Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
FADE
“That’s sick,” Shye says.
I adjust the phone so my brother can see my tattoo.
It sits primarily on the front of my hip, nose pointing toward my navel.
The tail wraps behind it around my hip, but it’s not finished.
The tail will blend in with the bigger tattoo.
This side will be a serpent that wraps around my left leg and across my chest, around my shoulder, and then twist down my right arm.
“Thanks.”
“Dude, why did you get it so close to your dick? You can’t show it off.”
“This one is only for me. I don’t plan to show it off.”
“I think you’re going to need to start a thirst trap account on ShareIt. Show off the progression of your full-body ink. Bounce your dick in skimpy underwear as you do so. You can make money off that shit.”
“Off my bouncing dick?” I ask, amused.
“Yeah.” Shye gets closer to the screen. “Erez’s talent just blows me away. That fur looks real. Like you’ve grown a patch of colorful fur on one hip.”
I nod and brush a thumb over the cat’s head. “Trust me, I know. Every time I catch a glimpse of it now that the second skin is off, I’m a little startled. It’s so realistic, aside from the colors, and that doesn’t seem to be enough to always convince my brain that it’s just a pic.”
Shye sighs. “I need another one.”
“Need? Or want?”
“Pretty sure there’s no difference at this point.”
I bring my phone back up and set it on a shelf so Shye’s looking at my face and I can drop the towel I was using to cover my junk. It’s not like he’d care. We’re brothers. Our mother used to shower us together to save water and time. Not a big deal.
Still, I try to be modest.
“What’s your next?” I ask as I pull some briefs on.
We talk while I get dressed and ready for the day.
He talks about tattoos he’s wanted for quite a while.
I’m practically through prepping my jambalaya when we eventually hang up so he can pick up his little bonus child.
Shye has a new girlfriend, who came with a little girl, and he spends all his time with his new daughter.
Sometimes, I think he enjoys being a father figure and spoiling his bonus kid more than he does the girl’s mother.
That’s not a bad thing, in my opinion. She’s four, and her father has never been around.
I find it’s easy to dismiss the absence of a deadbeat parent, regardless of what the courts say.
In my personal experience, being forced into the company of a parent who doesn’t want you is not healthy for the children.
All these people preaching that all kids need a mother and a father present are stupid.
What a child needs is someone who loves them.
Supports them. Makes them their priority.
Their relationship to the kid barely matters.
I admire Shye for stepping up for this little girl, and he loves being a parent. I think being a parent has made him a better partner too. Not that he was a bad partner before, but he’s far more… What’s the word I’m looking for?
My wooden spoon hovers over the top of my simmering jambalaya.
A smile lingers because I never thought I’d see Shye in the role of parent.
We had a good father, but our mother? She struggled.
She was in and out of our lives, in and out of rehab.
Most of our visits with her were court ordered, and it was clear that she didn’t want to be there.
Each visit was mentally draining. Every fucking visit left us feeling rejected by a parent. I will never understand how a system that claims their goal is to protect children doesn’t actually take the wellbeing of said children into consideration.
Pretty sure my brother and I still have Mommy issues. Pretty sure I never saw either of us with children because of our own childhood. So I’m shocked and happily proven wrong when I see Shye with his new daughter and they appear to be thriving.
That doesn’t convince me I want a child. Hell, I can’t even get the man I want. Never mind a damn child!
Speaking of Erez... I glance at the clock. He’ll be off work in a couple hours. Just enough time to finish my jambalaya, sweet cornbread, and peach tea. Maybe I can persuade him to go on another date with me even though he’ll be oblivious that it’s a date.
The thought makes me laugh as much as it feels heavily defeating. Yet do I give up? Not a chance. Until he outright tells me no, my heart is set on Erez Deth.
While everything is cooking, I check my calendar to see what work I have scheduled.
I’ll be spending most of the next two days recording.
There’s a book that I’d like to finish narrating earlier than scheduled.
The rest of the week will be mixing and editing a few clips that came back from my editor. Much shorter days.
I schedule myself for a solid two or three days off each week. Partially so I can take care of my voice, but also, what’s the fun of being self-employed if you don’t get to take advantage of time off?
Once the food is finished, I begin packing everything into containers. Two big bowls with some rice in each. They’ll double as serving bowls. A larger bowl with jambalaya that I’ll split over each bowl. Another container with slices of cornbread. And lastly, a large thermos of sweet tea.
All of this is packed into my backpack—so carefully—then I head out. One of the reasons I moved to Arizona is the weather. It’s always riding weather. It’s hot but not the heat of the tropics. We don’t deal with much snow or shit either. It’s ideal as far as I’m concerned.
Helmet on, I climb onto my bike and rev the engine. I lucked out with my neighborhood. It was completely accidental that I landed a place where a solid fifty percent of the residents ride bikes. It makes for not having to worry so much about disrupting my neighbors with mine.
I don’t have a particularly loud bike. Honestly, I feel like they’re completely unnecessary. A loud bike doesn’t add to the joy of riding. Not in my experience, anyway.
I pull in front of Poison Ink ten minutes before closing. Most of my dates with Erez are impromptu. Asking him to do something on Friday night when it’s only Wednesday feels a little awkward. That’s solid dating grounds, and I don’t want him to… figure me out?
This thought follows me as I step into the shop. Tiana is standing behind the counter and gives me a big smile as I approach.
“Hey, you,” she greets.
“Hey. Good day?”
She hums. “Yep. You?” My smile widens when she takes a smell of the air I brought in with me. “What did you bring? You smell delicious.”
Chuckling, I answer, “I’m hoping to bribe Erez to hang out with my dad’s jambalaya.”
Tiana sighs. “Lucky fucker. He’s cleaning up his room.” She nods her head toward the back.
Helmet in hand, I head down the hall toward Erez’s room.
His tattoo shop is set up in the style of a house which Erez converted so it’s useful for his purposes.
There are half a dozen “bedrooms” on the primary floor, a kitchen, and a couple bathrooms. Where we walk in is an entryway that opens wide into a parlor with the counter to check in/out, images of tattoos all over the walls, and big chairs to wait in.
Erez’s room is large. Some of his favorite tattoos that he’s drawn are pictured on the walls.
He has two windows—one overlooks a small park behind the building.
The room is dominated by the tattoo chair and a bench.
The corner has a kitchenette area with a stainless-steel sink and counter.
Then there’s the closet where he has all his inks, needles, and supplies.
I’ve seen the inside of the closet, and I had no idea that tattooing needed so many things.
When I step up to the door, Erez has his back toward me as he cleans up from his last appointment at the sink. The water is running, and the clink of metal fills the air. I can smell antiseptic and soap.
He’s wearing jeans that are tight against his sexy ass, snug at his thighs, and a little looser as they drop to his ankles. I recognize the shirt he’s wearing as a Poison Ink shirt. I think I have the same one.
“You going to watch me like a creep?” Erez asks without turning to look at me.
“Yep. Those jeans frame your ass nicely.”
He snorts. Complete dismissal of my come-on.
Inwardly, I sigh. See? I could probably come right out and say I want to ride his dick, and he’d likely just find me amusing. Not take me seriously at all.
I’d be so fucking serious too.
“Did we have plans that I forgot about?” Erez asks.
“Nah. I thought I’d bribe you with my dad’s jambalaya to take a bike ride with me. We can admire the desert while we eat.”
“Yeah. Sounds nice.”
“Then it’s a date. How long before you’re finished?”
Erez glances in my direction and nods toward the cart with a few tools left on it. “Bring me the tray?”
I set my backpack against the wall by the door and my helmet beside it. After I bring him the tray, I grab a couple gloves and begin wiping down the chair with disinfectant.
“Not working today?” Erez asks.
“Nope. I’ll be recording for the next two days, but today is still a day off.”
He nods.
“You do anything cool today?”
Erez hums. “Not something I’m particularly fond of, but it’s only half finished. Maybe I’ll change my mind when it’s complete, but I really hate the weird depictions and interpretations of Biblical shit that people tattoo on themselves. I think it’s creepy.”
“You’re still going to try to take the cross out of mine, aren’t you?”
“It has no place inside a montage of mythical creatures,” he deadpans.
I laugh, knowing he’s not done yet. Mentally, I count down. Three. Two. One.
“Do you really think someone who was murdered on a cross would love the rest of the world idolizing the tool used to murder him? Like a beheaded king being symbolized in text by a guillotine. Someone murdered by poison in their drink constantly being referred to by a fucking cup because it held his death. It’s stupid. ”
“Noted.”
Erez turns off the sink just as I’m finishing and tossing my gloves. He gives me a bemused look. “I will tattoo whatever you want. It’s your body. But you will hear me gripe about it the entire time and forever after.”
I laugh again. “I know. I think you misunderstand the meaning of the cross, but it’s not something we need to get into again.”
“You’re not going to convince me otherwise,” he says, shrugging. His eyes drop, and at first, I think he’s looking at my hip as if he can see more than the ears of my enby cat sticking out of my pants, but when his eyes meet mine, he smiles.
“I like that shirt.” He tugs the hem on his way by. “I’ll grab my jacket, and we can go.”
I glance down at my shirt as my heart jumps.
I know he likes this shirt. He tells me every time I wear it.
The first time he said it, I thought maybe he did feel attraction toward me, but that’s probably the hundredth time I’ve worn it in the past five years, and yeah...
I’m not convinced it means anything other than what’s on the surface.
He just likes this shirt for some reason.
It was an old basketball jersey. I’d ripped a hole in the bottom of it, so I ripped it the rest of the way and now wear it as a crop top that falls just to the bottom of my ribs. Maybe he admires the meshy material?
Erez returns with a leather jacket on and helmet in his hand. I lift my food-filled backpack so he can strap it to himself. He follows me out, and we wave at Tiana on the way by.
I secure my helmet as I watch Erez doing the same to his. Once I climb back onto my bike, Erez climbs up behind me, and I hold my breath as his body presses flush to mine. He rests his helmet against the side of mine, and then his arms are around my waist.
My heart races so erratically that I take a minute to catch my breath. For the first year that I rode around with Erez behind me, it was a struggle to keep my erection down. I was loudly attracted to him for a very long time.
That attraction hasn’t waned, but I think it’s become secondary to everything else I feel toward him.
I pull us onto the street and take my time driving us to the destination I have in mind.
He doesn’t seem to be bothered by the long ride.
Erez doesn’t move at all. He remains flush against my body, arms secure around me, relaxed.
Enjoying the ride. Maybe enjoying my company. My presence against him.
Eventually, I park us at the edge of the uninterrupted desert just as the sun is beginning to set over the horizon. There are no more buildings in this direction. Just the beauty of the desert.
Silently, we set up on the ground, and I split the food between us. Erez is already humming his appreciation. He loves my dad’s jambalaya. It might be one of his favorite meals that I make.
“So good,” he murmurs.
My cock twitches at the words he speaks in that tone. I shiver, trying to ignore my body’s response entirely. Asshole body. We’re in the friendzone until I grow a fucking spine and actually tell him I’m interested for real.
Friend. Zone.
I glance at Erez as I chew. I know what holds me back.
It’s simple, really. I have no idea if he’s into guys, girls, neither, both, or what.
In all the time I’ve known Erez, I’ve never seen or heard of him dating or hooking up.
I’ve never seen him checking someone out.
He’s never once made a comment about someone passing by.
Nothing.
It’s not only a fear of rejection and a broken heart but also fear of fucking up our friendship. He is my best friend. Just because I’m in love with my best friend doesn’t mean our friendship is anything less.