16. Chapter Sixteen
My alarm goes off at 6:30, and I head downstairs for coffee before anything else. If I don’t get some caffeine in me ASAP, I’m liable to go right back to sleep. When I get down there, Cole is leaving the kitchen with a metal travel mug in hand and his messenger bag over his shoulder. Dressed in his work attire—that isn’t dirty yet—he’s especially handsome this morning. How the man makes jeans, a t-shirt, and boots look so good, I’ll never know.
“Morning,” he says, sounding as chipper as ever. Never understood how morning people function. “Keys are by the door. Breakfast is in the oven. Good luck today.”
“Thanks,” I grumble.
“Don’t forget to pick me up. Five o’clock.”
“I won’t.” I rub my eyes and go right for the coffee pot, thankful it’s mostly full. I pour myself a cup, add some flavored creamer, down it, and pour another. I sip this cup more slowly as I heat the food and eat.
When I’m done, I head back upstairs to get my stuff together for a shower. It’s now I realize I haven’t showered since being here. Which is kind of icky. I mean, it’s only Monday and I got here Friday, but still.
“Where you going?” Chris asks when I step into the hallway, heading toward the stairs.
“Downstairs to shower.” He’s in his underwear, hair a mess and eyes half opened. Chris isn’t a morning person either.
He points at his dad’s room. “Just shower in his bathroom. There’s no soap or anything downstairs. Unless you want to wait until I’m done.”
I glance at Cole’s room and shrug.
Don’t mind if I do.
The moment I step over the threshold, I’m assaulted with a scent that can only be described as Cole. Musky, masculine. Hint of citrus and something that is just him.
His room is dark, thanks to the blackout curtains. His bed is made, done up in a dark grey sheet set that matches the molding on the walls. I head into his bathroom and shut the door. I look around, putting my clothes on the counter by the sink, hating myself for wondering if he’s jerked off in here.
Who am I kidding? Of course he has. He’s a man. He’s probably jerked off all over every inch of his room. But that isn’t something I should think about—now or ever.
I turn the shower on and grab a towel from the small closet. It’s the same type of towel he had on when I showed up here. Shouldn’t be imagining that either. Yet, I don’t want to stop.
A moment later, the water is hot, so I get in. He has a rain shower head, and I’ve never felt anything like it before. It’s like heaven. I scrub my hair and wash my body, all the while, picturing Cole in here stroking his dick. Because apparently, I’m a glutton for punishment. The sounds he made that night in Astoria are burned into my brain, playing on repeat as I picture him getting off in here, which gives me the worst fucking hard-on I’ve had in a long time. I don’t want this to distract me all day—the best thing to do is get rid of it. It’s stupid and I shouldn’t, but I’m also a man.
I rest my forehead against the wall as I stroke my dick, amazed at how relieving it feels.
Maybe I should do this more often. I forgot how fucking good it feels. But my dick being hard is hardly an issue.
Thoughts of Cole go through my head. Of him on his knees, sucking me off. Him behind me, stroking me. Him bending me over, shoving his cock in my ass.
“Fuck…” I groan, pumping harder.
“Get on your knees, Bryson.”
I do.
“Open your mouth for me.”
I do that too. Anything he wants.
He steps forward, sliding the head of his cock along my tongue, allowing me to taste his pre-cum. It’s tangy and sharp on my tongue. He grips the back of my head, sliding all the way in and letting out a low, satisfied sound. I relax my throat. His head falls back on his shoulders, his cock throbbing in my mouth.
“Fuck, Cole…” I whisper, so damn close to blowing my load all over his shower.
“Take it all, like a good boy.”
I hum around his cock as he moves faster, groaning louder.
“I’m so close, baby.”
Me too…
“You going to swallow my cum?”
“Yes. Fuck yes,” I mumble, reaching out to place my hand on the wall for balance as the orgasm hits me. “Oh fuck,” I grunt, the first pulse hitting me so hard my knees shake. I force my eyes open, watching my cum splatter his wall, wondering if he’s done the same thing. Here. In this exact spot.
A loud bang on the door has my heart leaping in my throat and I slip but catch myself on the wall before falling.
“I’m leaving!” Chris calls out.
“For fuck’s sake,” I mutter, my head dizzy. “See you later!”
I wait a beat to see if he says anything else, but he doesn’t. No good luck, no nothing.
The only person who wished me good luck today was Cole.
Seems like Cole is the only one I can rely on for anything lately.
I pull onto Main Street and park the truck in the first open spot I see. It’s early, but the spots are already filling up. This area is busy all the time, considering it’s the only place in town to get anything you need. I sit for a few, trying to get my bearings, when my phone buzzes. I pick it up, not surprised when I see Daniel’s name on the screen. It’s a little after eight am here, and he’s three hours behind. Why the hell is he up so early—or late? I don’t answer it. The last thing I need is his bullshit negativity this morning. I should block his number. I hit the side button once to silence it, but don’t send it to voicemail. He’ll know I’m ignoring him and will only keep calling. Well, if he hasn’t realized I’m ignoring him by now, his issues are worse than I thought.
I get out of the truck and walk down Main in search of Third. A lot of the businesses are just starting to open for the day, and the owners smile and wave as I glance at their storefronts, wanting to see how much has changed. Most of the stores I pass by are familiar. Outside of minor upgrades like new windows, doors, or paint, they all look the same.
Cars pass noisily on the cobblestone road, and I admire the detail in the buildings. They’re old, with carvings directly in the stone, most of them names of stores that haven’t been around in years.
Third isn’t far, and I turn down it when I find it, spotting the “Now Open” flag outside of a building about a block down. That must be the one Chris mentioned. I can’t tell what it is from here, but I guess I’ll find out when I get there.
The annoyance that washes over me when I stop in front of a tattoo shop is jarring.
Fucking Chris.
I stand there for a while, staring up at the sign like an idiot. I finally shake my head and turn to walk away.
“Can I help you?” A guy pushes open the door, putting the stopper at the bottom of it. He’s dressed casually in jeans and a sleeveless t-shirt, tattoos covering his arms and neck. There are a few on his face too, and his hair is neon pink.
“Don’t think so, but thanks,” I answer politely.
“Saw you standing out here for a while. You sure?” he asks, raising a brow that’s pierced in three spots.
“My friend told me a new place opened over here and they might be looking for a graphic designer. Didn’t mention it was a tattoo shop,” I say, letting out a laugh.
The guy smirks. “You ever thought of tattooing?”
I shake my head. “Not really, but even if I had, I’m looking for something paid.”
“You can draw?”
“Painting is more my thing, but yeah.”
“Come in,” he says, waving me in. I look past him, inside the shop. He chuckles. “I don’t bite, and I’m not offering candy. You’ll be safe.”
I huff out a laugh. Well, I’ve got nothing better to do. I step inside, the scent of antiseptic hitting my nose, the loud buzz of a tattoo gun sending a shiver across my skin. I don’t have any tattoos. Maybe if I had money, I would. I’m not the biggest fan of needles, but I like art.
The space is open, but it’s plain. Not at all what you’d expect a tattoo shop to look like. Though, this is the first time I”ve been in one, so maybe I’m not the best judge.
“Name’s Troy. You got work you can show me?” he asks, moving around the back of the counter. It’s L-shaped, half of it glass cases with body piercing jewelry inside.
I pull my phone out, open up the album with my work, and hand it over.
Troy whistles as he looks through them. “These are good.” He hands me my phone back. “It isn’t graphic design, but I need my walls painted.” He gestures behind me, and I glance over my shoulder.
“You want me to paint your walls?” I ask skeptically.
He grins. “You ever been in a tattoo shop with plain ass walls like this?”
“Never been in a tattoo shop ever,” I admit.
He shakes his head, seeming amused by my lack of experience in this department.
“The other artist I hired bailed on me last minute, so right now it’s me and Nix back there tattooing more than full time for the next three months. No way in hell am I going to have time to do all this too.”
It wasn’t what I wanted, but it’s something. Troy can clearly see my hesitance.
“You said you wanted something paid. This is paid,” he adds. “It isn’t going to make you a millionaire or anything. I’ve got mouths to feed, but I won’t have you work for free.”
“You’re right,” I say, looking around again. “I just didn’t expect to spend four years in college to get a BFA to paint fucking walls.”
The guy smirks. “Which is why you should’ve been a tattoo artist. You’d be getting paid bank by now, my friend. Come look at this shit,” he says, waving me over to the glass case on the end. There are photo books on top of it with pictures of tattoos. He grabs one from the end, flipping all the way to the front.
“This shit?” He points to a photo as he slides it my way. “This is the stuff I love doing.”
“Looking at boobs?” I question, taking in the photos of women”s breasts.
“Man.” He shakes his head, tsking. “Those are fake. The woman had a double mastectomy and had to get them removed. She got implants but had no nipples. So I tattooed them on for her.”
My eyes widen, and I get a closer look. “Damn, I thought they were real.”
“Exactly. And look at these.” He flips a few pages, showing the before and after of someone’s arm who clearly cut a lot. The scars are transformed into tiger stripes, and you can’t even tell scars marred the skin beneath it.
“Tattooing can be rewarding in more ways than just putting your artwork out there for people to wear proudly.”
“I see that.”
“Just think about it,” he says, closing the book. “For now, you can choose whether you wanna be here early in the morning to paint, or at night after closing.”
“Not really a morning person, so I’ll go with option B.”
“We’re closed on Tuesdays but meet me here at eight on Wednesday. We can chat and go from there.”
I nod, taking another glance at the photo book. “Okay, yeah. I guess that sounds good.”
He holds out his hand, and I shake it. “Thank you. This is the last thing I was expecting to come of my day.”
“Takes just one person to make a difference,” he says.
So I keep hearing.