Growing up the only child of a single parent who pinedfor her lost love was no picnic. Don’t get me wrong, my mom was the freaking best mom I could’ve asked for. She was loving, kind, and fun to be around, and was always my friends’ favorite too; the cool mom. She taught me to be a strong, independent woman and not to rely on a man to do things like changing a tire or patching some drywall. But there were many nights when she thought I was asleep or when she thought she was alone that I’d hear her crying. She wasn’t the happy-go-lucky person she pretended to be. I think it was because she missed my dad. Although I don’t really remember him, and she rarely spoke of him, I knew she had loved him and that one day he had just left us without a word. I didn’t really blame him; I guess. He was a kid himself when my mom got pregnant at seventeen. They tried to make it work, from what I understood, but he couldn’t handle the pressure and took off.
Some shrinks might say I have daddy issues, or whatever, and that’s why I sleep around, and maybe I do. But I have zero desire to get close enough for anyone to hurt me like my mom got hurt. Sure, my dad leaving probably messed me up, too, but seeing the effect it had on her did me dirty, and I’d be damned if I let any man do that to me. So now I made sure I was the one doing the leaving, and that suited me just fine.
I arrived home, kicked off my shoes, and got cozy on my couch to devour my late-night snack. As I was eating, my thoughts drifted back to my romp in the hay with good old what’s-his-name. He was okay, but not a worthy contender for a repeat. You’d have to really fuck like a godto get that kind of invitation. Believe me, I knew it was easier to recycle a good lay, but lately they’d been hard to come by. The last guy I deemed even remotely worthy of a repeat went and found himself a girlfriend, unfortunately. So I was back to picking up randos at the bar after work. If I were smart, I’d swear off men altogether and get myself off, but I’ve never been one to make the smartest decisions, and I was apparently a glutton for punishment.
2
BRANDON
With my head bent over my sketchbook, I tuned out the rest of the shop. I still had some time before my next appointment, and I really wanted to finish this sketch. I hadn’t had inspiration like this in years, so I had really been leaning into it lately. My last muse was my ex, Miranda. At one point in our relationship, I thought she was my endgame, but when things got tough, she checked out. At the lowest point in my life, the person who was supposed to be there by my side through it all disappeared. Truthfully, I probably would have left myself too, because after my mom died, I was a mess.
But looking back, Miranda was done with me months before my mom actually passed away. She hated how much time I spent at the hospital with my mom or helping around my parents’ house. Not exactly how I’d want my life partner to act while my mom was dying, but I ignored her red flags because I didn’t want to go through losing my mom alone.Sure, I had my dad and my brothers, but they were dealing with their own grief.
Then, when Mom died, I completely broke. I didn’t handle things well at all and fell into a pretty deep depression. I checked out of life because what was the point? At least, that’s what I thought back then. A couple of months after my mom passed away—a questionably respectable amount of time to wait before dumping your boyfriend—Miranda left. Even though she was already gone emotionally, she ghosted me with no explanation.
So, there I was, depressed and grieving, and the girl I once thought I’d spend my life with abandoned me, too. I was glad I dodged that bullet, but at the time, it was just another thing that pushed me further into depression. I stopped living my life, rarely leaving my apartment. Bathing was a chore, and at that point, I’d lost so much weight, you’d think I was the one who had gone through cancer treatments. Thankfully, even though they were grieving too, my dad and brothers rallied and helped me see how badly I was handling everything. I was at my rock bottom, and after spending a week at an inpatient facility, I followed up with an outpatient therapist each week. Embarrassed as I was, I was also thankful that I got the help I needed—it saved my life.
Although it had been years, and I was back to my easy going self, now and then, I’d feel the sting of that abandonment. It’s something I was sure I’d carry for the rest of my life, but now have coping mechanisms in place to deal with those feelings when they come up.
The bell above the front door signaled someone entering the shop, pulling me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see my brother, Nathan, walk in, followed by his new girlfriend, Daphne. Lowering my eyes, I continued with my sketch. I’d say hi to them in a minute. I really needed to get this sketch on paper while the idea was still fresh in my mind, and I still had a few minutes until my next appointment.
Moments later, I heard a throat clear, and I looked up to see the very subject of my sketch leaning up against my workspace. I quickly slapped my sketchbook closed.
Her arms crossed in front of her, pushing up her already ample chest. “Jumpy much?” She asked, leaning into my space. “Whatcha drawing?”
“What are you doing here?” I answered, avoiding her question as I pushed the book out of her reach and leaned back in my chair, trying to remain calm. She was the last person I expected to see.
“Daphne and I are getting bestie tattoos,” Lexi beamed back at me. “Nathan made us appointments.”
“Are you my one o’clock?” I asked hopefully. It had been about a month since that debacle of a Halloween party, and I hadn’t been able to get her out of my mind since. When shit hit the fan, I didn’t have time to say goodbye or get her number, so I was hoping we’d run into each other now that Nathan and Daphne had made things official.
“It’s me or Daphne, and I guess Dylan is doing the other, although the tattoo we settled on is so tiny I don’t know why we’re taking up two of your appointment times.” She pulledout a piece of paper from her purse to show me the design of two intertwined hand-drawn hearts.
“Did you draw these?” I asked.
“Yeah, we each drew one heart. I thought it was a cute idea and vanilla enough for Daphne’s boring ass,” she laughed.
“I can hear you, bitch,” Daphne called from the front of the shop, causing Lexi and me to chuckle.
“I’d love to tattoo you, if that’s okay?” I stood and started clearing my workspace.
“Yeah, that’s fine with me,” she smiled and then turned towards the front. “Daphs, Brando is going to do me.” My cock twitched.
“He’d better do no such thing, Lexi. Behave yourself.” Daphne joked back at her. God, did I want to do her alright, but I needed to keep my thoughts on the task at hand.
Lexi turned back to me. “Where do you want me?”
Her question had me imagining all the ways I’d like to have her—on my chair, bent over my desk, back at my place… the list went on and on. I shook my head. “Well, where do you want your tattoo?”
“I think right here, by my collarbone.” She pointed to a spot over her left breast, and I think I stopped breathing. Tattooing had never been a sexual thing for me before. It didn’t matter where the tattoo placement was; it was art on a canvas to me. But the thought of touching Lexi anywhere had me half hard already. I really needed to focus.
I turned away from her to adjust myself and get some supplies from a cabinet. I got to work setting up my stationand motioned to the chair when it was ready. “You can sit here.” She hopped up into my chair, and I began her consultation. We chatted about size and placement, and then I went into the back room to make the stencil. When I returned, I had her stand up so she could see the placement in a full-length mirror. After confirming everything looked good, I had her get back up on the chair. The tattoo was literally going to take me less than ten minutes, so I took my time getting started. I wanted to spend as much time as I could getting to know her.
“So, you mentioned this was pretty vanilla? If you could get any tattoo, what would it be?” I asked, curious about her.
She bit her lip, deep in thought, and damn if that wasn’t sexy as hell. “I don’t even like the ocean, but I love octopi. Or are they octopuses? Whatever. I love them. I think they are so beautiful and resilient, and they can adapt to so many situations, so I think I’d probably get an octopus or some tentacles or something.”
“Octopi are cool. If you want, I can sketch up some ideas for you,” I offered. “I think an octopus would look sick wrapped around your thigh.”
