8. Chapter 8
HERO
Since I left my bike at Ink Slingers last night, Onyx gives me a ride to work. With the windows rolled down and his fingers drumming on the steering wheel in time to the music on the radio, there’s a lightness in my chest that brings a smile to my face.
He pulls right into the same parking spot he used last night.
There’s something so sweet and domestic about getting a ride to work from him, even if it was mostly practical.
He turns towards me in his seat and my heart jumps.
I glance at the large window at the front of the shop.
There’s no way those nosy assholes aren’t going to notice me getting out of Onyx’s car.
He said he didn’t care what I told them about us, but I haven’t gotten around to deciding whether I care what they know.
If I tell them Onyx and I are hooking up or whatever this is, they’re going to be looking at me with sad puppy eyes when he leaves, whether that’s next week or in three months.
Do I want to deal with all that? I only have a few seconds to decide with Onyx looking at me with a soft kind of expectation in his eyes and the guys no doubt already craning their necks inside to see what’s going on out here.
Fuck it.
I lean across the center console and brush a kiss to his lips. They curl into a smile against mine and I kiss him just a little deeper, savoring the quiet moan he feeds me when I slip my tongue into his mouth.
“Come back around four and I should be able to get started on a new tattoo for you if you want,” I offer.
He nods, his forehead bumping against mine. “Count on it.”
I slide out of the car, then stop as a realization hits me. I pat my pockets and pull out my keys, fiddling with the keyring for a second before ducking back inside the car.
“Here.” I hand him my house key.
Onyx curls his fingers around it, his smile growing wider and a look of wonder dancing in his eyes.
“I get my own key to your house? This feels like a big step, sweetness.”
Heat creeps up my neck and I duck away from his gaze before he can catch me blushing. “I don’t want you to end up locked out while I’m at work.”
“Well, I appreciate it. I’ll see you at four.”
It takes every ounce of self-control I have to close the car door instead of climbing back in to kiss him a little longer. I wave as he pulls out and then gather my patience and head inside Ink Slingers.
Music is blaring loud enough to rattle my eardrums, but for once, it’s not “Dance the Night Away” assaulting me as I step through the door.
Instead, it’s some poppy song about a zombie apocalypse.
But clearly Jag is still to blame because he’s singing along at the top of his lungs and shaking his ass.
I head straight for the speaker to turn it down a few thousand decibels.
“Hey,” he squawks, spinning around to glare at me.
“Dude, you don’t need to listen to every song you love at max volume.” I rub my ears for emphasis. “And what happened? Is Dua Lipa canceled or something? You haven’t listened to anything else in, like, a year.”
“New hyperfixation song has entered the chat.” He shrugs.
“Would it be too much to ask for you to pick a less irritating hyperfixation song?” Arrow asks with a look of pleading in his eyes. I’m sure he’s already going to get an earful from his man when he gets home about how loud Jag is playing his music again.
“I don’t pick the hyperfixation songs. Take it up with the brain gremlins.” The song ends and starts all over again, and Jag goes right back to singing along with it.
I chuckle and head up to my station. Maybe they were too distracted by Jag’s antics to notice Onyx dropping me off. That’ll at least give me until the afternoon to decide what I want to tell them.
“That beat up old Mustang wasn’t Onyx’s, was it?” A knowing smile flickers on Tex’s face.
Fuck me, Jag can’t even create a proper diversion with his bright green leopard pants and brain gremlins.
“Uh, yeah,” I say casually, I hope.
“Did he swing through town for a little stick and poke?” Jag waggles his eyebrows.
“Be more crass, dude.” Arrow shakes his head.
“What? I meant a tattoo. We all saw the article where he was singing Hero’s praises as his exclusive tattoo artist.”
I didn’t get the chance to properly clean up my station last night, so I turn my attention to that before my first appointment is due in, my stomach twisting into anxious knots while I work out what exactly to say.
“Is he already on his way out of town again?” Tex asks a lot more conversationally than Jag.
“Actually…” I rub the back of my neck, glad for the distraction of cleaning rather than standing around with all of them staring at me while we talk about this. “He’s planning to hang around for a little while this time.”
“Kick-ass,” Piston says immediately. “How long?”
“I don’t know, a few weeks. Maybe a little longer.” I shrug.
“Aw, platonic sleepover,” Jag says sarcastically.
“Is it really that important to you that I confirm that we’re fucking?” I finally turn and raise an eyebrow at him. “Fine, yes, Onyx and I are special friends. Can we drop it now?”
“Yes, it was important to me, and thank you.” Jag smirks. “For the record, I think he’s an awesome dude and you should definitely lock him down.”
I snort a laugh. “It’s not that serious. I think he’s looking for a quiet vacation during a break between tours and stuff, so he’s here. No big deal.”
There, that should be convincing enough to keep them off my back when Onyx leaves again, right? The bell above the door jingles, signaling the arrival of a client and, blessedly, the end of the conversation.
ONYX
I found my phone in my car after dropping Hero off at work this morning.
There were a few texts and missed calls, all of which I cleared the notifications for without looking at them.
Then, I spent the rest of the morning hanging out at Hero’s house before going to the small downtown area of Fall Crosse to wander around and enjoy the weather a little.
At four o’clock on the dot I pull into the same parking spot as this morning, right in front of Ink Slingers.
A smile plays on my lips as I stuff my keys into the tight pocket of my jeans and jog for the door.
Sadly, I don’t get the same welcome as I did last night with Hero waiting to sweep me into his arms and kiss me stupid.
It weirdly feels like home though, stepping into the bustling tattoo shop, several tattoo machines buzzing and conversation creating a general din over the music.
I spot Hero in his usual spot, cleaning up his station to get ready for me.
I pause just inside the door for a minute to admire the view of him working.
His t-shirt stretches over the broad expanse of his shoulders and his jeans hug his ass in a way that should be illegal.
More than that though, I can’t stop watching the confidence in every movement he makes, meticulously setting out equipment and moving around his space with the grace of someone who’s memorized every step.
“Onyx, hey, man.” Arrow is the first to notice me, giving me a nod in greeting before returning his attention to the tattoo he’s working on.
“Hey,” I call back, my eyes still fixed on Hero as he spins around at the sound of my name.
“Is it four already?” He rakes his fingers through his hair, his lips tugging into a smile.
A few feet away, Jag snorts a laugh. “It’s so easy to lose track of time when you’re only checking the clock every five minutes all day.”
Hero holds his middle finger up in Jag’s direction and he pretends to catch it like a blown kiss and mimes tucking it into his pocket.
“Come on up.” Hero waves me over.
Instead of using the stairs, I stride across the shop and heave myself up over the railing to reach him. I pull my shirt off and settle into the chair while he grabs his sketch pad and taps on it for a second before turning the screen in my direction.
“How do you like this lettering?” he asks.
I study it for a second, then nod. “Looks awesome. Let’s do this.”
Over the last four years, Hero has given me dozens of tattoos.
It’s the only thing we’ve done together more than fucking, and that’s only because he can tattoo me for hours after we’re wrung out on orgasms. The smell of the familiar lavender antiseptic tickles my nose and immediately sounds like sex and the rhythmic buzz of a tattoo needle.
It’s happiness, the color yellow, and Sundays, and it’s my second favorite smell in the world after whatever lovely, homey brown smell lives on Hero’s skin.
I’ve only been tattooed at the shop a handful of times, but I love the light, chaotic energy here, and I take it all in while he finishes prepping for me.
“Is that same song just playing on a loop?” I ask as Hero whips out a cheap disposable razor to clear the spot along my lower belly.
“Don’t start, we’ve already argued about it all morning,” he says in a low voice with a warm chuckle.
“Got it, not starting.” I mime zipping my lips.
Hero cleans off the spot, goose bumps rising on my skin from the chill of the sanitary wipes, then lays the transfer paper and carefully peels it off.
Tex wanders over, uses his thumb to push his cowboy hat up another inch, and nods in approval.
“That’s going to look awesome.”
“Everything Hero inks on me looks badass.” I fold my arms under my head so I won’t be tempted to reach out and brush his hair out of his face or touch him while he’s working.
Did he tell his friends about us when he got to work?
I wish I’d actually asked this morning what he planned to tell them.
That we’re just fucking around? That we’re seeing each other?
That we’ve been falling in love one fleeting encounter at a time for years and that I’m here because the life I thought I wanted feels empty?
That the only time I’m happy is when we’re together?
I guess he probably didn’t tell them that last one since I haven’t told him…
But maybe his own version of that? Is he feeling any of what I am, or am I just going to make an ass out of myself when I finally get around to telling him all those things?
“Ready?” he asks, just like he always does, with the needle hovering over my skin.
“Ready.”
I let out a slow breath so I won’t accidentally flinch when the needle touches my skin, and I sink into the familiar feeling of the first few strokes.
The bite of the tattoo needle has its own sound, of course, and no, it’s not just the steady buzz of the machine.
It’s a mixture of the squinky metallic sound and a warm whoosh , with the undertone of a plucky, excitable melody.
“Do you guys have any plans tonight?” Arrow asks.
Hero pauses the needle strokes to meet my eye questioningly.
“I was thinking we might head to Milwaukee to find something fun to do,” he says.
My eyebrows pull together, and I chuckle. “Why would we go all the way to Milwaukee?”
“All the way” is probably a bit of hyperbole considering it’s barely over half an hour away, but I feel like I’m already sinking into my old Fall Crosse mindset that there’s no reason to “go to the city” when there’s plenty to do around here.
“Yeah, why go all the way to Milwaukee where you’ll just pay twice as much for a drink as you will at Wooley’s and the bar there won’t even have darts?” Tex says.
“Wooley’s has darts? Well, that settles it. Let’s go to Wooley’s.”
Hero grunts, his attention focused on his work again, carefully inking the lines of the words “Life’s more fun when you’re weird” across my lower abdomen.
Is there a reason he’s hesitating? Does he not want me hanging around with his friends?
Or maybe it’s about Wooley’s. Is he crushing on a bartender there or something?
I tug my lip ring between my teeth and worry it while I wait for him to say something.
After a painfully long minute, he glances up again.
“It’s not a very exciting place. Just a bunch of old, drunk gays who like to shoot pool and play the same shitty songs on the jukebox over and over.”
“Excuse you, but we can hear you talking about us,” Piston grumbles, feigning offense.
I try not to let my stomach jostle too much under the needle as I laugh.
“It sounds fun to me. I want to go,” I insist again, and finally Hero shrugs.
“Alright, yeah, we can go to Wooley’s tonight.”