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One
Christa
Resisting a wince,I scroll through my phone with my left hand as Reggie rubs annoying circles with his gun along my right shoulder. I’m at the point where I’ve been sitting here for two hours and am feeling restless. The pain keeps me alert, but the constant back and forth of the needle filling in color is grating on my nerves. I should have thrown a couple of shooters into my purse before I left to help me relax.
Or a couple of gummies. Those stink, though.
I untense and let out the breath I’ve been holding when Reggie lifts the needle off my skin and wipes it with a cool cloth.
“We’re done, just had to finish up a few lines of the flowers back here,” he says, squirting water from a squeeze bottle onto the cloth and wiping me again. The relief is indescribable.
I love these tattoos, but man, am I a baby while I’m getting them done.
“Sounds good. Then when I forget about the pain, I’ll come back and do the rest of the arm.”
He chuckles, the piercing on the bridge of his nose squishing with his laugh. His black hair is lacquered up in messy spikes and not an inch of his pale skin isn’t covered with ink.
Reggie offers me a hand mirror and has me stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors of the shop so I can examine the work. The roses look amazing and blend into the front of the arm where a large sugar skull sits at the top.
I hand him back the mirror. “That looks amazing. Great job as usual, Reg.”
He then tapes a large, white surgical bandage over my shoulder and hands me an aftercare sheet, which he knows I don’t need since this isn’t my first tattoo rodeo.
I tip him two twenties and go to the front to pay with my card. As I’m leaving, my phone dings with a text.
Eric:We still on for tonight?
I smile at the text. Eric is constantly worried he’ll be stood up. We’ve gone on a couple of dates since last month when we met, but they’ve been casual. It’s like he has some kind of paranoia he’ll get ghosted.
He has a lot of paranoias, actually. I would too if I spent six years in prison around a bunch of degenerates.
I get into my little BMW and reply to his text.
Me:Of course we are, handsome.
I include a wink and kissy-face emoji. I have this constant need to feel like I have to validate him. I’m not crazy about it, but he’s so fucking hot, I just get over it.
Eric:Great, see you tonight, gorgeous.
I giggle like a damn schoolgirl at his reciprocated flirtation and start up the car, headed home to get ready for my date.
***
Iwash the tattoo areawith antibacterial soap and slather a light layer of Aquaphor on it after getting dressed. A glance in the mirror tells me I chose the right outfit. Red dress and strappy black stilettos. These are my favorite shoes, and it’s nice that even with these on, Eric’s still taller than me. One last swipe of red lipstick and I hustle into my garage to head out on my date.
On the drive, I think about Eric and how excited I am to see him. Since my best friend Taryn introduced us a few weeks ago, we’ve been on a few dates. He doesn’t open up to me very much, which I understand. Still, I’m making it my mission to see that he can trust me and not everyone he meets is a liar just out for themselves. I can’t imagine what he went through in that place, and I never ask him to talk about it, though I admit to some curiosity. I wonder what he went through behind bars for all those years, and being that I have heard the reasoning why—in great detail, mind you from my best friend—I would love to hear it from his lips. His beautiful, full lips and that scruff of a beard that I want rubbing between my thighs.
But we haven’t gone there yet. I plan to change that tonight. I mean... the guy’s gotta be needing some lovin’ after all those years down, right?
Maybe he’s already hooked up with someone?
I shake my head at my silliness. Even if he has... it’s none of my business, and in fact, who could blame him?
As for me... it’s been a long, hot minute. At twenty-seven, I’m over the clubs and bars... the online dating... even the set-ups from well-meaning friends and family. I crave that symbiotic and electric connection, that one person who has eyes only for you, and you for them. Those hot nights in the sheets. Always having a date for occasions. Someone to come home to. Eric is the only one who comes to mind when I picture those things. I don’t know what his financial situation is like after being gone so long, but I find that I don’t care. From what Taryn told me through our conversations, he seems to be doing okay. She had to sell his townhouse so I’m sure he has money from that somewhere.
I shudder at the chilly Colorado December night air as I arrive at six on the dot and enter through the front door of Denver’s most popular seafood restaurant. I’m not a huge fan of food from the sea, especially here in my landlocked state, but this place has a great reputation with other selections as well.
“Hello, gorgeous.”
