled to her like a prowling lion. The water sloshed about, but her gaze fixed on his eyes that were full of deviancy, like the dark smile on his handsome face…

Fuck!

*

“This is called St. John’s Wort.”

“That sounds like something a Catholic occultist puts in a pot,” Milan quipped as they sat at Julian’s black granite kitchen table, her groceries piled into the man’s refrigerator, making it now at full capacity. She was surprised it didn’t burst at the shiny, black seams. The guy insisted on purchasing them when she was more than capable of getting her own things. He also slipped some of that ‘funny food’ into her cart, the kind with only three or four ingredients written on the back and looked as if it had been pulled up by the root from some old lady’s overgrown backyard. She pretended to not notice as she pulled the strings from his over-sized black hoodie she now wore and lowered her gaze once again to her bowl of cereal…

Cereal…

A nasty taste coated her tongue like prickly pickle juice as a troubling memory bubbled up from the recesses of something hidden and locked away like the long, lost hellacious ordeal that it had been. She hadn’t thought about it since her mother’s passing, yet here it was, filling her mouth with puddles of saliva that made her want to vomit…

Vomit…

Mom threw up a lot towards the end…couldn’t keep any food down. But she kept down the cereal.

The memory had been awakened the day after she’d met Julian, but now, it demanded center stage.

“…It had to be done just right,” Milan mumbled as she ran the spoon through the bowl of vanilla coconut milk and the Captain Crunch she insisted upon, despite Julian’s warnings regarding the dyes.

“What had to be done just right, baby?” he asked as he popped a thin, wheat cracker into his mouth and closed the refrigerator door.

“Her cereal. If…If I had the dried fruit in there, the apples, you know, from the oatmeal, then I had to pick it all out… but she didn’t want the plain oatmeal; she’d throw up that. No, it had to be apple, but without the apples, and it had to be a specific store bought brand, not Quaker. She could tell the difference. I had to go to that store, because no other stores carried it…” Milan didn’t understand what she was saying or why, but doing so felt cathartic. So she treaded forward, dragging her internal craziness right along for the ride.

Julian kept mum, just moved casually about, shirtless, his jeans unbuttoned at the waist, like he belonged in the web of insanity of her declarations. He’d unbuttoned them as soon as they got home, giving her more evidence that his comfort level with her had increased tenfold.

He nodded as she spoke, as if she were singing a song that he liked and acknowledged, then casually grabbed a shiny red apple from a ceramic bowl on his kitchen island, leaned against the counter, legs crossed, and bit into the thing. His eyes, so blue, said so much, and that dark hair fell all over his shoulders, now with a slight wave from their mutual shower earlier that morning—the one where he caressed her shoulders so slowly all the while sucking on the side of her neck, and rocked inside of her until she fell apart against the slick, wet wall…

He chewed noisily, his brows dipped in deep deliberation. Transfixed by the sight of him, she felt as if she could just do this—this shit that she didn’t want to do, but felt compelled to. As if sensing her internal struggle, he looked down at his bare feet, strong limbs covered in veins and a small baby toe on each foot that turned awkwardly towards the others as if needing their opinions to simply walk. She grinned at the notion, but the joy was brief, so very brief…

“Keep going…”

His urgings sounded like song lyrics, drifting on deaf musical notes that no one heard, but loud and clear to her.

“The cereal, I’d put it on a tray.”

“What color was the tray?” He took another bite of his apple and looked down at his long hands, nonchalantly studying them.

“Does it matter?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Why ask then?” She turned away from him, shoving her own bowl aside.

“Because you want to tell me the story. So, tell me…”

“It was cream colored, an off-white. She had to have the orange juice, too. It had to be in a certain glass I had. She said the glasses were hers, and that they’d been in her family for years. That wasn’t true. I’d just bought those glasses from Macy’s before I moved her in with me. She threw the cereal at me, telling me it wasn’t the kind she liked.” Milan hung her head, scratched at an imaginary itch under her nostril. “Julian…watching her die was the worse experience of my life. Even crueler though was watching her trapped in her own goddamn body, and her brain failing her, every damned day.” Her voice cracked like a fallen egg against the floor. “She was…miserable. She became combative, not herself. I had to wrestle her into the bathtub most mornings. The cereal became my obsession. I’d stand there in my kitchen, before she awoke, and I’d…I’d count each piece of dried apple. It was crumbly, white dust was all over it from the oatmeal flakes. I still remember how it felt between my fingertips.” She ran her fingers together, as if she were carrying a piece at that very moment.

“I’d pour the hot kettle of water over the flakes and just watch it; then, I’d add a bit of cold milk, and that would make the temperature just right.” She looked towards his kitchen window, her stomach finally starting to settle. “Every now and again, she’d have moments of lucidness. Like, one time, she looked at me and said, ‘When are you going to get rid of that ugly white sweater?’” Milan burst out laughing but stifled it with both hands, shocked at herself. She felt a prisoner to her own self now, witnessing a show that went on without her permission. In typical Julian fashion, he didn’t react. He just looked at her, and took a final bite of his apple before tossing the seedy core into the trash receptacle, causing a thud. He crossed his arms, cleared his throat, and simply waited. No pressure.

“It was funny!” She finally burst free, allowing her mouth and heart to have their will. Hot tears streamed down her face, hotter than the tea he’d prescribed to her the day they’d met, hotter than her anger on many nights when she couldn’t rest due to her mother’s incessant calling out, hotter than the oatmeal that landed on her hand as her mother tossed the bowl her way in an angry fit. “It was fucking funny! She hadn’t made fun of that sweater in so long…she hated that sweater! I wore it all the time. It was my lounge sweater, the kind you only wear in the house. She said those words, and it…it made me just want to crawl up under her linty robe, Julian, and die with her right at that second…because then I could die happy, you know?!”

He nodded, leisurely grabbed a tissue from a nearby box and presented it to her.

“Thanks…” She gripped it and blew her nose, dotted her eyes then balled it tight in her fist. “I haven’t been able to talk about it until now. Grief is something else…” She shook her head. “People tell you that you should be over it by a certain time, that like, if you’re still talking about it months later, you must just want attention or have trouble coping with life. Some people say things like, ‘Well, she is in a better place now…’ Really?! How the fuck do they know, huh?! How do they really know that?!”

She sniffed and pulled at Julian’s jogging pants that were swallowing her legs with their length, even though they were the smallest ones he owned.

“Something unusual, medically strange, happened to my mother. She didn’t get cancer, or something like that. You see, people can understand that, you know?” She looked up at him, wanting something back this time, and realized he was so well plugged into her, their souls were tattooed together. He pulled up a chair and sat beside her, placing his hand over hers. He understood.

“No woman, even at her age, is supposed to get dementia like that, out of the blue, and have it turn to Alzheimer’s. I had…I had video, Julian, of my mother just months before, living it up at her birthday party. My cousins and me, my friends, her friends, all of us were in that woman’s house with the cake, the music, the presents! She was a gray haired fox!” She gripped his hand tighter. “I gave her a big hug, and she hugged me tighter when I said, ‘Happy Birthday, Mama!’ I had no idea it was marking a chapter in our lives that I’d never get to read again! Never! She was stolen from me; the woman I knew was stolen right under my nose. And in her place was this miserable person who didn’t want to go on, but she didn’t know how to ask me to make it stop, because she didn’t trust me…because she no longer knew who I was!” She stabbed her chest with her finger, the tears once again falling fresh against her cheeks. He squeezed her hand tighter, and leaned in so close to her, she could smell his cinnamon-scented breath. It soothed her in her time of need.

“I was the little girl, she told me, that she prayed for. She wanted to be a mother so badly, but it just wasn’t meant to be, she’d said. And when she’d all but given up, there I was! Nine miscarriages later, there I was! She told me that story a hundred times… She said she never had any issues in the pregnancy with me. She was high risk, but the pregnancy was so normal, so right, one of the happiest times in her life—and when I was born, things went so smooth, the doctors were shocked. It was like she had no history of reproduction issues at all. She said I was her miracle, and that was what she was going to name me, but then, she saw a magazine in the store right before I was born, and on the cover was one of her favorite opera singers, James Levine. It said that he was performing in Milan.”

She released the tissue from her hand, and held his tighter.

“She said her stomach was out to here, and she could barely see her bag to get the dollar or two out to buy the magazine. The guy in the store showed pity on her, and just handed it to her. It was her lucky day, she said. When she walked out, she thought about how she liked the sound of ‘Milan’, and wished she could be there to see him perform. Instead, she named me Milan; it was the closest she’d get to it, she believed.

“I was planning to take her to Italy for a surprise, Julian. But then…she got sick and her doctor told me it wouldn’t be a good idea. The tickets, everything was paid for. I had tickets for an opera house there, too…but she never made it to Milan…” She clutched on to him, barely able to see his damned face through the tears. “The illness…it…it stole my mama…stole my mama right from me, Julian!” Anger had a flavor, and she was choking on the shit with each word she sobbed out, falling deeper into a pool of despair. “It stole my dreams for her, her dreams for me; it stole my best friend! I was…so close to my mother… Some may have believe unnaturally so.” She glanced down at her lap. “But…she got me, she understood me. She had high expectations for me, although nothing that wasn’t realistic, or not obtainable. She helped me. That’s all she ever wanted to do…” Pain crawled up her throat, choked and twisted her passageways. “She was like that with everybody. The forever helper…”

They were quiet for a while. He softly kissed her cheek, and let her sob against his shoulder.

Suddenly, Julian’s phone rang, interrupting Milan’s trance-like state. She sat up, startled, as if she’d been awakened out of a foggy dream.

“Go on, get it,” she urged.

He leisurely crossed the kitchen and picked up the cordless house phone receiver. She hadn’t even realized he had a house phone. She hadn’t seen anyone under the age of thirty-five with one for quite some time.

“Yeah…” He put the phone on speaker and marched to the sink to clean up the glasses in which he’d made their green smoothies early that morning. He’d said he wanted to make sure she got some vitamins in her before he took her out onto the slick, ice covered roads.

“Hey, where are you?” came a woman’s voice. “You’ve got people here.”

Milan swiveled in her seat, suddenly aware of the day and time. It’s Saturday. Of late, her days with Julian were all blending together, like music remixes.

“I know…I’m busy. Can you hold it down?”

There was a brief pause.

“You never miss work, ever. Are you okay, Julian?”

“Angela, yeah, I’m fine. Who do I have today?” He retrieved the dish towel and went over a plate before placing it on a rack to finish drying.

Milan interjected with a whisper. “Julian, if you need to—”

“Shhhh….” He turned to her with his finger to his lips, then continued to work in the sudsy sink water. He ran a yellow sponge over some glasses and disassembled the blender parts.

“Who’s over there?” the woman questioned.

“None of your business. Now, who do I have on my schedule?”

The woman on the other end gave a faint laugh, one that seemed all knowing.

“You have a twelve o’clock with a Kyle Rafferty, and a five o’clock with a Janet Newt.”

“What is Kyle getting?” He turned the water on, rinsed the black rubber of the blender under a hot stream, shook the contraption then placed it on the drying rack.

“Um, says here a cobra climbing up a pole with some sort of insignia, I believe it is military.”

“Okay, check Alex’s schedule and if he can’t squeeze him in, call Gail and see if she can come in and help.”

“But she isn’t finished with her apprenticeship.”

“Doesn’t matter. She is doing that just so she could work with Clyde, add it to her resume. She’s already licensed. She is really good and could handle that fine. I’ll be in for the five o’clock.”

“Okay. I’ll call you back if either Alex or Gail isn’t available.”

“Alright.”

And then he hung up.

Milan kept staring at the man, knowing he’d done all of that for her. He was giving her a place to fall apart, but she felt so guilty. Julian was clearly an overachiever, but left that dual-edged burden alone, tossed it to the side as if it were nothing while he focused completely on her and her needs, solely. She hadn’t had someone take such care of her in a while, so much that the sense of neglect all became hot with rawness and sudden awareness. She’d become accustomed to being ignored.

After a few moments, he dried his hands off and sat down beside her again. He took her hands in his, ran his thumb over her fingers as he smiled at her, the way a long time sympathetic friend would.

“Now, where were we?”

“You were supposed to be at work…” She chuckled, swiping another tear away from her eye.

“I’m supposed to be wherever I chose to be…and I chose to be with you.”

“Hmmm, you like me doing this to you? Breaking down like this…”

“I can’t stop what you’re doing. I don’t want to stop what you’re doing.”

“I feel so…”

“Weak? Grief isn’t weakness. I can’t leave you alone because you’re stronger than me.” He reached across the table and put his shirt back on, allowing it to hang loosely open.

She looked at him for a long while, then turned to stare down at the half eaten cereal just sitting there, coagulating. Her head hung a bit lower, and his grip on her became a bit tighter, until somehow he’d picked her up before she’d even noticed he’d released her hands and stood. And then, he sat her on his lap, and held her head to his shoulder. She gripped his shirt in a tight grasp, quietly crying, saturating the damned thing. She vibrated against his hard body and all he did was gently kiss her skin, stroke her cheeks and slowly rock her against him…

Now, she wasn’t sure what made her sadder. The fact that she’d ultimately released her hurt and pain, or that she looked him in the eye, and finally said it…

“It’s true… Mama’s really dead now…”

The sickness, the funeral, nothing made it completely real until that very moment. She looked around her surroundings, foreign to her, yet somehow familiar. She sat on a strange man’s lap, but he was no longer a stranger. In fact, that morning he assured her that she was his, and he wasn’t going any damn where. Peculiar emotions assailed her, although they, too, weren’t that odd upon closer inspection. No, those emotions were old, rotting and stewing. She had simply pretended they weren’t there, but they’d fermented, stunk up the place. In some bizarre way, Julian made her feel comfortable enough to toss the blood soaked rug of negativity off of them, reveal the rubbish and cart the mess out to the trash. The stench still lingered, reminding her of what once was, but at least, this was a start.

Yes.

This was a start down the road of recovery, and he was right there by her side.

Spring-cleaning had commenced…

‡

Chapter Nine

Three weeks later…

The needle dove deep into the flesh of the patron, and the guy sighed with sadistic pleasure. Angela appeared unable to keep her teasing to herself, and it was rather unnerving. He was sick of all of them. It didn’t help that Alex also chimed in, an unlikely culprit, but the true ringleader was Cedrick, who went for the jugular.

“Whew!” the man would shout in a garish fashion, his pierced tongue wagging about in some oddly obscene way. “J-man has been gettin’ laid!” He then took a poll to ask who’d seen the woman. No one would confirm it either way. Julian was tight-lipped about his personal matters, but he already knew they were on to him. The number one suspect was the stacked honey brown sweetie that kept coming up to the shop every now and again, dropping off vegetarian lunches for her sweetie when he’d complain of being swamped at the job. She’d show up dressed to kill in her form-fitting yet professional dark suits and her hair always styled to perfection.

He knew how it looked to many; they were a visually odd pairing, but he knew better—they blended perfectly. Most importantly, he liked what was happening to him. He was open and ready to take it all in. He’d arrived.

He was in love…

He thought about her all the time—a telltale sign he was in this deep. With work no longer center stage, his heart waved a red flag that said, ‘Fuck you and your damn shop. I want that woman.’

Instead of his work suffering however, it got even better. Being in love made a special beauty come out, one he believed wasn’t as strong before Milan walked into his life. He hated to admit it, but his art was many times led by his emotions. Now, the ink manifested a bit richer, the elements a bit more detailed, an extra minute or two was taken and he smiled a bit more, too. At least according to Angela… That didn’t stop her from ruining his mood, however. In the last few days, the nuisance of a woman had tried to make him look at the accounts. The invoices were a mess. She chided how Julian wasn’t taking this seriously, and he would end up being a taxation nightmare, more than likely owing way more than he actually should, due to poor recordkeeping.

Initially, he blew her off, believing he could fix this situation at the last minute, as he always did. It usually involved long hours of sitting at his dining room table, combing through bits and pieces of wrinkled receipts and cursing the day he was born. He’d get through it, but now that business had exploded, no way could he do this on his own anymore.

“Julian!” Angela called out after another customer left and he began the process of cleaning his tools.

“What?” He looked over his shoulder; sure he didn’t want to hear whatever she had to say. The woman seemed to think better of it, but made her way over to him, red patent leather Mary-Janes clicking on the floor, a twisted black and red rose tattoo snaking up her pale leg.

“Why don’t you ask your girlfriend to take a look at this for you? She’s a certified accountant, right?”

“And how do you know that?” He grimaced as he tossed a bag of bloodied gauze in the trash.

“It was in her paperwork.” Angela smiled coyly.

“You are so damn nosey.” He grinned, then thumbed her chin before turning away.

“Well, why don’t you?”

“Because it’s my business, and it’s not for her to fix.”

Angela sighed loudly. He peered at her reflection in the mirror, catching her placing her hand on her hip, her bright red 1940s pin-up style attire bunching as she twisted about, angst and frustration clearly on her face.

“Typical man, shit…” She huffed and crossed her arms. “Why can’t you just admit you need some help? I don’t have time to fix all of this. Look, your popularity is a problem in this case. Your business has more than tripled in the last year, Julian. You can’t do this by hand anymore.”

He looked past her out in the lobby area. Three customers were waiting, two of them thumbing through magazines, and they would soon be joined by at least two more in the next hour. He’d already resigned himself to the fact that he needed to interview applicants and hire two more artists, something else he dreaded.

“Look, she might not even charge you.” She winked at him. “Just ask her to take a look at it, please?!”

“Nope. Get back to work,” he barked. “The phone has been ringing off the hook.” He pointed to her desk as if she’d lost direction. “That isn’t a church bell, you know. When are you going to answer it?” he snapped.

He turned his back towards her once again, but could feel her heated glare. Finally, she stormed off. Giving a sigh of relief, he fell into his chair and spun around, taking five to steady his mind. Reaching into his pocket, he slipped out his cellphone and called the one person who could ease his tension and make it all better.

“Hey, baby,” he crooned, unable to wipe the smile from his face. He checked the time. “Just callin’ to check on you…” He ran his hand down the front of his black jeans as he leaned far back in his chair.

“Hey there to you, too!” He could hear the smile in her words. “What are you up to?” Her smile—the prettiest thing she ever wore.

He glanced over at the waiting area.

“About to take care of another customer and then make some calls…need to hire a couple more artists.”

“Yeah, that’s good though, right?”

“It is, I just hate doing interviews.” He stifled a yawn as he slowly pivoted in the seat. “I know what I’m looking for in an employee but it takes a while sometimes to find a good match. So…what are you doing tonight besides coming over my house for a romp in the hay?”

“You are killing me, Julian. Aren’t I allowed to go to my own home anymore?” She laughed.

“Of course! But that means I’ll have to come over there then, which is fine. Am I smothering you, baby?” He grinned wider, knowing that she actually enjoyed all the attention he was giving her. The flowers that arrived at her office, the little love notes and the mysterious two-hundred dollar reimbursement that showed up in her mailbox with a short letter that read:

I was going to give you the tattoo for free, but if you blew me off and I never saw you again, I figured I better get something back for my time…

“Yes, but I like it,” she admitted, interrupting his daydreaming.

“Good. I will be getting out of here late tonight, unfortunately.” He took a deep breath and exhaled it. “But I can—”

Suddenly the phone was snatched out of his hand and a certain female made a mad dash through the salon lobby toward the front door, those damn heels clicking with all of their might.

“Angela!” he angrily cried out.

Shocked out of his mind, it finally settled in what had happened. He’d been so heavily involved in his conversation, he hadn’t seen her ass creep up on him and rob him blind. He got to his feet and went after her, bursting through the doors like a maniac out for blood. He looked from side to side, and spotted the little vixen-styled asshole a few feet away, gripping his phone as if she were dialing 911. She looked at him out the corner of her eye and slowly backed farther away, but there was nowhere for her to escape…

“Give me my goddamn phone!” He stormed towards her, his heart beating out of his chest and his temples pulsating. She started to panic, speaking faster and higher as she continued to move away from him.

“…And it’s a mess, that’s why, Milan! Please help him! The jerk won’t ask you, he has too much pride!” She sprinted off, trying to make a go of it across the street, but it was too late. He yanked her shoulder back. “Milan! You gotta tell him to—”

He snatched the phone out of her hand, causing her to yelp in pain from the way he twisted it from her tight grip.

“Ouuuu!”

Angry, he brought the phone back to his lips. “Whatever she said, Milan, ignore it.” He served Angela a withering glance.

“I most certainly will not. Matter of fact, since I am on my work phone, and my lunch break is coming up soon, I am heading over there to see what’s going on.”

“It would be a wasted trip!” He went back inside the place, feeling heated all over as anger and a bit of shame took him under its humiliating wing. Soon, panic set in. He couldn’t let this happen. “I can handle it.”

“What? Like you have been, Julian?”

“I’m serious, Milan. Don’t—”

But she cut him off, and he was listening to the dial tone. Furious, he shoved his phone in his pocket and turned around only to see Angela sitting in her chair, looking at him with a big, silly smile on her face, as if she were an innocent kitten that had gotten caught out in the rain.

“I should fire you…” he seethed, seeing red, bloody red!

She looked down at her desk, covered in a pile of tracing paper and hand-written phone messages. Reaching over the mess, she casually pulled a silver nail file from her pencil holder and proceeded to work on her black lacquered nails, clearly not giving a hot damn.

“We both know you’ll be thanking me later.”

“Don’t you ever do that again!”

Before he could lay into her even heavier, the phone rang, saving her from the verbal tongue lashing he had in store.

He debated high-tailing it out of there, knowing that Milan was on her way. No way could she make it there and back to work in a hour. On her previous visits, she would come when a meeting had let out, allowing her extra time. But not today…

Should he just accept defeat? He collapsed into his chair, leaned forward and ran nervous fingers through his hair.

She was coming. And there was nothing he could do about it…

*

“Come on…are you leaving or not?!” Milan mouthed as she waited for a space in the crowded ‘Soul Inscriptions’ parking lot. All of the street meters out front were occupied. It was lunchtime after all, and the area boasted some of the best eateries in town. Slowly but surely, the long 1980’s rusted blue Cadillac pulled out of the spot. On the sidewalk, two slick-haired young guys, seemingly oblivious to the world around them, puttered about, laughing and acting silly. Milan tapped her steering wheel impatiently, and glanced at her car time. She backed into the space, then walked to the shop, fully expecting a fight with Julian while she demanded to see his records. Smirking, she imagined having to grapple him to the ground, knowing full well she could never win a fight with him that involved pure brawn—but this was a different sort of battle all together, thus, she had a fighting chance.

She swung the door open, immediately drowning in sandalwood incense.

So much for the people with allergies…

Swinging her arm in front of her face, she chased the fragrant clouds of away. People sat in the chairs and on the beige leather couch. A large bowl of bananas set on the table in front of them, along with piles of various magazines. Across from them, a television was set on low with caution captions for some daytime court show. She looked at Julian’s seat and saw that he wasn’t in it. If she didn’t know any better, she’d bet he’d just gotten up and left once he caught wind of her.

Where is his ass? Is he with a customer in the back?

Just then, Angela nodded sneakily in her direction, then pointed to the back room, shamelessly ratting her boss out and divulging his hiding place. Milan smiled at her, and nodded back in appreciation. Holding her head high, she made her way back to the scene of the crime. She hesitated when she reached the door, her mind drifting back to the day he’d taken care of her in this same room, marked her body with sweet memories she could treasure, and opened a flood gate for a love like she’d never known. She cleared her throat, but before she could knock, Cedrick, the bane of her lover’s existence, spoke up while working on a customer.

“Ohhhhhhh, lover booooy! Your babe is here!” He cackled.

Milan decided to not pay the fool any attention and quickly rapped on the door. A few moments later, it swung open. She stepped inside and Julian swiftly closed the door behind her, as if a damn dead body lay inside and he didn’t want anyone else to see. Much to her surprise, she was greeted with a soft, sensual kiss, and after that, a table covered in neatly stacked papers. Beside it stood a bin full of what she perceived to be receipts, an open laptop showing numbers and figures in an Excel document, and two cups of what appeared to be tea, one at each seat.

“Ahhhh, you decided to bite the bullet, huh?” she teased as she grabbed his hand, bringing him back towards her, and planted another kiss on his lips.

He smiled ever so slightly and pointed to the chair. She sat, allowing him to scoot her chair in, and placed her purse on the table.

“Yes. I thought about chickening out, running out of here, but that would have been silly. I gave my customer money for lunch. He’s a regular… I asked him to give me a hour or two.”

She nodded in understanding.

“So, it’s true?” Milan picked up several papers from one stack and scanned them.

“Is what true?”

“What Angela said? That you’re in trouble…that your records are a mess and you don’t have a good way to track your transactions?”

She could see in the man’s eyes he was going through a great internal debate. Perhaps he contemplated lying about it, or maybe even downplaying it, but she thought better of that when the light went out of his eyes and his shoulders slumped. She recalled, during one of their very first conversations, he hinted at things being overwhelming. Now, the truth had been unfolded.

“Yeah, it’s true.” He took his seat as well as a sip of his tea. He took yet another, swallowing a bit harder, as if it were hard liquor. “This isn’t my strong suit. It’s not that I couldn’t do it. I just don’t want to, and now, things have gotten out of control.”

“I see.” She picked more papers out of the pile and studied them. “Okay, let me see what system you are using.”

He nudged his computer in her direction. “This is the spreadsheet that Angela has been entering everything in.”

“But you have no actual tracking system, like Quickbooks or something of that nature?”

Milan pulled the computer even closer and pushed the down arrow. She frowned as she surveyed the situation.

“No Quickbooks. It didn’t seem very user-friendly. This way was just easier. I understand Excel.”

“But your business needs more than this, Julian.” She continued to read. “Look, right here alone.” She pointed at the computer screen. “This one week, you’ve had fourteen new customers within a three day span. You need to be able to effectively follow up with the customers, offer them promotions, discounts, all of that, so that they’ll be even more inclined to come back to you. Look, once you get used to a tracking system, it won’t seem so bad.”

“But that’s not accounting, you’re talking marketing.”

“In this case, Julian, they are one and the same. If you’re accounting record tracking improves, so will your marketing because you’ll be able to actually see who and what you are dealing with. You can target certain customers for specific promotions, thus, becoming more effective. You can even do things like send them holiday cards or birthday discounts online via a marketing promotion that also includes a 10% off coupon code for return customers. There are all sorts of things you can do that you aren’t currently doing because you are barraged with too much information that isn’t accounted for. These campaigns can work themselves; you can have Angela do it at certain intervals, it would be easy, or you could hire a marketing firm.”

Julian sighed, shoved his tea out of the way and hit his forehead on the damn table in dramatic exasperation.

Milan couldn’t help but laugh. She gently rubbed his back. “Well, at least you have someone that will set this all up for you. Give me what you have and in a few weeks, I will have everything organized and resolved. Then, I will train you and Angela on it. Deal?” She stood, took her purse and looked down at him, the pitiful thing that he was. “I want you to email me every single spreadsheet that Angela is working on by tomorrow morning. Give me some help loading this stuff to my car.”

“Where are you parked?” he mumbled, raising his head, still nursing a ‘woe is me’ expression. “If it’s far, I’ll put it all in bags and folders for you.” He sounded so sad, so she tried to not laugh. “Oh, and thank you…” he added, finally making eye contact as he got to his feet.

She took a sip of her tea and set the mug back down. She was prepared to leave, but he stood in her way, blocking her. She tried going around him, and he repeated his performance, causing them to get into an awkward dance.

“What are you doing?” She smiled.

He grabbed her around the waist, looked briefly into her eyes and kissed her, ran his lips real slow over hers,

Once…

Twice…

…and a bit more.

He pushed his tongue inside of her mouth and gripped the back of her head, his fingers spread firm and far apart across her crown. She gasped with pleasure so he kept on until he had her backed against the wall. Her purse abruptly fell from her shoulder on to the floor as he practically swallowed her whole. With urgent motions, he pulled at her blouse, lifting it up as he stared at her with a dazed, yet seductive look in his eyes. He ran his large hands roughly across her breasts until he plucked them out from their red, silky confines. Then his face disappeared between her mounds, her flesh warmed by his touch as he slicked his tongue over her erect nipples, soon engulfing them one at a time into his hot, wet mouth.

“Mmmmm….” she moaned as she ran her fingers through his hair, trying desperately to not unravel his sloppy chignon. All the while, his hands spread heat over her exposed flesh from the waist up. She gasped for air as he kept her pinned to that wall. The water cooler juddered and bubbled when he gripped the top of her black and white pinstripe pants and brushed against it. He quickly unfastened them, the zipper soon to follow. “We…can’t…do this here.” She moaned.

“Yes we can. I’m the boss.”

He undid his jeans and plunged his pants and briefs down past his ass, exposing a rigid cock aimed right at her zone. She sucked in air as she glared down at it, her pussy tightening and swelling with moisture at the sight. As if on cue, she spread her thighs, inviting him inside, and drifted into an abyss of lust. But instead of doing what she expected, Julian fell to his knees and looked at her pussy as if he were in love with it, and buried his wet mouth between her legs before she could form a coherent thought, causing her to buck against the wall. He lapped at her, squeezed her ass cheeks tight in his grip, focused diligently on her. Every so often he looked up at her with bright blue eyes, and moaned deeply into her sweetness.

“Ahhh…Oh God…” How much more could she take?

He worked his tongue from side to side, until he zoned in on her clit, completely melting her until she was no more.

“Ohhh! Ahhhh…shit!” She tried to watch her voice, for surely it carried and would draw attention, but the orgasm felt so rich and delicious, she could barely contain herself.

Obviously quite pleased with himself from his smug expression, he got to his feet, grabbed her hips and kissed her. She whimpered against his lips when he spread her legs wider and suddenly pushed upward, deeply lunging inside of her…fast, aggressive, hard and needy…

“Uhhhhh….” He moaned in her ear, his thrusts urgent as he churned into her. “Uhhhh!”

Milan threw her head back, her arms outstretched against the wall as he kept her pinned there, taking her body for his own desires and needs. It never felt so right to be so used…

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, felt the contorting muscles of his back under the fabric of his light blue shirt. His moans were music to her ears as he took her, without reservation. Who cares if I’m late to work? This is what I live for, what I crave…

“Uhhhh!” He shuddered and paused, then resumed his thrusts, keeping her so close to him, his gaze hooked with hers, hands gripping her ass cheeks and holding her up. Pelvic spasms rolled deep within her, making her feet muscles flex. He dragged his lips slowly up and down her neck as she lost more and more of her self-control. The world around her grew fuzzy…the tattoo table blurred; the small chair with the wheels seemed to be moving back and forth like a ship rocking about upon turbulent waters. The artwork slanted and she felt underwater, a mere dash upon an abstract painting.

“Ahhhhh!” Her nails dug into his neck. “Ahhhhh!”

He stifled her cries with a kiss, pressing his mouth hard against her own, swallowing her voice as he slicked his tongue between her lips, and plunged even further inside of her.

“Uhhh!”

Warm, masculine hands gripped her tighter as he anchored her just so, pushing and thrusting rapidly until he cried out…

She stood listless, her orgasm subsiding as his began.

“Uhhhh…Uh!” He squeezed her to him, a faraway look in his eyes as he poured his essence within her. She felt the tingle of his deep exhales on her hair as he slowly released her from the wall. Moments later they dressed, observing one another, their eyes yelling loud and clear, ‘We both want more…’

A soft knock sounded at the door. They both heard it, but instead of answering it, they gravitated back towards one another. His unbuttoned pants pressed into her groin, the cold, silver button pushing against her pelvis as he landed another kiss across her lips.

Another knock…

“In a minute!” he called out, then turned his attention back to her. “So, do you have to leave right now?” He winked, a crooked grin on his face that betrayed his wish she’d stay a bit longer.

“You went from not wanting me to come help you, to wanting me to stay.”

“I always want you to stay…” He reached down and buttoned his pants.

“And I wish I could.” She sighed, eyeing her cell phone that lay on the table as her pussy throbbed from his recent visitation.

“Why don’t you just work here, for me?” he teased as he wrapped his arms around her waist and rubbed his nose against hers.

“Mmmm hmmm.” She smirked, begrudgingly wriggling away from his grasp. She seized her purse, trying desperately to ignore the continuous warm pulsing between her thighs.

Damn, I can still feel him inside me. It’s like he never left… Gonna be walking funny all day…

The smirk grew into a grin and though she tried to hide it, she failed. He took her by the hand and led her out of the room, letting her off the hook.

“Everyone,” he called out to his employees. All eyes lifted to him, including those of the customers. “This is Milan. She’s my girlfriend, as most of you already knew, but the news is, she is going to help me with some business matters. That means some things are about to change, for the better.”

Milan looked at him closely, and though he sounded strong and assured, she knew it took a lot for him to declare such a thing. Not the ‘girlfriend’ part—but the part where he admitted accepting her much needed assistance.

Angela stood from her chair and clapped, causing laughter and more applause.

“Yes!” the young lady exclaimed. “We are finally going to get some professionalism around here!”

“What are you tryna say?!” Julian turned and glared at her, pretending to be deeply offended. “I am a damn professional!” He pointed to his chest emphatically, a smile so wide it lit up the room.

Angela smirked and rolled her eyes, then returned to her seat to answer the phone. A few minutes later, Milan’s car was full of paperwork in tubs and bags that Angela happily helped load inside. Milan waved goodbye to both of them, and concentrated particularly on Julian in her rear view mirror.

Damn, my man is just beautiful in so many ways…

The man’s sloppy bun was so sexy, and fit him so well. His strong arms flexed a bit as he shoved his hands in his jeans pockets, his feet far apart in a cowboy stance. Her hero…her hippy bad ass with a healing hand…

She realized something at that pivotal moment, as the man grew smaller and smaller in the mirror, but larger and larger in her heart…

She loved him deeply…

‡

Chapter Ten

“You’re late!” Martin yelled.

“I know. I had to take care of some things.” Milan huffed as she strolled past him, a bit of pep in her hippity hop step.

I hope no one smells sex on me!

She glanced at him from over her shoulder, and lived to regret it.

“How long is this supposed to go on?” He put his stubby hands on his hips and tilted his head to the side, vying for a fight.

Milan stopped in her tracks, swung towards the maniac and sucked her lip, trying desperately to restrain herself. Certain she’d draw a crowd if she elevated her voice, she steadied herself, kept herself together though every fiber in her body vibrated against her bones, shaking her to the core, slinging her over the lap of mercy while she fought with anger.

“How long is what supposed to go on, Martin?”

“This!” He snorted, seemingly exasperated and at his wit’s end. “Lately, you’ve been taking longer lunches and—”

“And when I do, I’ve come in early and I am the last one to leave. I get my work finished and a do few others’ jobs around here, too.” She hoped the bastard caught her drift. “Lord knows you never stay late and I’ve yet to see you take a lunch that only lasted an hour. Ever.” She’d had it. If he wanted to battle, they’d Battle Royale.

“We gave you plenty of time off, you know?” He shoved her accusations behind him, keeping on with his line of attack. “You’re needed at your desk. You still have a job, Milan. You still have work to do, but at this rate, maybe not for long.”

“Are you trying to bully me?! Let me tell you something, Martin.” She marched closer to him, looking up into his sleazy blue eyes, her shiny pink fingernail aimed at his face like a dagger. “I was the only person here during the holidays last year, busting my butt while you and the rest of the guys were out partying with your families!” No, he would not get off this easy. If he was going to step to her, he needed to come correct.

“Don’t get off the topic…you come in here with your head down and looking lost and confused,” he insulted. “We’re all tired of it.”

“I am not in the public eye and I have a right for my face to look anyway I wish to look! I’m so sorry I am incapable of doing a song and dance for you every time I come up in here,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I am not rude to you, nor to anyone else in here, but you sure as hell are rude to me!”

Out of her peripheral vision, she could see necks craning from the sides of the cubicles. Only things missing—bowls of buttery popcorn and the slurping of sweet drinks through long straws.

“If telling you that you need to be mindful of meetings and show some enthusiasm for your job is being rude, then I suppose I will just have to accept that,” he said smugly, crossing his arms over his barrel like chest, stuffed in one of his notorious argyle sweater vests.

“I’m sure you will… Nice way to spin it, Martin. My mother was sick, she was dying, but I still did what I needed to do! You never gave your condolences when she passed, not even a card, nothing! It was all about you, and how my absence was affecting how you appeared to others because you never carried your own weight; you’d just take credit for everything I did. I am really sick of you!” Milan exploded, unable to rein herself in. So much for staying calm and classy, and so much for her afternoon delight that had her feeling relaxed and cool. “I’ve come in here with the flu, horrible sinus infections, stress related mess, and I still showed up on time and stayed late!”

Martin rolled his eyes and glanced at his watch. “Shouldn’t you be back at your desk now?”

“Shouldn’t you be picking up your teeth off the damn floor after I knock them out?! It can be arranged, you know.”

“That’s it! You’re on probation. I’m going to—”

“What is going on here?!” The big guy, Garrett, yelled as he stormed down the aisle way towards the pair, his gut and grimace leading the way. Milan continued on, ignoring the man. Oh no, she wasn’t near finished.

“ My work has been exemplary. I have never been holed up in your office, or anyone else’s, for inaccuracy, lack of time management or complaints from a client. I have worked here longer than you have been out of college, and here you stand, big and bold as shit, trying to throw orders around!”

“That’s enough!” Martin barked.

“I thought you were busy, yet you have time to sit back and watch the clock while I am away! Go to hell!” Her eyes burned with angry tears, ones that no one in that company had ever seen or would even fully understand. Milan had refused to allow anyone to see her fall apart, even during her darkest hour.

Suddenly, a firm but gentle grip circled her arm. Garrett led her down the hall and before long, they were in his massive office with the breathtaking view of a rippling pond, shimmery from the sun’s warm rays. He closed the door and locked it. The scent of new leather permeated the room. She took note of his newfangled office chair, a white showroom price tag still hanging off the side of the massive, expensive thing.

“Have a seat, Milan,” he said gruffly.

She did as told, and quickly swiped at her eyes as she gained her composure. As she sat, she once again felt her lover’s recent ‘presence’ within her. Her body held his trustworthy memory tight. Contentment budded in her gut…

“Okay,” he said, his lips twisted. “What is going on, Milan?” He capped his hands over his stomach, his eyes small and his expression weary. “What just happened between you and Martin? I could hear you all the way outside.”

“Garrett, I have worked for you for seven years, almost eight. I started as an intern. I have done everything in my power to make sure that I was a good accountant for this firm.”

“Yes, you have. You are an asset to the company.” He cleared his throat, his tone monotone and dry.

“Martin has done nothing but try to disparage me and make an example out of me in front of others.” She stabbed the desk with her finger. “I have taken his mess over and over again. When he and I were both accountants, before he was promoted into management, he’d make little snide remarks, some of which, in my opinion, had sexist overtones.” She watched her boss scratch at his face, as if mulling over the information.

“Not once did I come to you complaining about it. I tried to handle it on my own. He has tried to belittle me during meetings, making it seem as if my points were moot. I ignored that as well. Client cases that he and I both worked on, or I had solo, he’d take full credit for. These projections and proposals were not his work, nor his ideas. I took my lumps for that as well.”

Garrett simply stared at her. The blank expression on his face infuriated her. She felt desperate, holding on by a thin grasp to make the man understand that she wasn’t unstable or a loose cannon, but it seemed the more she spoke, the worse the matter became. Nevertheless, she had to keep trying to get through to him.

“I tried hard to get along with him, Garrett, I did. Even more so as of late, after taking some sound advice. I bent over backwards, but that, too, he tossed back in my face.”

“I heard him discuss you taking time off regarding your mother. Neither I nor anyone else is upset about that, Milan,” he offered with a sincere smile. “Again, I offer my condolences. I know it hasn’t been easy. I lost my own mother two years ago and I know how upsetting it is.”

She nodded and looked down into her lap.

“Now, that aside. Let’s address you and Martin. He is your direct supervisor, Milan, whether you like it or not. I expected more professionalism from you. You have to respect his rules as long as they coincide with the company regulations.”

Milan couldn’t believe her ears. Soon though, a thought hit her, and everything seemed clear in her mind.

“He is using my mother’s death and my time off as a launch pad to further other arguments,” she explained, desperate to make the man understand.

“What is going on regarding that? What comments is he making?”

Milan found it rather odd that Garrett never called that son of a bitch in the office, too. Why only her? Although increasingly vexed, she did her utmost to remain cool.

“I’d accrued a bunch of vacation time that I’d never used, but was owed to me. I rarely called in sick or anything, and the one time I needed to use the Family Leave Act, he gave me no sense of sympathy. It was as if he didn’t even care, as if,” she shrugged, “I was gone on some three month tropical vacation, having the time of my life, while he did all the work. And what a smack in the face that was—while I was gone taking care of my mother, he of all people got promoted! I am offended by that, Garrett and I don’t believe for one second that you think he is a better employee than I am!”

There, she’d said it. Garrett asked, and she delivered.

The man sighed, leaned back in his chair and ran his hand over his face. From between his fingers, he peered at her, and if her eyes were not fooling her, she caught a slight smirk on his face.

“This has been really bothering you, hasn’t it? Look…” He sat up and clasped his hands together, leaning slightly over the desk. “Milan, despite what you think, Martin is a good employee. Yes, he can be a bit of a wise guy at times, but he has great managerial skills. I believe you and he are having a personality clash, and it’s been that way for quite some time. Like you, he is dedicated and does good work. He entered this company seeking a managerial position. He’d already been a manager at another firm. That firm closed, and all we had at the time were other accountant positions. We told him to join our team, and when the first opportunity arose, we’d place him. That’s exactly what happened.”

“So, because you told him he could be a manager, everyone else here that has worked our behinds off to also have the same opportunity were tossed aside so that Martin could get what he first came here for? Wow.” She smirked. “That’s unbelievable… actually, I take that back. It is quite believable.”

“You’re twisting what I said.”

“No, I’m relaying the facts of what you said. I’ve been here waaaaay longer than Martin, Garrett.” She was beyond hiding how she felt; it was time to take the show home. “I have had people under me for various projects, demonstrating that I, too, am management material. You and Martin are friends; everyone knows it and that’s fine, but it is getting in the way of your judgment.”

“You’re out of line, Milan,” he said sternly.

Bastard.

Frazzled, she drew into herself, shaking her head in disbelief. “It’s no use continuing this conversation. I see where I stand in your eyes. Am I free to go?”

Looking as much saddened as weary, Garrett sighed. “I don’t want any more public displays like that between you and Martin, Milan. You’re better than that.”

She stood from her seat and glared at him. “He won’t be called into your office today, will he? Instead, he’ll get a pat on the back and no reprimand whatsoever. I’m better than that?” She sneered. “No, I’m better than what I’ve been going through with this company as of late! You’ve put that man, the one that I report to, and his desires above everyone else’s, above the good of the company. You’ll receive my two week notice by the end of the day.” Trembling with rage, she marched towards the door.

“Milan, come back here please!” Garrett voice boomed, startling her.

She didn’t expect to be stopped, or anything else to be said. Truth be told, she was scared out of her mind. She’d be jobless, on her own, but she had to protect her self-respect and draw a line in the sand. The blatant disregard had become too much…

She turned back towards him to find him on his feet, his palms planted on his desk, a look of both anger and desperation on his face.

“I can’t just let you go like this, Milan. Look, you and I don’t see eye to eye about Martin, but you are an integral part of this company. The clients love you; I think the world of you.” He placed his large hand across his heart. “We need to talk this out.”

“I don’t know what else to say.” She crossed her arms, still pissed as hell. “You’ve chalked up the impudence of that man towards me as a personality clash. It is far from that, not even close.”

“…Okay.” He slumped back down into his chair. “I will have a talk with Martin, okay? I have not witnessed what you are speaking of, Milan, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.”

“When have you known me to be overly dramatic, Garrett?” She had to bite her tongue to keep from laying into the man and doing good on her threat. He was getting under her skin, even as he attempted to smooth all this horrid shit out.

The man shrugged and shook his head. “Look, just let me handle it, please. Will you at least give me a chance to address it? I can’t fix what I didn’t know about, Milan.”

You knew about it. You just didn’t want to do shit about it.

But she kept silent, and simply nodded as she left, closing the door firmly behind her…

‡

Chapter Eleven

Two weeks later…

Julian glanced at her as they lay under the stars, their bodies intertwined on an old plaid blanket in his small, well-manicured fenced backyard. The grass smelled sweet and the air brimmed with the scents of nature. Milan looked up at the stars, a placid smile on her beautiful face as she rested on her arm, falling undoubtedly into a daydream.

“You okay? Are you cold?”

“No, everything is just perfect.” The blackness of night blanketed them. He never tired of her smile. “Tell me a story, a true story…” She asked.

“What kinda story?” He snuggled a bit closer.

“I don’t know, something from your life. Yeah, read me a page from the book of your life.” Her voice and face soothed his heart.

“Okay, let’s see…I got it. When I was a little boy,” he began, “I had seen this house that I currently live in a gazillion times, Milan. My mom would drive past it on her way to taking me to school, in her old, beat up station wagon.” He couldn’t help but smile at the memory of his mother’s hands clutched around the steering wheel, a cigarette dangling out of her mouth and her red and white waitress uniform with all the wrinkles and stains clinging to her thin, yet womanly form. Her jet black hair would be wound in a tight ponytail and she’d sing to him the songs on the radio, her tone off-key but beautiful all the same, while he and his stepsister sat sprawled on the lumpy backseat, their book bags full of homework and excuses as to why some of it wasn’t done.

“We’d go past this house right here, and I’d point to it and say, ‘I love that house, mom! One day, I’m going to buy it!’ And she’d laugh…you know, a real easy laugh, not making fun of me or anything like that, just the kind a mom gives a kid to not squash his little dreams with nay-sayin’. Then she’d say, ‘You sure love that house, Jay.’”

“She called you Jay?” Milan asked, her eyes upon the stars.

“Yup. Everyone did; most people still do.”

“Finish the story.” She held his hand a bit tighter.

“So, I’d say, ‘Yeah, Mom, I’m going to get that house when I get grown and get some money.’ I knew we couldn’t afford it. I saw it come up for sale a couple of times, and I’d start fantasizing about it. In my mind, I’d pretend that my stepfather would come home and say, ‘Hey, I bought that house Jay wanted. We’ll move in tonight.’” He paused. “Of course that never happened. We weren’t destitute, but I guess you’d have called us lower middle class … I never was hungry or anything like that, but we struggled a bit from time to time.” He swallowed, feeling her stir against him, her body soft and comforting.

“My step-father worked really hard as a mechanic. He was gone more than he was home. I think she liked it like that, though. My mom seemed to have a thing for guys that worked on cars.” He chuckled. “It seemed my dad, my stepfather and her boyfriends before him, were all either mechanics or truck drivers.” He yawned. “Anyway, when I got my first gig at Pyro-Ink, the very first tattoo salon I ever worked out of professionally, I had saved up enough money to get a house. I didn’t know where I was going to put down roots, though…just kinda knew I needed a place to lay my head, one that I could call my own. I hated apartments because I like to burn a lot of shit, and people would think I was smokin’ Mary Jane.”

Milan burst out laughing, a musical sound. He squeezed her hand.

“I am the type of guy that needs space…room. I don’t like being under or above people…or beside people, unless that person is my baby…” He caught her eye as she stared at him, and he winked.

“I like that,” she whispered.

“Yeah, you like that, huh?” He said coolly as he looked down at his bare feet, then back at the sky. “So, one day, I was driving around, and saw this house right here. There was no ‘For Sale’ sign on it but I parked in front of it any way, and just stared at it for the longest. Then, I got out my car and walked up to the front door and knocked. No one answered, so I left my name and number and asked that whoever lived there, to please call me as soon as possible. I didn’t think I’d hear anything back, but I did. Some lady called me that evening and I told her, point blank, ‘Hey, I want to buy your house.’

“She was real quiet on the other end for awhile. And then she was like, ‘It’s not for sale.’ I told ’er, ‘Okay, well if it ever is, call me.’ I didn’t hear back about it, so I started to look at other places. I could never find a place I really liked though. Then, I got a call. That same woman called me and said she’d gotten a job out of town and needed to sell her house fast. We made it happen. I hadn’t even been inside the place, but I knew I’d love it. I walked inside, looked around, envisioning just how I wanted it to be.” He put his hands up as if he were taking a snapshot. “It’s not a big house, but it’s perfect for me. I really feel at home when I enter it. Anyway…” He cleared his throat, getting back on track. “I looked around and, you know, thought about how I’d replace the carpet, windows, update the kitchen, knock out a wall upstairs to make a bigger bedroom, get the basement finished and water-proofed to do my private tattooing—my goal at the time.”

Milan stared into his eyes, transfixed, making him feel like a great storyteller. He pretended to not see her, but the way she looked at him made him feel one hundred percent important. He loved that…

“Then, as time passed, I said, ‘Screw this basement shit. I can just open my own shop. Working from home wasn’t always convenient.”

Milan closed her eyes now, as if in the middle of a peaceful dream. His hair covered part of her shoulder, the strands sprawled about, and he felt like the rising sun, basking under the vibrant moonlight, in competition with the prettiest star in the entire galaxy. That star was his precious Milan…

He pulled her closer to him, and it didn’t take much for she was suddenly lying atop his over-sized Bob Marley T-shirt. Now, her hair blended with his. Wavy, dark brown textured tresses slightly intertwined with his own. His groin throbbed, reminding him that no matter how cool he tried to be about the situation, the scent of her perfume and skin was turning him on and he’d lost track of time—didn’t recall even what he’d been saying. All that he knew was that he felt happy, and there was no other place he’d rather be.

“Where did the name ‘Soul Inscriptions’ come from? Was that your idea?” she asked, her voice muffled as her cheek pressed into his chest.

“Funny, I was just getting to that…” She’d gotten him back on track. “So, I went around looking for a property to rent, and ended up buying that space instead. Named it ‘Soul Inscriptions’ because of my philosophy about tattoos. Some people get them because they want to feel important, cool, and different. There was a time when tattoos were only associated with sailors and indigenous people. They were considered un-classy, only done by people who didn’t fit into society, rebels and derelicts. That changed; and now, everyone, even grandmothers and great grandmothers, are getting them but to me, the true meaning of a tattoo, to permanently mark oneself, means that you claim something to your very soul. You want it written on your heart. You can’t take it with you, so you try as hard as you can to prescribe meaning, to make sense of this craziness around us, you know?”

“Yes, I know.”

He was quiet for a few moments while he ran his hand up and down her arm. He toyed with her sleeve, biding time, until he gave up the battle. He needed her. Her soft lips slightly parted when he rolled her onto her back and straddled her.

“What are you doing?!” She giggled, his ruby and gold Chinese lanterns strung high above them making her dark eyes glow.

“I’m about to show you something…”

“I’ve already seen it many times,” she teased, forcing him to laugh, too.

He pushed her legs apart and settled between her thighs as he brushed her hair out of her face.

“You know…I think you’re so used to keeping things to yourself, keeping things all bottled up, that you forget to breathe. I think you forget that you can talk to me, that I want you to, and shit, you just need to.” He traced the side of her neck with his fingertips.

She swallowed and stared at him more intensely. “I never really thought about that, actually. I didn’t use to be that way, though.”

“Well.” He exhaled. “Sometimes things happen that change us. If we keep letting something change us, it becomes a part of us, a habit. It’s no longer just an incident.” He snaked his hand under her shirt; she bucked playfully beneath him.

“I knew you were going to try this!” She laughed, pretending to fight him off of her.

“Relax…you’ve got it comin’ to you later.” He winked. “I have something else in mind right now, though.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically and smirked. “What?”

“Just feel it…” he said in a whisper as he hovered above her. “I’m drawing all over you…”

Her smile slowly dissipated.

“Tattoos…I’m putting tattoos all over your body.” He swirled his fingers, traced them on her, made straight lines, circles, triangles and prisms as he drew her closer to his spirit. “This is what you look like to me…a beautiful garden, with all sorts of flowers no one has ever seen nor smelled before, in colors we never even knew existed. Imagine a world where hues, shapes, sounds and aromas are all foreign to us. Nothing like we’ve ever known; that is what you’re like to me…some beautiful art no one has ever perceived, touched or cracked open. Some walking garden, a moon child with thighs that are softer than fur and sticky like honey after I taste you…”

She sighed and shuddered ever so slightly beneath him.

He went lower, placing his fingertips on her exposed navel, then made his way to her thighs.

“You went through so much…were in so much pain, and I connected with you because through that, you were still so strong… You survived. I survived, too. And…you are so beautiful…so moon-like…full…glowing from the outside in. Hurting, from the inside out…cloaked from head to toe…but you needed something. And I needed something, too…you…”

He kissed her stomach, a gentle brush of his lips against her slightly trembling flesh.

“The first time we made love, I will never forget it. When you came, it was music to my very heart.” He laid another kiss upon her warm skin, this one a bit lower. “You are what I’ve been waiting for, Milan. I’ve met my share of women…but none of them were like you.”

Her body responded beneath him; he felt her gaze following his intimate trails.

“Just like this house and my tattoo shop, I knew what I wanted, what I was looking for. I know who I am…and I know who you are too, and I want to know even more about you. Let me…make you…cum to me…” He tugged at her jeans, and soon, they were around her hips. He slicked his hand inside of her panties and lay to the side of her, causing her to moan loudly as her hips bucked to his ministrations.

“That’s it…” he urged as he ran his fingers up and down her saturated pussy, then focused on her clit. “Your pearl…I’ve run my tongue across it so many times…and I can’t wait to savor you again,” he said, his voice raspy, his soul drawn to her, falling under her spell. “Your body…I want to possess it. I want to be tattooed across it. I want to be inside of it. Will you let me draw my name on your skin, baby?”

With his free hand, he began to write his name up and down her thigh. On a moan, she tossed her head back, bunching up the blanket as he continued the slow, torturous seduction. “Yes…yesss….”

“That’s right, baby…say it, tell me what you want.”

“I want…you…” She writhed under his touch, whimpered with pleasure.

After a while, he got back on top of her, keeping his hand steady against her pussy. He forced her knees together, let them take his hand hostage, locked between her constricting thighs, while he continued to press his fingertips into her pelvis, rocking his cock against her. Her eyes widened as the sensations mounted. She gasped.

“Keep your legs locked, just like you used to when you’d masturbate as a teenager,” he instructed before leaning down and kissing the side of her face, layering it with delicate kisses. She smiled shyly, so becomingly. He smiled back.

“You know that’s how you used to do it…humping sheets…” He grinned into her ear.

He heard her laugh between moans and gasps.

This warmed his heart as he continued on until he felt her wetness increase tenfold, flowing over his fingers. She screamed out and clung to him, climaxing hard beneath him.

“Oh…shit.” She sighed, spent—and looking happy.

He rose onto his elbow, kissed her cheek and stared down at her, pleased with his handy work. Literally.

“That was…good.”

“Mmmm hmmm.” He grinned. “Anything else you want? I aim to please.”

“Tell me…something sexy.” She panted. “I need to catch my breath for a sec. That should hold me over for a moment… I just love hearing you speak. You have such a way with words.”

“Hmmm.” He traced her navel with his fingers. “Sexy like what? Or do you want me to shoot from the hip? Askin’ for stories and sexy shit tonight, that’s a tall order,” he teased.

She smiled up at him, her eyes darkening with wonder and inward amusement that bubbled forth right before him.

“How about…a confession?”

“Hmmmm… Okay, here is my confession. It turned me on so fucking much when you told me you hadn’t had sex in a while…that I was your first after such a long time. I don’t know, I just found that erotic… I guess it’s male ego.” He shrugged. “We sometimes want to feel like we are special, chosen, you know.”

“I did choose you.”

That admission filled him with joy. “That’s good to know…very good to know.” He kissed her nose, beaming down at her. “What we have, I believe, is different. Every time we come together like this, it’s an experience, not just sex.”

She gently stroked his ear, making him coo into her grasp.

“I like how we fit together,” she whispered.

“And I like how open you are, willing to try new things. I like…no, I love that you want me like you do. I can feel how much you want me when your body melts beneath mine and I feel your pussy grabbing my dick, pulling me further inside of you…shit, baby…” He ran his hand over her breasts, then cradled her head, bringing her forehead to his, treating her like a precious, fragile gift. Then, he pressed into her, pushed his groin over and over into her pelvis until he couldn’t stand it any longer and the woman was moaning beneath him. Reaching low, he unzipped his pants. His cock sprang forward and within seconds, he was guiding himself inside of her. She sank her teeth into his shoulder blade.

“Ahhhhh!” Throwing her head back, her lips parted wide as if she were delivering a silent scream. Her body arched as he pushed in and out of her, until he was fully immersed and satisfied with the depth. He thrust harder; her wet walls gripped him and he found himself unable to slow down.

“Uhhhh!”

“Mmmmm….ahhhh!” She held on, her sexy moans turning him on impossibly further.

“I fucking love you, baby!” He pumped harder and faster, his dick seemingly having a mind of its own, and his hip muscles tensed and released at each pass. “…Never going to let you go…never.”

“Don’t you ever!” she screamed, clutching him tight, churning her hips hard and seductively until he lost complete control.

“Uhhh, shit! Shit!” He clutched her tight, pushing deeply within her, his eyes rolled back as he came; his climax forced his muscles to tense as he released within her wet, sheltered confines.

“Mmmmm!” he groaned into her hair, her ear no doubt warm from his intense exhaling. He slowly opened his eyes, though it was a struggle. The desire to simply fall asleep tried to seduce him as each additional second passed. He ran his lips against her cheek while she remained motionless, but hugged him so damn tight, he couldn’t move if he’d wished to.

“See…”

“See what?” he asked groggily as he wrapped his arms around her waist and nestled his chin in the crevice of her sweet smelling neck.

“You do some strange things, sexually, but they are sexy…and they feel good…sooooo damn good!” She laughed lightly. “This is why I can’t leave you alone. You’re too good in bed, apparently too good outside on the ground, too,” she joked.

“Oh, really?” He grinned, his brow arched. “So you are only with me because I can make you cum over and over and give you tattoos at a discount?” he teased. He gripped her fingers, then interlaced them with his own.

“You know what I mean!” She released him to pull her shirt down. Rising, he lay back on his elbow, allowing her room to draw her panties and jeans back up. He reached down and fastened them for her.

“Tell me what’s on your mind?” he asked as he studied her expression. She was drowning in something, her thoughts had turned left, and he refused to allow her to mentally travel without him riding shot-gun. There was a long pause as he stared down at her, his heart beating fast, patiently waiting.

“I think…no, I won’t take the easy way out.” A spark of fear flittered momentarily in her eyes, then it was gone, although her eyes brimmed with pain and passion. “I love you, Julian.”

He took her hand and kissed it, holding onto to it a bit tighter.

“I knew that.”

“I knew that you knew; sometimes it’s just good to hear it…to say it.”

“Quite true… Hey, I want to ask you something.” He couldn’t keep his hands off of her, but he forced himself to create a bit of space between their bodies.

“Yeah?”

“Would you marry me?” He scratched the back of his ear, looking down at her as if he’d only asked her to go inside with him for a cup of tea or coffee.

“What did you just say?” she asked softly, as if she couldn’t trust her own hearing.

“I asked you to marry me, Milan,” he said seriously, wanting her to see that this wasn’t a joke or a game. “I want to marry you, do you understand?” He cupped her face and laid a gentle peck on her lips. She kissed him back, tasting like the fresh strawberries he’d fed her earlier that evening.

“Julian,” she breathed, looking at him in disbelief. “You have no idea how shocked I am right now.”

“Why?” he asked sincerely. “We love each other. I want you to have all of me…my world, my home, my name. I want to give it all to you! I’m not worth a damn if I’m not sharing what I love most with someone who loves me too…and I love you so damn much, Milan.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. And then, she smiled wide at him as she caressed his chin with a slow drag of her fingertips.

“…Don’t tell me no.” His voice trembled. Everything was on the line, and dare he admit it, he suddenly felt as if she just might let him down. “Tell me anything but ‘No.’”

“How could I tell you ‘No’, baby, when my heart already said ‘Yes?’”

*

“And this is Julian…” Milan introduced. He almost didn’t catch the introduction, so mesmerized he found himself by her body, dripping as it was in garnet kisses, also known as sparkling sequins.

Damn, she looks good…

Lust crawled up and down his spine. He couldn’t see her outfit clearly earlier that evening. He’d picked her up and brought her to the company dinner as her date, just as they’d discussed so long ago, but when he arrived she had been wearing her long, light-weight jacket, which had properly hidden a delicious, succulent candy, better known as her lovely ass, just below the surface. Now, she was unwrapped. He traced his bottom lip with his tongue in appreciation, then snapped back into reality once someone in the near distance erupted into boisterous laughter, grabbing his attention from his impish thoughts.

He extended his hand to the man standing there in his dark russet suit, and a head of brown hair with a bit of gray at the temples. It was perfectly coiffed and paired with a thick, Southern accent fit for the narration of children’s stories.

So, this is the big guy….

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kearny.” Julian shook his hand heartily.

“Please call me Garrett.” The man’s light brown eyes sparkled as he gripped Julian’s palm, as if he knew a secret of some sort.

After a bit of small talk, Milan led him over to the dining area.

“They have some things you can eat, Julian,” she explained as she pointed to the elegant salad bar at the restaurant. “And look, these right here look fine, too.” She pointed to some rolls, conveniently close to a carved roast beef station, causing him much amusement at the irony of the situation.

“Honey, don’t worry about me. I can make my way around.”

“By the way,” she said, a crooked grin on her gorgeous face as she grabbed a plate and added some sliced fried green tomatoes to it. “You look absolutely amazing.” She looked him up and down, making him feel good on her arm while he ogled the raw sliced vegetables cured in Mandarin sauce.

“Thank you.” He picked up a plate as they made their way, one after the other, down the line for appetizers and salads.

“I really like what you did with your hair, too.” She spooned cold string beans with almond sauce on her plate.

“I’m glad you like it.”

He placed a few blackberries on his own, tempted to pop one in his mouth right then and there, but thought better of it. Julian had taken extra care with his appearance that day; his hair received the royal treatment. He’d slicked it back and plaited it into a tight, neat braid, allowing it to hang down his back. He wore a black blazer, black dress pants and insanely expensive dress shoes that he’d only worn once in his thirteen months of owning them. A vibrant red tie covered the shiny, ebony buttons on his shirt. Black swirls danced on the bottom of the tie, giving a bit of a Japan meets Parisian style feel.

Fact of the matter was, he knew how to dress. Julian was a laid-back, down home, country boy at heart who preferred signature shirts with jeans for comfort’s sake but he had a flair for appearances, for the physical and visual. After all, he was an artist and he knew what looked good with what, and what didn’t. A natural matchmaker of fabrics, texture, textiles, hues and shades, he could create a masterpiece in a matter of moments. This was one of his strong suits, and part of the reason why, when he first met Milan, he could sense she was a woman with style and sophistication. Her clothes weren’t over the top, just the right amount of sexiness and class to reel his rebellious ass in. He leapt on her sharp hook, caught on the line, dangling there like a damned fool, begging to be taken back home, fried and eaten. She had him…

Suddenly, a woman with gleaming blue eyes and a slinky light gray dress came up to Milan, her eyes steady on Julian. Julian looked away, avoiding the woman’s obvious flirtatiousness when she gave him an impish grin. He surmised it was her way of paying Milan a compliment in her taste of companion.

“Ohhhhh Milan, so this is the guy, huh?” The woman’s eyes dropped to Milan’s engagement ring, a black oval cut diamond set with white diamonds all around it. “What an unusual yet beautiful engagement ring! Ahhhh!” She dramatically gasped as she held Milan’s hand, forcing his poor fiancée to have to try to balance her plate.

“Thank you, Nancy. Yes, this is Julian, my fiancé.” Milan shot him a secret look as if to say, ‘This heffa has lost her mind’, which made it hard for him to keep a straight face.

“Baaaad boy! Look at those tattoos!” the woman continued on, batting her eyelashes as she released Milan’s hand and pointed to his wrists. He’d tried his best to cover them up, but a few peeked out from beneath his shirt and of course, there was the one on his neck, too—a black rose wrapped in barbed wire in honor of his mother.

He didn’t want to become a distraction.

I shoulda used the Dermablend…

He was simply there to be with his woman, nothing more, nothing less; but then, he saw him…

Milan spoke with another woman that joined them in line, and before long, the trio of women were talking about things regarding work, laughing and smiling through their banter. But Julian stood there frozen like the freshly made margaritas, holding his lopsided plate close for he’d almost spilled its contents on his chest. It had to be the guy; he was exactly as Milan had described, and he’d held tight to the details when he made the woman confess to him what was bothering her. Blond hair, tight, thin lips, long face, a constant smirk across his face, and his notorious sweater vest and shirt paired with pleated pants. A couple of weeks earlier he’d noticed she was not quite herself, and come to find out, even after a warning from Garrett, the fucker was up to some carefully crafted tricks and veiled threats that were hard to prove as malicious. Milan tapped his shoulder, bringing him to full focus.

“Hey honey, you want some of those stuffed olives? I heard they are really good. They have feta cheese in them.”

“Mmmm hmmm,” was all he could muster as he grabbed a few, then made his way down the rest of the line. Soon they were sitting at a long white linen covered table and eating amongst well-dressed strangers. Two other tables with other employees sat close by, and everyone began fellowshipping in celebration of the employee, Darryl, who was retiring. For the most part, many of Milan’s coworkers appeared quite nice and one thing was for certain—they seemed to think the world of her. He wasn’t positive if these folks were just putting on appearances, if they were sincere or acting splendidly because he was there. He’d been told he had a threatening appearance, which boded well for him in his profession, but at times he felt displaced. Regardless, all things considered, it was unlikely anyone would say anything slick to her while in his presence.

He picked at his lettuce, vehemently stabbing it to death while examining other bits and pieces of his meal. Occasionally, he’d look up and smile at whoever was speaking, attempting to be charming for the sake of the woman he loved. Truth of the matter was, he’d rather be curled up by the fireplace in his home with her in his arms. Naked, their bodies wrapped up together like a bawl of twine, or his head buried between her quaking thighs as he devoured the last of her love. After a bit more time had passed, he followed Milan’s eyes to his number one suspect. He immediately took notice of how her easygoing expression stopped, froze and tightened like an insect suddenly sprayed with RAID.

Oh yeah, that’s that motherfucker…

He gripped his pants, bunching the fabric in a tight fist as he stared at the bastard.

“Hey baby, you want something else to drink?” he whispered in her ear after downing his glass of wine, the perfect excuse for a clean getaway.

“Yes, thank you.” She nodded and smiled at him, then turned back towards her boss who was speaking about all of Darryl’s contributions.

He got up and strolled over to the small bar with both flute glasses in hand, where the pigeon-looking fucker stood with another man, a scrawny guy with flared nostrils large enough to inhale all of Atlanta, laughing it up. They stayed glued to the wine and beer as if the alcohol needed white-collar protection, soft bodyguards. Julian sucked his teeth and handed the bartender both glasses.

“I need two glasses of Toro Loco, please.”

The bartender nodded and prepared them. As Julian waited, he threw on an award-winning smile at Martin.

“Hi!” He nodded, chin checking, as if they were long lost buddies.

The man’s face twisted in obvious confusion.

“…Uh, hello…” Martin grinned at the man standing next to him, as if sharing some sort of inside joke, something said with bountiful humor.

“Something funny? What? I can’t say hi to you, man?” Julian’s smile broadened as he prepared to go in deep.

“Here you are, sir,” said the bartender.

“Thanks, I appreciate it …” Julian took the two wine glasses and placed them down on the table in front of him.

“So yeah, like I was saying…is it a crime to say, ‘hello’?” Julian went on, itching for a fight as he once again faced his opponent.

Say something, jackass…

“No, it’s just, well…” Martin smirked as he eyed him up and down, taking inventory and no doubt making inaccurate assessments, judging him based on his long hair and other physical elements. “I just don’t know you.”

This cocksucker thinks he is really the shit…time to knock him down a notch or two…

“You don’t know me?” He smirked. “No problem! Let me introduce myself, so that we are acquainted, Martin.”

The man’s face drew more stern, no doubt realizing that Julian hadn’t come over to talk about the damn weather or the best golf courses in all of Georgia.

Yeah, it’s not too funny anymore, is it? Why aren’t you smiling you goofy son of a bitch? I don’t see you kee-keeing, now…your friend doesn’t look amused, either…

“My name is Julian Savant. I am the owner of, ‘Soul Inscriptions’.”

“Soul Inscriptions? Never heard of it.” Martin burst out in a bounty of chuckles, feeling pretty cheeky no doubt, needing to keep up appearances in front of his one-man audience. His eyes grew tiny with exaggerated mirth as he rolled to the side a bit, really living it up. Instead of becoming belligerent, Julian nodded and shot him a cool, relaxed grin.

“Yeah? Hmmm, never heard of Soul Inscriptions…that’s cool. Gotta question for you, maybe you’ve heard of this, then… Ever heard of gettin’ your ass kicked, boy?” Julian said calmly, smiling a bit wider, too. “Does that sound like something you’d like to find out about? ‘Cause let me tell you, you are about to know all about it.” He relished in seeing the man’s face melt right before his eyes. Julian scratched the spot between his brows, waiting for the fucker to straighten up, slip up or fuck up. Whatever came first didn’t matter to him, as long as he was going down.

“Yeah, I’m Milan Parker’s fiancé… She’s going to be my wife pretty soon.” He picked up his wine glass and took a casual sip, returned it to the table and crossed his arms. “I don’t like you upsetting her…I don’t like what you’ve been doing.”

Martin’s face reddened and became dewy with a sudden burst of sweat. It was clear as day that the understanding had now been reached.

“What is your problem?” the man blurted, his lips hanging partially opened with a look of frantic perplexity dancing in his eyes. Never the less, the man stood a bit straighter, his chin high, borrowing from his well of pompousness he kept on ice, in his internal reserve.

He didn’t blame the man for trying to save face; after all, he had a spectator. Perhaps the showdown could become a spectator sport…

“You might want to tell your little ass licker here to beat it.” He pointed in the opposite direction in case the tiny bastard needed a map, directions for the exit. “He’s been laughing all night at everything you say, and I’m certain you’re not that damn funny…besides, I’m not in joking mood.”

The man standing next to him got ready to speak, but seemed to think better of it as he caught sight of the tattoo snaking up Julian’s neck and the brass knuckles drawn in thick, black ink across his right hand. This was one time where being perceived as hardcore ‘white trash’ worked in his favor.

“Look man, have you had too much to drink tonight? I don’t know what Milan has told you, but you need to cool it,” Martin barked as he placed one hand on his hip like he was someone to beware of. All that did was tickle Julian, make his stomach roll with delight. “Everyone is just having a good time, alright? Don’t spoil it, go ruining it…sober up.”

“I’m not drunk. I’m sober as your father should have been when he made the likes of you, you whiny, two-faced, lazy, lying ass fuckface!” Julian shot out between clenched teeth. “Yeah, why don’t you fuck with someone your own size, huh? Milan was just trying to do her job and after that guy, your little buddy helping to run the good ol’ boy system told you to cool it,” He pointed toward Garrett, who was still running his big, floppy mouth, causing the people at his table to light up with laughter. “You kept right on. He didn’t want to lose her; he knows deep down you aren’t half the employee she is, so he pulled your ass aside and told you to cut that shit out. He told you to lay off of her, remember? You seem to need a refresher course and lucky for you, I’m an excellent teacher.”

Martin fisted and unfisted his hand by his sides, as if he were thinking about striking.

Oh, you little bitch. I’d love for you to do that. Give it your best shot. I will mop this damn floor with your ass! At least you’d then be useful for a change!

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh…you know. You have some serious problems, Martin, but no one has time for this bullshit.” His eyes hooded. “I don’t know if it is because she’s a woman, because she’s black, or because you know deep down she is better than you that you continue on with this nonsense. She’s your biggest competition and you are so fucking insecure that you have to keep doing this crap, to make her seem smaller than you. I suspect it’s because you know she is about to be promoted as manager, too. You’d be equals and that pisses you off. Too bad! I tell you this much though, I don’t care what the reason is, it stops now.” He pointed towards the floor.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Martin choked out, fear clearly in his eyes.

“Denial will not help you and you know that I know exactly what I’m talking about. Let’s see here… You started giving her more work after she told Garrett what you’d been doing. You must be madly in love with yourself, Martin, because you keep screwing yourself over nice ‘nd good. I hope you and your other half are quite happy together.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?! My job and what I decide to do with my employees is none of your business. Dating her doesn’t give you the right to act like this.”

“Obviously you’ve never cared about anyone before, Martin. Everything…” Julian stabbed the air with his finger, pointing to the back of Milan, who remained oblivious. “I mean everything regarding that woman right there is my business, so therefore, now you are, too. You’re playin’ with fire.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I’ll break it down to you.” He smirked and looked towards the sidekick, whose glasses now slid down his prominent nose. “It’s good you have your little flunky here to be a witness to this.” Julian pointed in his face. “If I hear of you messing with Milan ever again, trying to make her life harder, I will deal with you personally.”

“Are you threatening me?!”

“No, of course not.” Julian smirked then took another sip from his glass and set it back down, just in case he needed his hands free. “I’m guaranteeing you that what I am saying is true. Let me find out one more thing,” he cracked his knuckles. “Let me hear of anything else you’ve done to her, and strange, bizarre, damn right obscenely grotesque things will happen to you.” His eyes narrowed. “Keep fuckin’ with her, and I’ll fuck with you. Got it? I’m sure I am well understood. You couldn’t possibly be as stupid as you look. Now…” Julian scooped up both glasses and grinned, his teeth no doubt gleaming under the bright lights. “You have a good evening, and enjoy yourself, Martin. I know I sure will.” He winked at the motherfucker and made his way back across the room to reclaim his seat. Leaning over, he kissed Milan on the cheek. He knew the man was still looking at him, and that made it all the better.

Martin is a rodeo clown…he can’t fuck with a real bull. This time, he got the horns…

“Hi baby, you missed a really funny story Daryl told. I’ll have to tell you about it later.” She smiled wide as she took a sip from her refreshed glass of wine. “Mmmm, this is even tastier the second time around.” She beamed.

“Indeed it is…Sometimes all it takes is a special touch to make the old taste new again…” He kissed the top of her head, wrapped his arm possessively around her chair, leisurely crossed his ankles and joined in the conversation, easily making everyone at the table fall in love with him by the end of the evening as he shared his shop stories and his love for the beautiful woman on his arm…

Well, all accept one person way behind him, by the bar stuffed in an argyle sweater vest…

‡

Chapter Twelve

“So you see.” Milan pointed to the computer screen. Angela sat on one side of her and Julian sat on the other after closing hours of the shop. “This is where you enter the client’s name and birthdate, and all their previous appointment times will generate once you hit this button right here that says, ‘history’. Then, you can always see what former appointments they had as well as upload a photo of their tattoo right after it is complete, anything you want.”

“This is so cool!” Angela chuckled, pleased with the demonstration.

Milan grinned, thrilled that Angela was an enthusiastic learner. Her other pupil, on the other hand, sat there in a slumped position, his lips tight and arms practically glued across his chest in non-verbal protest.

“Look, Julian, this is happening. You may as well accept it,” she chided.

He winced. “I know. And thank you. I don’t want to appear ungrateful… It’s just that I don’t take change too well unless it is something I want to change. I was fine with the old ways things were done but I do understand that that can not continue.” He said the words, though his face was still twisted in angst as he uttered each dejected syllable.

“Well.” Milan shrugged. “I appreciate your honesty and, at the end of the day, you just want ‘Soul Inscriptions’ to be successful. You had a big dream here, it ended up coming true, so you just have to step up and roll with it. We are in a digital age; we have to accommodate that.”

He nodded in understanding and pointed to a small rectangle on the computer.

“What does that do?”

“Oh, you’ll like this, Julian. This button duplicates the last file so that you can back it up to another system or hard drive, or even send it to your phone. It will show you all the invoices and payments. You can even have it sent as a PDF.”

“That’s nice.” He finally smiled, getting into the groove of his training. “So, everything Angela enters into Quickbooks software can be printed out and sent electronically?”

“That’s right, and it is super easy now. See, you can customize Quickbooks and that’s what I did for you, so that all Angela has to do is enter the data, and that’s it. It will even send reminders if a case isn’t saved and closed after a certain amount of time. It will show you coupons you’ve issued, sale offers, and even if you’ve done similar designs for other customers versus you just relying on your photo albums and memory.” Milan pointed to the front lobby area of the neatly stacked burgundy leather bound books chock full of Julian’s work.

“I plan to get all of your albums scanned, matter of fact, so they will show up on your website, as well as the designs of your other artists.”

“Website?” Julian questioned, his brows bunching.

“That’s right,” Angela said. “Milan and I have already started designing it.”

“I can’t believe this!” he protested, throwing his hands up. “So now you are in cahoots with Angela, Milan?” He sounded wounded, though she wasn’t swayed or moved by his performance.

“You’re damn straight.” Milan poked her lips out at the man and put her hand on her hip as she crossed her legs, causing her skirt to ride up a bit. Just as she suspected, his eyes immediately drifted down to her thigh.

He is so easily side-tracked by me when I do that. She grinned inwardly.

“Let me see it. What does it look like?” He seemed to settle a bit, deciding against causing a scene, picking his battles.

Milan immediately opened the Firefox web browser and pulled up the website.

“Now, it isn’t live, only we can see this right now, but—”

“Shit! That looks amazing!” He pointed to the screen. “That’s one of my favorite tattoos I ever did.” He pointed to a hawk carrying military tags on a knotted chain in its mouth. “I made it for a Vietnam Vet. He was an amazing person…died about three years ago.”

“That’s why I picked it out,” Angela explained. “Because I knew it meant so much to you, and everyone that sees it is totally shocked at the craftsmanship. They shouldn’t be, though. Everyone knows you’re one of the best.” She gave him a sincere compliment, and Milan didn’t miss the appreciative way his lips turned upward in a grin.

“Did you know him personally?” Milan asked as she studied more closely the tattoo on the screen.

Damn, that looks real, like a real photograph. Julian is so talented…

“No. He walked into my shop one day and we got to talking. I did it for him for free, wanted him to have it after all he’d done for us, for our country. Anyway…” He scratched his arm and leaned forward, stifling a yawn. “This is dope, baby. I really like it. I guess I’ll let you and Angela do what you want. Now, what about website maintenance?”

“Taken care of,” Angela spoke up. “We hired a company to take care of all the updates.”

“Mmmm hmmm.” He grimaced. “And how much is this going to cost me, huh? Hosting, maintenance fees, all of it?”

“Only about three hundred a year.”

“Okay, that’s not bad.” He nodded, got to his feet and stretched. “Look, I’m thirsty, anyone want anything?” He began to make his way towards the back of the place. A refrigerated display stood in the corner with an assortment of natural sodas, flavored waters and vending machine style energy drinks.

“Yeah, I want a chilled green tea,” Angela said as she and Milan huddled closer together, discussing further website plans.

“I’m fine, honey.” Milan stated before he got too far away.

“You sure you don’t want any tea? Water?” he asked, looking her up and down as if she were a meal. “I’ll put a little something special in it.” He winked at her.

“My virgin ears are bleeding.” Angela sucked her bottom lip and rolled her eyes. “You’re disgusting, Julian,” she teased; causing the man to look horrified…another act no doubt.

“Whose mind is in the gutter?! I just asked her if she—”

“Oh, we all know what you really meant! You are as bad as Cedrick, only your sexual harassment is entirely directed towards Milan. We’ve all heard you whispering to her on the phone, saying all sorts of nauseating things such as—”

“Don’t even start! What about you on the phone talking to one of your boy toys of the month, huh? I know for a fact that…”

…And the two continued on, picking and messing with each other, in their customary fashion.

Yes, today was a good day…

*

Julian pulled his dark brown hoodie with the loose threads around the hem over his head, shrouding himself from the light rain. He’d handed Milan his umbrella; though she’d tried to share it, he pushed her away as he fell to his knees, in front of his father’s large, stone grave. His fingers sank into the loose earth, the ground disturbed by the relentless precipitation. He became one with what was below, and baptized with what was above. He immediately felt the coolness of wet, saturated ground soak into his jeans as his hands roamed the headstone.

Jason N. Savant

The rain suddenly stopped. Not because it showed him any favor, but because Milan had pushed the large, clear umbrella over his head despite his protests. The mud caked on his hands as he scanned the tomb, feeling the impressions from the etched letters of the man’s name. To the world, his fallen hero was Jason, but to Julian, he was simply Dad…

“I miss you, man. I know…I haven’t been here in a while, but I was thinking about you, and decided that this would be a good time to come visit. On a day like today, you’d be kicking back on the couch with a cold beer, cursing out the T.V.” He gave a light chuckle.

“I miss some of our heart to hearts, our talks…the chats about me going to college for something important, something big. It never happened.” Julian lowered his head. “I tried to get a trade, and the traditional college route just wasn’t for me, so I went to art school. I know you were disappointed, Dad. But, you never said so. You didn’t discourage me, I appreciate that. I know, in your mind, you were thinkin’, ‘What is this boy going to do with a damn art degree?’ By then, I had enrolled, gotten married and had a baby on the way… I had to do something to take care of my family. It ended up being the best decision I ever made.

“The tattoo shop is so different now, Dad. It’s redecorated, too. You’d love it. I’m really busy, and you know that’s how I like it. Mom is fine by the way. You’d tell me while you were drunk a lot of times that you loved her, then when you were clear-headed, you’d deny it later.” Julian grinned wide. “But yeah, she’s doing good… We all miss you a hell of a lot, Dad…a hell of a lot.” He dropped his head, wallowed a bit in painted memories from long ago. When he came up for air, the kind soaked in the scent of fresh rain, he was ready to continue. “I promise to come see you more often even though I know you aren’t in here, in this damn grave. I’m just using it as an alter I guess.” He rubbed his nose and took a deep breath.

“You might be wonderin’ who this pretty lady is beside me, keeping me out of the rain… That’s the woman I’m going to marry, Dad. This is my future wife. Her name is Milan. Yeah, yeah, I know.” He sniffed, and looked a bit closer at the tombstone. “You told me to not marry so young the first time. I didn’t listen, but this time, I’m ready. This time, it’s different. I’ve learned a lot, matured, and know how to be the best man I can be. Anyway, Milan is good to me, and for me. It didn’t take me long to realize that. You would really like her, Dad. She’s refined…classy. Everything I’m not.” Julian burst out laughing. He felt a soft hand graze his shoulder. He wanted to hold her hand, but thought better of it as he took closer notice of his dirty fingers, caked with fresh mud. “So yeah, we’re gettin’ married soon. Everybody is going to be there…except you. I wish that wasn’t true, I wish…I wish you could see me right now, see how happy and settled I am. Things are finally going right. My life is together. I couldn’t ask for better…”

Julian was quiet for quite some time, the feelings sensitive and moving up and down his throat like lunch trying to repeat itself. He felt a bit angry now, and he wasn’t sure why. He surmised it was because the reality was hitting that yes, one of the most important days of his life was approaching and his father wouldn’t be there. But that was life, right? Or, was it death?

“Goodbye, Dad. I’ll be back to visit soon. I love you so much, and though I’ve said it before, I gotta say it again. I miss the hell outta you, more than you’ll ever know.”

He got to his feet, brushed his knees off and glanced at Milan. The woman’s smile was like the searing sun had broke through the gray, depressing, sad-faced day. He hoped she didn’t mind as he gripped her by the neck, brought her face close and kissed her hard, needing her.

“Let’s go, baby…” He took the umbrella from her grasp and held it over both of their heads as they navigated their way down the grassy path. She placed her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his waist. Her warmth soothed him from his heart down to his soul.

“Thanks for coming here with me, Milan.”

“Julian, where else would I be but by your side to lend support? You don’t have to thank me, honey.”

He smiled at her thoughtfully as they continued to move along the trail, passing damp gravestones of those that many others had lost, shed countless tears on behalf of, had their hearts broken for. But today was a brand new day where nothing was falling apart, fractured, soiled, ruined or shattered. Today, the gone were not forgotten. No, today was a day of renewal, of healing. Today was the day the moon and sun showed favor on everyone…

*

Four months later…

“Milan, come on now. We discussed this a while ago.”

“I know, but I’ve changed my mind!” she fretted as her feet turned inward, her hair in big pink curlers bounced about, and her nails, freshly painted, shined under the lights.

“It won’t take long, baby,” Julian assured as Alex sat them side-by-side in their respective seats. Milan hesitantly extended her right hand as Alex gently took her palm in his and began the process of tattooing a wedding band along her right index finger, leaving the left one bare for the actual wedding band he’d purchased for her. Cederick did the same for Julian. The two men sat before them, drawing intricate designs, the needle going up and down, etching their respective tattooed rings.

“See, it’s not that bad.” Julian winked at her, causing her to slightly smile through the discomfort.

The wedding was to be in five hours. Excitement got the better of him and hell, he felt a bit nervous, too. He was looking forward to it. The church would be packed with people….yeah, church. He wanted Milan to have the wedding she wanted; he didn’t put up a fuss. Regardless of their different beliefs, he respected the woman and what she felt was gospel, no pun intended. He figured, it made her who she was, so how could he argue with it? He wasn’t particularly religious, but this was a small sacrifice to get the woman he loved, and to make her happy. He couldn’t wait to see her walk down that aisle in a gown that he’d heard so much buzz about. No matter how much he begged, she refused to give him a sneak peek. He was lucky she was sitting there actually; she’d tried several times to wiggle out of this whole wedding tattoo business. He explained the importance of it to him, and like the lover of his heart that she was, she conceded.

To make matters even more joyous, all of his friends from his apprenticeship would be there, even the ones that had moved away. His mother, stepfather, nephew and sister would also attend, along with a boatload of his childhood friends and acquaintances from neighboring tattoo salons. None of that mattered as much as that moment, right there, though…

He stared at Milan, unable to take his eyes off of her. He studied her, trying to make it all sink in.

I’m about to marry this woman, and this time, it will be forever…

I love her to death. I can’t believe this. But…I would really do anything for her. She makes me feel crazy. I love feeling like this…

He briefly turned away from her and watched Cedrick’s handiwork on his finger as the man twisted it to get a better angle. He drifted back into a cloud of memories and ‘what if’ thoughts regarding their pending nuptials. He knew her friends would soon be waiting for her at the church, dressed in their matching sky blue gowns, and he could see she was train wreck of nerves, though a happy wreck nevertheless. He was happy though that her uncle would be walking her down the aisle. His stepfather had even volunteered once his mother told him that the ‘poor girl’ didn’t have her folks anymore. That struck Julian as odd, but in a good way. He couldn’t recall too many times when his stepfather showed he had a half-way beating heart. The thought gave him an inward chuckle. No one’s frailties and pitfalls had to be permanent. No, they could change, unlike a tattoo…

He looked down at the ground as memories of visiting his father’s grave entered his mind, and then, snippets from the life of the man overtook his thoughts. But he pushed them away, put a distance between him and the pain that death brought, focusing instead on freedom and love. Yeah, his parents weren’t romantic storybook characters, nor would he and Milan be such…but he’d die trying to get as close as possible to that perfection.

He looked back up and saw her big brown eyes focused on him. She wore a pretty smile, the kind he wanted to touch, to become one with.

She mouthed, “I…love…you.”

“I love you too, baby.” He winked at her and slowly turned away.

This was the first Saturday ever in ‘Soul Inscription’ history that they were closed, and he was so relaxed with that, especially since his life was experiencing a warm renewal. He was about to exchange words that meant something to him, to say them in front of two hundred and thirty-nine people that they cared about, to say them to one another and mean that shit, from the bottom of their hearts. He never told Milan, but he had a feeling about her as soon as he’d laid eyes on the woman. He never believed in love at first sight until he saw her pain, and could understand it, to its deepest depths, but it was her strength through that adversity that blew him away. Through her, he was allowed to see that he, too, had never fully released the pain. He’d thought he’d had, but she taught him that he was only fooling himself by wearing a smile as if it were a Band-Aid, trying to cover the hideously agonizing emotional wounds.

As he’d placed that tattoo of her mother on her body, each prick of the needle was his way of attempting to kiss and soothe her torment away. He could tell, by her tightened muscles and her facial expressions, that she was being a trooper for all the wrong reasons. He wanted the woman to shed blood, to release all that was toxic and wrong with her world. He wanted to give her permission to do that because hell, she was beautiful, and secondly, she deserved to release it and let go, so she could get back to her true self—as his bride.

That night after he’d given her the tattoo and she’d left after he stole a kiss, he imagined them together in an actual relationship, and she stayed in his thoughts, daydreams and fantasies to the point that once he got to know her, he understood without a shadow of a doubt—she completed him. He felt their soul connection, convinced they were linked by something more powerful than themselves…

He just had to have her, and though he’d felt he didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of being with her, he tried anyway… and she allowed him into her world. The woman enveloped him in want, and he felt secure against her beautiful soul…

“Alright, you’re all done,” Cedrick stated as he got to his feet. Julian looked at the man’s work discriminately, and was rather pleased with what he saw.

“Almost done…” Alex offered as he finished Milan’s. The woman leaned far back, biting her bottom lip, stifling a scream no doubt.

The things we do for love…

Julian grinned and got to his feet as Bonobo’s CD played, ‘Animal Magic,’ one of his favorite bands of all time.

“You got your tux ’nd everything, man?” Cedrick asked as he walked back over to his station and cleaned the area off.

“Of course. How about you?”

“I’m getting dressed at the church,” he answered. They looked at one another for a moment, both smiling, on the verge of cracking up at the surrealism of it all. Julian caught a suspicious glimmer in the guy’s eyes, as though he wanted to say so much, but couldn’t form the words. Suddenly, Cedrick made his way up to him, his steps stomping loud across the floor. He grabbed him tight to his frame and gave him a hearty hug.

“Congrats, man. I’m really happy for you…for both of you.” He released Julian and waved at Milan, who was watching the encounter through slit-like eyes.

“Thank you,” Milan responded, a forced a smile on her face. Julian realized she was experiencing a barrage of pain, but she tried nevertheless.

“I’m going to clean my stuff and get going. I’ll see you over there.”

“Cool. See you in a little bit, man.”

“Cedrick tidied up his table, grabbed his jacket, threw his arm in the air and gave the ‘deuces’ sign as he left the place, the door swinging behind him.

“Aaaaand, I’m all finished!” Alex announced proudly. Milan looked down at it, turning her finger to and fro.

“Alex, this is lovely! I wasn’t sure how’d I feel about it, but it is just gorgeous!”

Julian rushed over to examine it for himself. He had to nod in agreement.

“You did that perfectly, Alex… That is really nice.” Julian gently lifted her hand, studying it even closer, like a fine craftsman.

“Thank you. Glad you like it. Yours looks good too, Julian. Cedrick did a good job.”

“Yeah, he did.” Julian scratched his head. “I guess we better get going.”

“Yeah, I’m going to clean my equipment and go on over to the church, too. Angela called and said everything is fine, the finishing touches are being put in place.”

Milan nodded. “She’s been helping the wedding coordinator and sending me text messages this entire time with progress reports. Angela is so sweet.”

“Yeah.” Julian huffed. “Until you have to work with her!” He teased as Alex moved about, hurrying to break free.

Julian went around the place, making sure things were just so as his fiancé disappeared into the restroom. Soon, Alex was gone too, and it was just him standing there, in the stillness of the early morning in the salon. The sun drifted in tranquil waves through the glass of the door, highlighting the recently disturbed dust, sparkling like dust particles from diamond dreams. He looked around, serene spirits creeping within him, taking him over… He’d be leaving on his honeymoon to Cancun soon. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been on a vacation, let alone with someone he was madly in love with. He ran his hand down his face, turned off the music and waited for Milan to return to him.

After a few moments, he heard the faucet water turn off, and she entered the main lobby, where he waited for her by the door.

“Are you ready, baby?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and seasoned his lips with a seductive kiss. Enveloping his arms around her body, he pulled her in close and slicked his tongue within her mouth, never wishing to release her. After a few moments, they broke free from one another. He drew a tiny yellow rose out of his jacket pocket and wedged it between her curlers, causing her to burst out laughing. She reached atop her head and patted it, a tender grin creased her face as her fingertips moved gingerly against the petals.

“That’s so sweet!”

He kissed her cheek, opened the front door and watched her saunter away to his freshly cleaned and shiny, parked car in front of the shop, then turned to lock up. ‘Soul Inscriptions’ was officially closed for the day. He could feel his own heartbeat increase as he walked away and joined her. Taking a deep breath, he started the car, took her hand in his and held it tight as he pulled away from the curb to merge with the sleepy traffic. As he drove, he could hear the church bells in the near distance as the clock struck ten in the morning. Soon, he’d be standing at the altar with her, making promises that he planned to keep. He was on his way, and he couldn’t get there fast enough for the woman that stole his soul, also left indelible ink across his very heart. She was destined to be his forevermore. Oh yes, he was going to that big church alright. He was going to make the woman of his dreams, the wife of his reality.

….For they were one and the same…

*

Two years later…

“Julian, aren’t you going to finish your breakfast?” The woman stood there in the kitchen with a smirk on her face as she brought her silver tea mug to her lips for another sip. Her dark eyes narrowed upon him, and she set the thing down, enticing him with her slippery, seductive ways. He inhaled the air, smelling her perfume wafting in the air… oh how sweet she truly was.

“…I already ate.” He savored her flavor still resting within his mouth, loving all that she was and would become. Tossing her a casual wink, he rounded the corner to the living room, looking for his car keys. Julian ensured he was the first one at the shop, for now, he did more overseeing than hands on work after he’d been ambushed by Angela and Milan, a makeshift intervention. The life of tattooing however was engrained within him, inked, etched, forever… and he’d never be able to leave his love for it alone. However, he understood that there had to be balance, for without it, all things unleveled eventually slide and slip away.

So, he discovered a happy medium. He kept his work by appointment only, and ensured he didn’t bite off more than he could chew…well, at least the majority of the time. Soul Inscriptions had expanded; so much so, one of the upper rooms that used to be rented out to students had to be used for additional storage supply. There was simply no way around it – he’d become a true success. He had six artists in his shop, all of whom were acclaimed, accomplished, respected, and hand chosen by himself. Financial stability was his, but that didn’t mean shit to him in the grand scheme of things. What mattered most was that he had her…

Milan had his back, his front, his sky, his earth, his heart, his soul, his past, his present, and now his damn future…and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He glanced up at the clock above his fireplace then raced back into the kitchen, plucking the little woman off her feet and into his arms.

I can’t leave just yet… Fuck it. I’ll just have to be late…

“Ahhhhh!” Milan squealed. “I’m going to be late for work if you don’t put me down.” He showered her with flirty kisses, ignoring her protests. She giggled.

“You’re a manager now, who cares!”

She smirked and dramatically rolled her eyes as he hoisted her even higher into his arms and led her back into their bedroom.

“Julian!” Breaking into laughter, she kicked and pounded his back as he claimed her like some caveman. And then, he paused before the black linen covered bed… the damn thing was his favorite Goth like retreat, equipped with recently extinguished white and red candles, and the delicious scent of vanilla musk still heavy in the air. Oh yes, this is where it all began…memories, sweet feather and rose quartz covered memories…

Flashes of when he’d made love to her the very first time entered his mind, crept into his psyche. Oh, how he loved how she gave herself to him… for he needed her far more than she ever needed him.

Snapping back into the present, he gently laid her down. He slowly sat back on his knees, relishing his feminine prize, then parted her silky robe, exposing his twin flame, his soulmate, his womb-moon for his personal pleasure…

“Ahhh…” She sighed ever so lightly as he gently ran his fingertips along her knee. Julian swallowed, taking her all in, and delicately traced the side of her long neck, the dip of her prominent collarbones, and got off on her increased breathing, panting…for he knew she was anticipating his next move. He needed to draw closer, much closer…not for sex, but for intimacy, to worship at her altar. Knowing him the way she did, she pulled him towards her, made him lay his weary head against her bare, soft breasts. He pressed his cheek gently into the right one as he cupped the other in a delicate cradle, his body flush against her as he lay on his side. They said nothing… only breathed… and breathed some more. Soon, he let his fingers meander down her chest, slowly…so slowly… And then, there it was… He leaned down for a spell, and pressed his lips firmly against her navel—careful so very careful…

After all, his seed was growing within of her… a precious little girl soon to be born. Milan had picked out her name as soon as she knew what they were having, asked him if it was to his liking…

Juliana Katrina Savant…

…And he absolutely loved it.

Now, the day happened to be a somber day, a day of pain, but also one of renewal and growth. It was the anniversary of the day his father had drawn his last breath. Julian stayed in a land of distraction, but as most soulmates do, the woman by his side knew her man… And what did she do? Plant a kiss upon his head, his heart, his cock and his spirit…then handed him an early Father’s Day card. He read the damn thing, teared up a bit, and ushered her legs open, devouring her, loving her, on that particular morning. He’d been so famished, hungry for the food only she could provide. His heart hurt a bit, but she was his medicine, made everything all right.

Back to the present…

He wrapped his arm around her extended stomach, enjoying his family of three.

Three…

The number of completion…

But he wasn’t finished with her by a long shot. This was only the beginning. Yes, this was only the start of what was to come, and he simply couldn’t wait to be that never-ending song and story, the one he’d promised her they’d be…

Why? Because tattoos last forever…

And he planned to love her just as long.

And opera music was in her soul,

And he wanted to help her sing the song…

*

We’ve got yellowed yesterday, but yesteryear hurt.

We’ve got toiled inscriptions on our souls, and the piercing pain lingers—

We’ve got soothing love written all over our writhing bodies and muddled minds.

We’ve got inky love swirling around our fingers.

We’ve got picturesque healing for today,

So that we can partake in an even more glorious tomorrow—

The scabby wounds of adoration lost still remain.

Leaving us at times drowning in blue-black sorrow.

Steaming tea and golden roses

Was only a small part of your persona revival—

Haunting opera music surrounds your spirit.

You’re a fighter, sleeping on a bed of delayed tears, called survival.

The dead brought us together,

But I lived through you, and you breathed through me—

We were travelling a road of loves lost,

Yes, we were brought together via tragedy.

I’ve been waiting, expecting you, my Love,

And I knew I’d meet my exquisite bride soon—

Our sacrifice of rich ink and fresh blood intermingled

For you shined down on me, Milan…

You are my coveted
tattooed moon…

The End

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A Thank You to the Reader

Thank you so much for purchasing and reading, ‘Tattooed Moon’. I appreciate you and hope that this story was to your liking, kept you entertained and possibly along the journey, made you smile a time or two. This story meant a lot to me, and I’m so glad you allowed me to share it with you.

Sincerely,

Tiana Laveen

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Other Works by Tiana Laveen

“Cross Climax I”

“Cross Climax II”

“The Slave Master’s Son”

“The Naughty Sins of a Saint”

“I Want Candy”

“When Saint Goes Marching In”

“Swirled Satin Sheets I”

“In My Sister’s Shadow”

“Swirled Satin Sheets II”

“Saved and SAINTified”

“Addicted In Cold Blood”

“Forgive Me Father For I Have Loved”

“Saint’s Sacrament – Sins of the Father”

“The Tale of the Blood Diamond”

“The Unearthing of Blackstone”

“Saint and Sinners – The King Angel Child of New York”

“Smoke and Mirrors”

“The Fight Within”

“Tattooed Moon”

Author Biography

Tiana Laveen was born in Cincinnati, Ohio. She moved away, and now lives inside of her mind, but her heart is occupied with her husband, two children, and twisted imagination. She enjoys a fulfilling and enriching life that includes writing books, public speaking, drawing, painting, listening to music, cooking, and spending time with loved ones.

Tiana Laveen is a uniquely creative and innovative author whose romance fiction is geared towards those who not only want to temporarily escape from the daily routines of life, but also became pleasantly caught up in the twisted, well developed journeys of her unique characters. Tiana creates a painting with words as she guides her reader into the lives of each and every main character. Her dedication to detail and staying true to her characters is evident in each novel that she writes.

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If you wish to communicate with Tiana Laveen, please contact her at facebook.com/tianalaveen.

Her books can be found on Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble and CreateSpace in e-Book (kindle, nook, Sony reader etc.) as well as paperback.

The author’s website: www.tianalaveen.com

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Music Directory

All of the below songs were mentioned in this book. The author encourages you to go back and re-read scenes that you may have enjoyed, with the mentioned songs playing to help add another layer to your reading experience. If you enjoyed the song, please help support the artist/band by purchasing their single/album on iTunes or wherever legal copies of music are sold:

1.   Iron and Wine – Fever Dream

2.   Steely Dan’s Greatest Hits

3.   Delibes – Flower Duet

4.   Awolnation – Sail

5.   Sade – Hold On

6.   Sade – I Will Be Your Friend

7.   Nina Simone – Black is the Color

8.   Freddie Joachim – Sweep Away My Sorrow

9.   Bonobo’s CD – Animal Magic CD

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Book Club Questions

1.   This book deals heavily with loss and grief; however, it also discusses healing and growth. What were some things that you could identify with Milan, if anything, regarding her response to losing someone so close to her?

2.   Julian is not your ‘typical’ Alpha male. He is not loud, nor overly aggressive until pushed to that level – as demonstrated by his behavior at Milan’s coworker’s retirement party. In three words or less, how would you describe Julian?

3.   Milan and Julian are very different people. Why do you believe they were drawn to one another, and their relationship worked so well?

4.   Julian would be considered by many to be eccentric, possibly even strange. He is into self healing, the art of the tattoo, and is very open-minded. He is also unconventional, intelligent, and appears to buck at rules and traditions. How do you think he became this way?

5.   Julian works with interesting people in his shop. He is also a perfectionist, as is evidenced by his lack of sleep and inner thoughts regarding his obligations and job. How did this possibly aid and hinder him, relationship and career wise?

6.   Milan is a responsible woman, who is intelligent, capable, and has just suffered a great loss. What are the reasons you believe she was so offended by what was happening to her at work with respect to her new supervisor Martin? Have you ever had to deal with a ‘Martin’ as well?

7.   Why do you think Julian opened up to Milan about the loss of his son during their first date? It was stated he hadn’t been this open with anyone before, so what was it about Milan that made him feel as if he could finally get it off his chest?

8.   What scene in the book surprised you the most?

9.   What do you personally think about people who have multiple tattoos? Do you yourself have body art and if so, how do you believe you’ve been perceived?

10.  There is a lot of symbolism in this book. What is some of the symbolism in the story that you personally noticed?

11.  Where do you believe Milan and Julian will be in life, five years from now?

12.  How would you personally describe grief after losing someone you love?

13.  What was one of your favorite scenes in the book?

14.  Did you learn anything from this novel? If so, what?

15.  If you could have a conversation with anyone that has passed on, who would it be and what would the discussion be about? (It can be someone you actually knew, a celebrity, etc.)

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