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Asher
“Are you sure you can handle the pain?” Blaze asked from the passenger seat.
He was partly turned around in his seat to face Giselle, who was in the back. Asher had his hands at ten and two on the steering wheel as the Cadillac rolled stylishly through Silver Lake. It was a Thursday afternoon, and most people were still wrapped up in the weekday rat race. But not the three of them; after a long couple weeks of hard work, they were all excited to take some time off for a special occasion.
“Please, I can handle anything,” Giselle insisted.
Asher glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. He couldn’t help but grin at the sight of her. She was dressed in her usual punky style, which he had come to love over the course of knowing her. She wore a tight black miniskirt that revealed an almost obscene amount of leg, the hem barely reaching the middle of her thighs. As usual, she wore ripped fishnet stockings underneath it, and her beloved big black platform boots. On top, she wore a dark red crop top with black lace around the sleeves and lower hem. Resting around her throat was a black choker with a tiny silver heart dangling from it. Her glossy black hair had grown out over the months, and the wild curls brushed around her dainty shoulders. On her lips she wore a crimson stain, and her beautiful brown eyes were accentuated with two perfect eyeliner wings in pitch black.
She looked like a vampiric temptress from some torrid romance novel. Asher could hardly believe she was real. Every detail of her beauty captivated him. He would never grow tired of just simply watching her, seeing the way the afternoon sun passed over her lovely face. The glint of light catching in her eye that turned them from brown to an ethereal golden amber.
“That needle is going to hurt like a bitch,” Blaze remarked again. “It’s not too late to chicken out, you know.”
Giselle snorted and rolled her beautiful eyes. “Chicken out? Come on, Blaze. You know me better than that by now. Even if I was scared of needles, there’s no backing down now.”
“It’s your birthday, Giselle. You can do whatever you want today,” Asher assured her.
While he appreciated Blaze’s rough attempts to give her an out, Asher knew that Giselle only saw his warnings as encouragement. He turned it into a feat of will power, a dare. And Giselle was not the type of girl to turn down a dare.
“Exactly! And what I want is my very first tattoo,” she chirped happily. “Besides, if you two can handle it, I know I can.”
Blaze laughed. “You think you’re as tough as we are?”
She gave him a playful smirk and tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Probably more so.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Asher said. “But still, you can back out at any point.”
“I know, I know. But I’m not backing out. I’m sure about this. In fact, for the first time in my life, I’m feeling pretty sure about everything,” Giselle gushed.
“We’re here,” Asher said, pointing to the tattoo studio down the block as he began to effortlessly parallel-park the enormous vintage Cadillac.
Giselle let out a little squeak of excitement. “Yes! We’re doing this!”
Blaze hopped out and opened her door, letting Giselle spill out onto the street, looking like the main character in some vampire movie. She was giddy as they walked down the street hand in hand, with Giselle between them. It was only a short walk from the car to the tattoo shop, but the trio still garnered tons of stares. Some people stopped to gaze at them, maybe even surreptitiously pull out a phone to snap some photos.
There was a time when the three of them would’ve taken every possible step to go incognito. Baggy clothes, big dark sunglasses, side-roads only. But not anymore. They didn’t have to hide themselves or their love. Sure, there were going to be lots of people who didn’t understand what they had. Two men and one woman? It seemed impossible. An inevitable disaster. But the longer they were together, it only got easier by the day. Their unusual situation didn’t seem so unusual or taboo. It was instinctive. It was natural.
When they were together, everything else felt right in the world. Blaze and Asher never felt envy, only exhilaration at getting to spend more time with Giselle. She was the center of their universe, around which everything else simply orbited. Her pleasure was their purpose, her joy their greatest mission in life. Between her band, her family, and her fans, she was one busy girl. She worked hard, and often. It would be easy for her to spread herself too thin, if not for the boundless energy she seemed to possess. Giselle was enough woman for both men, with some extra to spill over. Asher just considered himself lucky; a life spent chasing after the most beautiful, talented, and passionate woman he’d ever met was definitely one worth living.
The doorbell jingled as the trio walked into the tattoo studio.
“Hi, we have an appointment for all three of us at two o’clock,” Asher said to the front desk receptionist, a heavily tatted woman with a septum piercing and streaks of green in her hair. She looked them all up and down, lingering a little on the guys. But then he saw the woman’s eyes go from neutral disinterest to excitement when it dawned on her who Giselle was.
“Wait! Hold on! Are you Giselle Kingston from Tortured Hearts?” she asked, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
Giselle grinned. “Yep, that’s me.”
“Oh my god. I literally have both your albums in my car right now. I listen to them on my commute every day,” the woman gushed excitedly. “Sorry, I’m trying to be chill about this, but you’re, like, the coolest celebrity I’ve ever met by far.”
“If it makes you feel better, you seem like one of the coolest fans I’ve ever met, too,” Giselle told her with a confident wink. The receptionist blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl.
“Look at me, all giddy,” she said with a chuckle. “You guys are up next. Maritza is going to be your tattoo artist today. She’s fantastic, you’ll love her. She’s really good with newbies, too, so don’t worry about that. Not that you guys look like you’re new to this.”
“I’m a tattoo virgin, actually. I can’t believe you guys get to take another V-card from me,” Giselle joked, with a glance back at the boys.
The receptionist looked positively tickled at her joke, and seemed to nearly float through the air as she led the trio toward the back of the studio. They were introduced to their artist, Maritza, a young woman with two full sleeves of tattoos. She welcomed them into her little cubicle area and helped them get comfortable while she prepared the supplies.
“Who’s going first today?” she asked.
