Page 54 of Her Pucking Devils

“I had a viral tattooing video,” I lie. I’m not on social media. My employees are, which brings people in, but I’m allergic to the thing.

“You had no such thing,” she snorts as Jenna hides a smile. There are a few videos of me on our business pages, but that’s because Jenna manages them.

“I have an old friend with a big mouth,” I sigh.

“That sounds about right. I guess I can’t fault him,” she grumbles. “Even I can admit when art is pretty, even when it’s not my cup of tea. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Yes. Goodbye, Mrs. Ferguson. Lovely to see you as always,” I murmur, already walking backward. Thank fuck nothing gets moved, or I would fall on my ass.

“Don’t forget this,” Jenna says, handing me the bag that has my tattoo guns and fake skin for my date tonight.

“Thank you. See you all tomorrow. Maybe not you, Mrs. Ferguson.”

“Fat chance, boy. I want to know how badly you fucked this up.”

“Can’t a man just go on a date?” I grumble. “At least I have Zayn’s vote of confidence.”

“He’s five,” Mrs. Ferguson yells after me as I escape.

Huffing out a sigh, I shake my head, glad I drove to work today. I need to take a nice, long bike ride soon to unwind, but that’ll have to wait. I have a beautiful woman to meet up with soon.

I asked Isla if she had any dietary restrictions, and she said she doesn’t eat gluten. I’m going to make zucchini lasagna to go with the crusty gluten free bread I bought this morning from the bakery. I plan to set everything out on a nice blanket on the patio outside with some candles and a sparkling nonalcoholic cider.

As I jog up the walkway of my townhome, I debate whether or not I should text her. I haven’t messaged her yet today because I’ve been slammed, and I don’t want her to have second thoughts.

I just got home. Starting dinner now. How has your day been?

Taking a deep breath, I let myself inside and begin prepping the sauce. I’ll shower while it’s simmering.

While I’m working, my phone buzzes, and I force myself to wait until I’m done to respond. I have absolutely no attention span otherwise and will burn the sauce. Leaving the pot to simmer on low, I set a time and glance at my phone as I begin walking upstairs for a shower.

Isla

I spent it painting.

I chuckle as I think about her face streaked with paint. I know she’s an artist, but I don’t know what she does. She can’t be struggling, because she lives in an expensive neighborhood, has her child in a really good private school, and doesn’t have the tension in her face that some people do who are worrying about every penny.

I love her success. Struggling fucking sucks. The shop only started moving into the direction of success in the past year. I pay myself less to be able to pay my overhead. My bills are paid with all of my extra hours, but a brick and mortar shop is expensive.

Does that mean it’s a good day?

I’m pulling my clothes off and throwing them into the laundry basket when she responds.

Isla

It was a little frustrating because it’s different from what I usually do. A wall reacts differently than canvas.

Huh. Okay… I get what she’s saying, because I’m an artist too. I’m just wondering where she’s been painting.

Is this a room in your house or something for a client?

Damn, I’m really curious now. I leave my phone on the bathroom counter to get into the shower, shivering because I didn’t let the water warm up. I suppose this is better than downing another cup of coffee or an energy drink.