Honest, sure. But in akindway? I’d say I’m more brutally honest.
I take the opportunity Olly gives me when he lets his guard down and I strike quickly at his shoulder to knock him off balance. I’m no fighter so Olly’s jostled but not thrown. He tries to do the same to me, but I feel Coach Z’s eyes on me and I keep my hands up, blocking Olly’s shot.
#5: Can support himself, has his own place, and is financially stable
This seems to be the only item on Celeste’s list I know I check off. I may not be rolling in it, but I get by all right.
I brace for Olly’s bony shin as he attempts a round kick. He doesn’t set up his supporting leg well and ends up on his ass. We both burst out laughing and I extend an arm to help him up.
“Fucking idiots.” Coach Z mumbles before he jumps down from the ring, his tone sharp but a ghost of smile appears before he saunters away towards the free weights.
“Water break?” Olly suggests, his pale face flushed a blotchy red. I nod between my heaving exhales, positive that I look similar. I feel the sweat drop from my scalp down the side of my neck and pool near my collar bone. We shuffle out of the ring and sit on a bench nearby, both chugging from our water bottles.
“That was fun,” I add once I finally feel like I can breathe again.
“Aye, it was.” Olly’s face has returned to its usual alabaster shade, but his short white hair sticks to his forehead. Olly only recently came to Canada but the man is always up for an adventure. He also has the ability to drink me—as well as everyone else at the tattoo parlour—under the table. I’m thankful for his company today because he does most of the talking, filling silent spaces with his Geordie slang I barely understand.
My mind drifts back to the list as Olly turns and strikes up a conversation with a nearby kickboxer, asking him for tips.
#6: Goal oriented, at least one yearly goal and three lifetime goals
Fuck. Well, seeing as I can’t evenlookat my culinary institute packages without feeling overwhelmed I’d say this one is out.
#7: Isn’t afraid of a smart woman
Definitely not, especially when she’s got a smart mouth to go with it.
“What’s workin’ trouble in yee brain, Dommy boy?” Olly asks, coming back to the bench, wrapping a towel around his neck. Sometimes his accent comes out so quickly I have to askhim to repeat it but this time I understand, I just don’t want to share.
“Nothing.” I wave him off. While mentally waving off the image of Celeste’s pouty mouth. At this point I don’t need to harp on it. I know I’m no match for Celeste, or what she needs. What she needs fromme,what she’s trusting me with, is being her matchmaker. So that’s what I’ll do. “You hungry? I was thinking of making lasagna for tonight’s dinner with the fam. I could use some help prepping it if you want to come help me at my place.”
“Oh, lasagna!” Olly cries clutching his chest dramatically, “I’ll help yee alright. Let’s get going now though, I’m clamming for me bait!”
I shake my head slowly at Olly, unable to hold in the grin that splits across my face. This tall, gangly, Geordie shore immigrant coming to Canada to make a name for himself in the tattoo world could make even the surliest of people smile. Somehow I find myself excited to make a lasagna for him and the rest of our little degenerate found family.
SEVEN
Nitro
Celeste
I’m layingacross Delaney’s couch with my feet perched on the armrest, doom scrolling on my phone. I may or may not be waiting for Dominic to text me.
No, Celeste you do not wait on a man.
Okay, I’m lying on Delaney’s couch absolutelynotwaiting for any incoming texts whatsoever. I sigh and flop my phone down on my chest.
“A watched boil never kettles!” Delaney sings from the kitchenette merely six feet away. She’s nonsensical, just like her apartment. Every wall is painted a different pastel colour. Baby blues, pinks, greens, and purples colour drench every wall from top to bottom. Miniature disco globes hang as planters, obscure art pieces from her creative friends hang on every available space, and even food shaped throw pillows that I’mcurrently resting on scream Delaney’s eclectic style. I pull a hand embroidered lemon pillow from under my butt and throw it at her.
“I’m not watching anything!” I holler back, giggling as she throws the pillow back at me.
“Oh please,” she admonishes, coming around to hand me a mug of tea before nestling herself into a vintage velvet magenta armchair. “You’ve run out of feed! Put the phone down, reenter the real world. And when this Dominic guy sends you a referral?—”
“It’s not a referral! It’s a date…set up…thing.” I massage my temples. I don’t even know what to call this. “It’s weird. This is weird, right?” I tentatively ask.
Delaney looks at me, opens her mouth to say something but then shakes her head a little and begins to drink her own tea.
“You’re suspiciously quiet over there Lane, spill.” I squint at her.
