But the first time I talked to Pen, I was intrigued by her quick banter and came back for more a few weeks later. I decided it would be kind of nice to have someone to talk to who didn’t directly know me or actively want to fuck me.
We keep the conversation light, and it works for us. I have no idea what she looks like, other than knowing that she’s a blonde from her picture, and I kind of like it like that. Plus, she gives as good as she gets and keeps me on my toes.
Was it juvenile to ask Pen to be my friend? Yeah. Probably. But I’m glad I did. She treats me like a person and not a piece of meat. I didn’t know it at the time, but I needed that kind of friendship from a woman. One where she doesn’t want to baby-trap me because of what I look like or can give her.
I shiver at the thought of kids. Fuck that.
The only other women I can count on for a platonic relationship are my sister, Kate, and Becca, a fellow tattoo artist who is coming to work for me here in Daybreak. Other than those two, I’m hard up on female friendships. But Pen is anice reprieve from everyone else in my life. Our friendship is easy and fun, something I desperately need more of.
Maybe one day we’ll reveal our faces to one another, but for now, I like what we have.
I head into the second bedroom and look out the window at the same view as from the living room.
I’ve never lived in a two-bedroom apartment before, only studios or one-bedrooms, and I’m excited to have the extra space. I plan on turning this bedroom into an art studio with a hide-a-bed, so when my sister comes and visits, she’ll have a place to crash. It’ll be the icing on the cake when I can get to modernizing the whole unit, but until then, it’s perfect the way it is.
I head back to the kitchen, toss my empty plastic bottle in the trash, and lock up the apartment. I still have one more coat of paint to apply to the walls downstairs, and then I’ll head back to Newport to pack the last few remaining things before the movers show up in the morning. It’s going to be a long night, but as of tomorrow, I’ll officially be a resident of Daybreak.
It’s a dream come true, and maybe one day, I’ll tell Pen about all of this.
~ ~~
Although it’s the end of November and the temperature is dropping, I don’t think I’ve sweated this much since mid-August.
The movers showed up at eight AM on the dot, and the four of us got to work loading up the truck with everything from my apartment and my storage unit. We managed to make it to Daybreak by eleven and unload everything in under an hour. Going up and down the thirty-two steps–yes, I counted–about a dozen times, had all of us sweating our asses off.
I got maybe a few hours of restless sleep last night and am tired and hungry. Boxes are scattered all over the apartment, but both bedrooms and the living room are set up with my large furniture, which is good enough for me right now.
I haven’t tried the coffee shop downstairs yet, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why not. I’ve been slowly setting up the tattoo shop over the last month and getting it ready for the grand opening, but I haven’t stepped foot next door.
I think it’s time to pop my Beach Brew cherry and get myself a pick-me-up because I’m tired as shit and still have a ton of unpacking to do.
I throw on a T-shirt, one that’s not saturated in sweat, and put on a few swipes of deodorant. I don’t bother locking up and head down the stairs to the coffee shop. The A-board out front is advertising fall drinks, and I can’t help but cringe at how anybody can stand the sweet concoctions.
When I open the door, the scent of fresh ground coffee beans assaults my nose, and I breathe in the familiar aroma. There’s nothing like a good cup of coffee to make your day better.
Two other people are in line ahead of me, and it gives me the chance to take in the space. Surfboards hang from the ceilings, and greenery in the form of palm trees and other tropical plants is scattered about to bring the outside in. Surf photography is hung all over the walls, and the coffee shop counter is made of light wood, making the space feel warm and homey.
It’s not too far off from the vibe I’m going for in the tattoo shop.
“Welcome to Beach Brew, how may I help you?” The sing-song voice of the barista pulls my attention towards the register. I must have dozed off because the two people who were in front of me are now waiting for their drinks at the other end of the counter.
I falter for half a second before taking the few steps up to the register. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more beautiful face in my life. The woman before me is seriously gorgeous. She has long blonde hair that frames her heart-shaped face, and Caribbean blue eyes that pull you into their orbit. Her pink, pouty lips are all-natural, not plumped with filler like most women have nowadays, and her button nose is slightly upturned at the tip. To top it all off, she’s not wearing muchmakeup but a little mascara to frame her eyes. She’s a natural beauty. A natural beauty who has my dick stirring in my pants.
“Can I help you?” she repeats. Her eyes are slightly widened, and I can see her throat work a swallow.
If I had to guess, she’s intrigued by me, too. Nervous even.
I clear my throat and say, “Coffee. Black. Large.”
“Are you sure you don’t want one of our specialty drinks, sir?” she asks expectantly.
I almost laugh because sir is what people call my dad, not me. But I grunt and don’t say anything else.
“Is that a yes or a no? I don’t speak caveman.” It’s only been mere seconds, but she’s turned from nervous to sassy. “Earth to Viking…”
I can’t seem to form a sentence. I’m usually a little more tactful, not by much, but for the most part, I use words. Let's just blame it on low blood sugar and mild sleep deprivation.
I shake my head at her, indicating no. The woman has balls if she’s already calling me names. I mean, she’s not wrong. I do look like a Viking, but I’ve never known anyone to straight-up say it to my face within the first few minutes of meeting me. Most people are intimidated by my size and lack of emotion to say anything remotely insulting to me.
