6. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
LEWIS
By Friday morning it’s finally quiet in the shop. I’m positive the Taylor Swift calls only let up because the concert happened last night, but I’ll take the relief anyway. On the bright side, I managed to get some of the people who came by to ask about tickets to leave with flowers, so it wasn’t a total loss. Not that I’ll ever admit that to the jerks next door, of course.
It took me a day to come up with the perfect revenge, with absolutely no help from Rowan, and another day to organize it, but I think the lag time makes it that much sweeter. They probably think I’m not going to retaliate. They’re over there at Ink Slingers high-fiving each other and laughing, but little do they know, they have an interruption to their day on its way as we speak. I figure fair is fair. If they’re going to disrupt my business, they can’t complain about me disrupting theirs.
I chew on my thumbnail and peek out the front window, watching as a custom pink Mustang pulls into the parking lot and directly into one of the spaces in front of the tattoo shop.
“Oh my god, they’re here,” I whisper-squeal to Rowan. Bouncing on my toes, I wave him over and watch with glee as three drag queens get out of the Mustang dressed as cheerleaders.
“I really should have asked about your plan.” Row sighs.
“Oh please, it’s harmless.” I tut. “It’s just a drag queen-O-gram. They’ll go in there and do a sassy, insulting cheer routine in front of whatever customers are inside and then those big bullies will know they can’t mess with us without getting it back in return. I’m defending our honor. You should be thanking me.”
He snorts and pats my shoulder.
Once the queens go inside Ink Slingers, I’m completely in the dark about how things are going. I should have snuck over there and planted a hidden camera so I could see their faces. Maybe I should run over there right now and watch. I don’t have much time to debate that option before a customer comes in asking to talk about flowers for a baby shower though, effectively distracting me. Things pick up from there, with another few people filtering in and out, picking up bouquets for their partners or buying potted flowers to brighten up their indoor space. Some online orders trickle in after that, and by the time I’m all caught up, it’s been at least two hours since the drag-o-gram arrived.
“Their car is still parked out front. You don’t think they stayed to get tattoos after they did their mean cheer, do you?” I wonder out loud, not really expecting Row to weigh in on the situation.
I’m debating going over there to press my nose up to the window and see just what the hell is going on when the cheerleader queens come back into view. The three of them are smiling, carrying their poms at their sides and free of tattoos—at least, visible ones. I narrow my eyes suspiciously, watching them pile into the Mustang and take off.
“Uh, Lew, you might want to take a look at this.” Rowan leans on the counter, looking at his phone.
My stomach sinks and I hurry over, crowding in next to him so our shoulders are touching and I have a good view of his phone screen. He taps it and a TikTok starts to play. It’s the drag queens, unmistakably at Ink Slingers. Whoever filmed it didn’t start until their routine was already going on. I’m happy to see I at least got what I paid for, with the three queens hurling epic rhyming insults at the guys as they perform a synchronized routine. There’s laughter and cheers in the background that I’m hoping are coming from customers, but something tells me I missed the mark and those idiots actually liked being roasted by drag queens.
Likes, comments, and views roll in the whole time we’re watching, and the whole thing ends with the camera panning around to my nemesis, who flashes a shocker, along with a wink and his tongue sticking out, before giving a quick promo for the shop.
Epic fucking fail. I tried to annoy them in the middle of the workday and they turned it into a viral video for Ink Slingers.
“Dammit,” I bark, slamming my hand on the countertop.
The bell over the door chimes and I straighten up, forcing my scowl into a friendly smile to greet the customer.
“Welcome to Little Shop of Flowers, what can I help you with this afternoon?”
“Hi.” The woman approaches the counter, looking put together and professional in a pantsuit and a sleek ponytail. “I’m a wedding planner in the area actually, and the flower shop I’ve used for years has been causing me some problems recently, so I’m shopping around for an alternative.”
My heart jumps and my smile becomes genuine. Becoming the go-to shop for a wedding planner is basically guaranteed income.
“It’s so great to meet you. I’m Lewis, and I own and run the shop. Let me show you around and then I’d be happy to answer any questions you have. Can I ask what happened with the shop you’ve been working with?”
The corners of her eyes tighten. “Let’s just say they’re not always as professional as I would like.”
I nod in understanding. That could mean anything from late deliveries to bad arrangements to this woman just being Type A with excessively high expectations. I’m not going to pry any deeper, but it definitely makes me straighten my shoulders and covertly try to brush the loose dirt off the front of my apron.
“Well, I can assure you—” Before I can finish the sentence, the sound of loud, muffled music cuts me off.
Oh no.
I look past her, my eyes going wide as the door swings open. It’s like watching a trainwreck in slow motion with no way to stop the impending disaster. Four men strut in with the twink leading the pack. I vaguely recognize the other three from the day I stormed in there to yell about the Taylor Swift calls. All four of them are dressed in some of the worst drag I’ve ever seen in my life. They’re wearing ratty blond wigs that look like they came from the thrift store up the road, and they have dresses to match, floral and ill fitting. One thing I can say in their favor is that their makeup is on point.
Oh.
Oh .
Those drag bitches totally screwed me. I am so leaving them a shitty review.
The lyrics to the song kick in, and all four of them start to lip-synch to “Bad Blood.” How fitting. An unholy shriek builds up in my chest, but with the potential mega customer standing right next to me wide eyed, all I can do is grit my teeth and keep a bland smile etched onto my face.
When the song ends, they all blow me a kiss in practiced synchronicity and then bounce back out of my shop without a word. Rowan coughs and it’s clear he’s trying to cover a laugh, and I flex my fingers at my sides. My limbs are numb. Is this what a stroke feels like? I swivel back towards the wedding planner and let out a breathless laugh.
“So sorry about that. Let me go ahead and show you the selection I carry. And, keep in mind, I can get specialty flowers or even grow specific ones if you give me enough notice. Right this way,” I say in a slightly breathless voice, hoping she doesn’t notice the way my eye is twitching.
Clearly, I’m going to need to think bigger if I’m going to show them I can’t be messed with. Would a horse head in his bed be too extreme?
Hmm, maybe I’ll keep brainstorming.
ARROW
I shake my head as the guys come streaming back into the shop, laughing and pulling their wigs off. I was in the middle of a tattoo when they all flounced out of here, and I can’t say I’m mad I missed the drag fun.
“You should have seen his face.” Jag cackles.
“He looked madder than a wet cat,” Tex agrees, howling with laughter.
Brick leans against the doorframe that leads back to his piercing studio in the back and grins at the sight of the four of them in dresses. After the cheerleaders in drag did their routine, Piston immediately jumped up and asked for their help. It took less than an hour for them to plan a routine, and another hour for the queens to help them with makeup while Hero ran to the secondhand shop to buy some of the most god-awful dresses I’ve seen in my life.
“You know, I kind of like how breezy these dresses are.” Hero does a twirl, the skirt of his dress flying up to show off his hairy legs, scuffed up boots, and today’s brightly colored socks, adorned with ice cream cones.
“You picked ugly ones though,” Piston complains, plucking at the deflated area of his dress where his tits would go if he had any.
“Fuck off. It’s not like there’s an endless selection at the thrift store.” Hero rolls his eyes.
Brick hides a snicker behind his hand, drawing Piston’s attention. Of all the guys, Piston’s always been the most even-keel, the only one I can usually count on to back me up when the other three are getting too wild. The only reason I didn’t try to stop them from putting on dresses and going next door was because Piston was with them. Pissing off our new neighbor is one thing, but the last thing I need is for them to get out of hand and get the cops called on us or something.
“What, you don’t think I can pull it off?” Piston jokes, doing a little shimmy at Brick.
Our piercer chuckles again and then yawns widely. He’s been doing that a lot lately—yawning, going through multiple cups of coffee a day, coming in with bags under his eyes. I make a mental note to ask him if everything is okay the next time I get him alone.
“Oh no, you should definitely keep the dress and incorporate it into your regular wardrobe,” Brick deadpans.
“Just for you, sugar plum,” Hero blows a kiss.
Brick tuts and slips back into his private little sanctuary behind the curtain while the four of them start stripping off their dresses right there in the middle of the shop.
“Sure, don’t worry about walk-ins,” I say blandly as Hero balls up his dress and whips it at Jag like it’s a snowball, catching him off guard while his own dress is halfway over his head. He stumbles and falls on his ass and Hero throws his head back to howl with laughter.
Sure enough, the door swings open and a guy who looks to be in his twenties or so steps inside. His eyes widen to the size of saucers at the sight of Hero standing there in nothing but his pink camo briefs while Jaguar rolls around on the ground half undressed, trying to free himself from his dress, and the other two idiots standing there grinning.
I sigh and shake my head. “Welcome to the madhouse… sorry, I mean Ink Slingers.”
Eventually, everyone is back in their regular clothes, the granny dresses all folded and set aside to be dumped in the clothing donation box down the street later. I help the walk-in with a flash piece off the wall—a simple skull that’s nothing but linework and shading—while other appointments and walk-ins slowly fill the shop.
Unsurprisingly, while I work, my mind wanders to Lewis. I smile to myself, thinking about some of the hilarious, dramatic, and even downright filthy texts he’s sent me this week. Friday took a hell of a long time to get here, but I finally get to see him again tonight. I rub my lips together mindlessly, thinking about the feeling of his mouth against mine, the breathy sounds that vibrated around my tongue, and the heated groping of our hands.
My cock swells uncomfortably in my jeans, and I shift on my chair to hide the growing bulge. Luckily, my client doesn’t notice and neither does anyone else.
A few hours later and the shop has emptied out again, our appointment books clear for the rest of the night.
“Okay, hear me out.” Tex uses his thumb to nudge the rim of his hat up a little as he pitches us whatever idea he’s been cooking up. “We ride out to that drag bar in Milwaukee.”
“Hell yeah, I’m in,” Jag agrees immediately.
Piston and Hero echo their agreement.
“Yo, Brick.” Jag cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, even though he’s standing right next to the curtain that’s definitely not soundproof.
“I told you to stop calling me that,” Brick grumbles, shuffling out with a backpack slung over his shoulder and his hands in his pockets. At first glance, he looks entirely out of place in a tattoo shop with his skin free of any ink and his only visible piercing a pastel pink hoop through his septum. He’s even smaller than Jag, but given the origin of his nickname, I wouldn’t want to mess with him any more than I’d want to get on Jag’s bad side.
“No can do.” Jag smirks. “Come out with us. You can even ride bitch on my bike.” He puts on an exaggerated purr that makes Brick purse his lips, obviously unimpressed with the offer.
“Hard pass, and not just because I refuse to be your bitch.” Brick pats Jag’s cheek and then skirts around him to head out.
“Fine, we’ll have fun without you,” Jag shouts after him. “Alright, let’s mount up.”
I arch an eyebrow, mostly because it’s fun to stand on decorum when Jag is so dedicated to anarchy.
“Don’t you think the club leader should be the one to say that?”
“Yes, fine, if the power trip is that important to you, go ahead.” He waves for me to go on.
I bite back a grin and shake my head. “Piston can play your fearless leader tonight. I’m going to sit this one out.”
“You sure?” Hero eyes me with concern.
“Yeah, go ahead.” I wave them off. “I’ve just got a headache. You guys have fun.”
“I hear fresh air is great for a headache,” Jag teases. I chuckle and don’t bother to correct him. Not that I’m going to confirm it either. They’ve heard as much as they’re going to from me about Lewis.
I dawdle, cleaning up my workstation while they all head out through the back, the same way Brick went a few minutes ago. Their motorcycles all roar to life and the sound slowly fades into the distance. I finish cleaning up, bagging up the garbage and carrying it out to the dumpster.
I brush my hands on my jeans and then slip my phone out of my pocket as I saunter over to lean against my bike. I pull up the text thread between Lewis and me and type out a quick message.
ARROW: Are we still on for tonight?
LEWIS: Absolutely. I’m just finishing up at work. About to take the trash out and then I’ll lock up and head home.
Another text comes through a second later with his address. I drag in a slow breath and tilt my face up to feel the fading afternoon sun on my skin. Tonight, I’m going to have Lewis’s breathy moans and the taste of his skin on my tongue again. My cock gives a heavy throb, my balls full and aching already. I drag my tongue slowly over my bottom lip and palm myself lazily through my jeans, staring at the message for another second.
ARROW: I’ll be there in an hour.
I pocket my phone again and pull on my helmet. The back door to the flower shop starts to creak open, but stops after only an inch. I watch it for a second, curious about the twink who was stupid enough to pick a fight with Jag. My phone vibrates again, and I check it one more time.
LEWIS: Can’t wait.
I grin and swing my leg over my Harley. I don’t have time to waste creeping on our neighbor; I need to go home and jump in the shower. My cock throbs again as I rev my engine and tear out of the alley without a backward glance.