Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 79147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79147 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Seriously? He must be a much bigger idiot than I took him for.
“Derek.” I have to fight back a laugh.
“No. No. I opened up to you. Gave you this tight hole…” He looks to Roger. “Super-tight hole…” Then back to me. “And you broke my heart. It’s over. Don’t even think about following me out of here because I’m done.” He turns back to Roger and whispers, “See you at class Sunday,” before he storms out.
I act flustered as I quickly grab some cash from my wallet to cover my meal and drink. I throw it down on the table.
“Sorry. I need to—”
“Do what you gotta do, bro,” he says.
Bro? How does he keep getting weirder? He seemed so hot and cool at the yoga studio.
As I head out of Henry’s, I see Derek and Gary huddled by the door, laughing their asses off.
“You guys might want to be quieter if you don’t want Roger to realize that was all a ruse.”
“Um…you’re welcome,” Derek says. “Now I finally got you back for when you saved my ass this last summer.”
He had an incident where a guy broke up with him and I pretended to be drunk so that he didn’t have to face the guy or his friends, who kept eyeing him to see how he’d react, which wasn’t good, considering he was devastated.
Gary raises his arms, signaling a surrender. “You said SOS, and I showed Derek. It was all his idea.”
I wrap my arms around both of them, and we start down the street toward Flirt.
“I fucking love the shit out of you guys sometimes. Let’s dance our asses off tonight.”
Maybe not sex, but the next best thing. Well, I guess Cody gives me the next best thing, so maybe the thing after the next best thing.
12
Cody
The constant buzz of the tattoo gun is familiar, comfortable, as I shade an arch of my client Bobby’s tattoo. The sound represents peace to me, solace. I relate it to Doc on so many levels, and in a lot of ways, he saved my life. It almost feels like I’m thanking him for what he’s done for me every time I create something on someone’s skin.
“That’s fucking incredible, C. Jesus, that’s good,” Doc tells me. I pull the gun away and look at the piece on Bobby’s arm. It’s the Golden Gate Bridge, with different shapes, and personal aspects that I take it are memories from the guy’s past.
“When he drew it up, I knew it was perfect,” Bobby says. “It’s exactly what I hoped it would be.”
“Thanks,” I tell them both before I get back to work. Bobby apparently spent a lot of years in San Francisco. It’s where he’d gone when he’d come out at eighteen. It’s an honor to be able to help him immortalize his life this way.
“I taught you well,” Doc tells me, and he and Bobby laugh. They’re both in their late fifties, a good twenty-five years older than me.
“What are you talking about, old man?” I tease. “This is natural fucking talent.”
“Cocky motherfucker,” Doc teases before getting up and walking over and straightening up the glass case filled with piercings and shit like that.
He keeps busy as I finish up Bobby’s tattoo. Leila’s not in yet, so it’s just the three of us here. Even though Doc stopped working regularly, he likes to pop in from time to time and check shit out. Not because he doesn’t trust me but because this place is his fucking world. Unfortunately, the trembling in his hands has gotten worse, making him unable to tattoo.
When I finish Bobby’s ink, he stands and walks over to the mirror. His eyes get wet as he studies the new art on his body. This is my favorite part of what I do: seeing someone’s face when they look at their finished ink for the first time.
“I…thank you,” he says before wiping a tear from his eye.
“No problem, man. I was happy to do it.”
I wrap him up, give him aftercare instructions, and then he pays and is on his way. Doc sits in the tattoo chair and crosses his ink-covered arms.
“What?” I ask as I start to clean up.
“You’re good.”
“I know. We just went over this.”
“You’re more personable than I am,” he tells me.
“You’re personable.”
“Numbers are good. The shop is soaring. I’m not doing shit. It should be yours. It’s time—”
“No. Fuck that.” I shake my head. It nearly killed Doc when he had to stop tattooing. This place is his baby. It was his dream. It was hard enough on him that I had to officially take over. I’m not letting him sell me the shop too. “You need to stop bringing up that shit. I told you no. Just because you can’t tattoo doesn’t mean this place isn’t yours.” It’d feel like I was taking his heart. He gave me a chance, and there’s no way I’ll take something so important from him.