LISA

..

The two girls sitting across from me marked the official beginning of what we referred to as "freshman season" at Inked Armor. Every year around this time there is an influx of college students looking to get inked. These two were like deer caught in headlights, gaping openly, though their state of dress was far more outrageous than my ink and steel combined.

The one on the right with hair the color of an eggplant was the mouthpiece of the pair. I already knew what their hometowns were, that they were both studying at the University of Chicago, and they were "besties" even though they'd met for the first time "like, ever" last week.

Dressed completely in black, the purple-haired one also wore sparkly blue eyeliner and lipstick to match. A mix between raver and Emo, it was quite the statement. Her quiet friend rimmed her eyes in thick black liner and her blue-black hair was shaved off on one side. Her chipped fingernails were painted a darker version of the purple on her lips. There weren't any visible piercings, aside from matching fluorescent pink skulls dotting their lobes. At least they weren't the preppy shits I often had to deal with this time of year.

The more subdued one was looking for ink. Since they'd been browsing the wall of stock art prior to sitting down with me, I didn't have high hopes that it would be interesting. Despite having procrastinated with my last client, I'd finished before either of my partners had, so these two rays of sunshine were mine to deal with. Which meant I couldn't go across the street to grab a coffee like I wanted. If I could hurry things along here, though, I might have time to hit Serendipity before my next client.

"You have a design in mind?" I asked when there was a half-second lull in Sparkle Lips's stream of chatter.

"Oh my God! For sure she does!" Sparkle Lips shrieked excitedly. "Show her." In her zeal, she almost shoved her friend off the chair.

I was pleasantly surprised that she had a design concept. My opinion of them shifted slightly and I gave her an authentic, encouraging smile.

The girl rooted around in her Hot Topic bag and withdrew a black binder. She took out a dog-eared piece of notebook paper, smoothed it out, then set it on the table between us.

I stared down at the image and bit my tongue ring to keep from laughing aloud. On the lined paper was a replica of a popular cartoon kitty icon in some weird fetish get-up. With a riding crop. Despite the fucked up content, it was a pretty decent sketch.

"You draw this?" I asked.

"Sana's an art major. She's really into anime," Sparkle Lips supplied.

"Is that right?" I asked.

Sana nodded.

Real talkative, this one. "I can work with this. Where do you want it?"

"She wants it on her hip," Sparkle Lips cut in again. "You know, so the whip is . . . you know."

"Wendy!" Sana hissed, her cheeks reddening.

"What? That's where you want it," Sparkle Lips whispered back. Like I couldn't hear her with two feet separating us.

I set an elbow on the desk and propped my chin on my fist in contemplative fascination. "I'm not sure I follow."

Sana leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "So it looks like the whip is . . ." She made a snapping motion with her wrist and then pointed down to her lap.

"Oh, right." I nodded seriously. "So it looks like the kitty is whipping your kitty. I got it."

Sana's face went a deeper shade of red. As entertaining as this was, I didn't want to give them the impression I wasn't serious about her choice of art. While the design wasn't particularly to my taste, I'd do the best I could to make it look good on her. I was also curious as to what was behind that quiet, unassuming front of hers.

I took the focus off poor embarrassed Sana and I directed the next question to Wendy. "No ink for you today?"

Wendy's eyes went wide. "No way, my dad would kill me if I got a tattoo."

I heard that a lot, often just before someone sat in my chair—or backed out of a tattoo. I couldn't even begin to count the number of times a client would return months later to do the piece they put on hold.

I lowered my voice conspiratorially. "He doesn't have to know. There are lots of places to hide body art."

She blinked and swallowed audibly, her eyes darting to my neck where a lick of vine peeked out of the collar of my shirt.

"Another time, then." I turned back to Sana, who was nervously biting her fingernails.

"You want to do this today?" I asked. "I can fit you in."

Her hand dropped to her lap and she nodded.

After hashing out critical elements such as color and placement—although from the crotch pointing I had a pretty solid idea where it would go—I sent them across the street to Serendipity. That way they could sip lattes and browse for books and kitschy items while I adapted the sketch. I didn't need Sparkle Lips's incessant chatter distracting me.

They took off and I got down to business. It was just after five. My next client was scheduled for seven, but Sana's design was small and shouldn't take long, so hopefully I'd be able to take a short coffee break. And get another glimpse of the girl my aunt Cassie hired recently. That chick was hot, if skittish.

I fixed the kitty-whipping sketch and set up the private room. Sana was all sorts of hopped up when they returned. I couldn't tell if it was nerves, excitement, or too much caffeine that made her fidgety. I led her and Sparkle Lips to the private room, and tried to calm Sana down by walking her through the process. It was debatable whether she absorbed anything I said, but she was slightly more relaxed by the time I asked her to roll down the waistband of her skirt.

She pushed the fabric out of the way to expose plain white cotton underwear. Sparkle Lips stepped in and yanked those down too, exposing more skin than necessary. I abruptly had visual confirmation that Sana was a natural blonde, nowhere close to the blue-black on her head. But that wasn't what got my attention. Under the loose shirt and the flowy skirt, she was painfully thin, the bones at her hips jutting out. One of those waifish types who didn't have an ounce of body fat to cushion the bite of the needle. This was going to suck for her.

Regardless of what the content of the tattoo might suggest about her, it was clear she felt awkward about her friend's overzealous panty-yanking. I acted like it hadn't happened and kept on talking as I transferred the stencil to her skin.

Sana had a low pain threshold. This became glaringly obvious when I began the outline—and that was the easy part. I had to stop four times and let her friend console her before I could pick up where I left off. What should have taken thirty minutes ended up taking more than an hour.

By the time I went over aftercare and sent Sana and her friend on their merry way, it was after six-thirty.

I rubbed the back of my neck and sighed.

Rosé, the piercer in our shop, was perched on a stool behind the cash desk, polishing a tray of nose studs. She shot me a sympathetic look. "I thought that was supposed to be a quick one."

"It was. Low pain tolerance."

"I could have told you that. Girl was a bone rack," she replied.

I snorted, but didn't comment. There was a pile of books on the edge of the glass counter. I rifled through them.

"Those are for you. Jennie brought them by."

"Who?" I asked. That was a different name.

"Jennie. That girl your aunt hired."

"She was here? She brought these over for me?" I held up the books. "Why didn't you come get me?"

"You were in the middle of a tattoo." Her tone intimated my stupidity for asking.

"How long was she here?" I couldn't get over the fact that I'd missed her.

"Like five minutes, maybe a little longer. She dropped off the books, I showed her some jewelry, introduced her to Jackson and Eunwoo, and then she went back to work."

"You introduced her to Jack?" I asked.

Eunwoo I didn't care about. He and Rosé had been together forever. Jackson, my other business partner and the third party in our trifecta of tattooists, would hit on anything with a pulse. He was usually pretty well behaved when it came to clients, but not always.

Rosé looked at me like I'd lost my mind. "He was standing right next to me when she came in. Of course I introduced him to her."

"Did he hit on her?"

"No. He didn't hit on her." She gave me an odd look.

I glanced around the shop. He wasn't at his station. "Where is he, anyway?"

"He went out to pick up dinner from the Thai place down the street. What's with you? Why are you acting so weird?"

"I'm not acting weird." I ran a hand through my hair, trying to figure out what I wanted to say. I was totally acting weird, with no idea why. "That girl's like . . . I don't know . . ."

"Hot?" Rosé asked, looking steadily at me.

I hesitated for a second before I scoffed, "Whatever. She's Cassie's employee. I just don't want Jack trying to get all up in that."

"I don't really think she's Jack's type. Not blond," Rosé said and slid the tray of nose studs back into the jewelry case.

"Right. Still." I wouldn't want this girl to be Jack's exception. Uncomfortable with the way Rosé was looking at me, I shuffled through the books. They were all philosophy texts, but not the specific one I'd been looking for.

"You know, Lisa—"

The tinkle of the door cut her off as Jackson walked in and yelled, "Dinner." He dropped the takeout bags on the counter and started unloading them. I only had twenty minutes before my next client, which gave me just enough time to eat without having to shovel it in. If I tried to go to Serendipity, Rosé would ask questions. No need to put her radar up any more than it already was. Besides, that Jennie girl was in Serendipity almost every day. I could stop by tomorrow.

..

The next afternoon I had a break between clients, so I ran over to Serendipity. Cassie's new employee was there. I didn't need to see her to know that; I could smell her perfume, or body lotion, or whatever she wore that made her smell so good. Like cupcakes. Which I loved.

I valiantly tried to ignore the psychotic clutter as I glanced around the store, seeking her out. She was under cover. Again. The last time I saw her up close was when she dumped her latte all over her book and ran away. She'd been reading about body modification, which I thought was cool.

A few days back I bought Jennie a replacement latte, thinking it might give me a chance to introduce myself or something. That plan backfired when Cassie took the coffee and offered to deliver it for me. At the time she'd been wearing one of those smiles of hers that I didn't trust. While I'd seen Jennie from a distance since then, I'd been unsuccessful in my attempts to really scope her out. She always seemed to be in the basement when I came by, and that was annoying.

Cassie was sitting behind the counter, pen poised in the air. "Looking for something, Lisa?"

"Just my favorite aunt."

"Liar."

Shit. Maybe she was onto me. "Why would you say that? I thought I'd stop in and say hi before my next client."

"Mm-hm." She glanced away from the computer screen, jotted down something on the pad of paper in front of her, and shot me a dubious look.

I ignored it, choosing to believe I wasn't nearly as transparent as I was starting to feel. "Thanks for sending those books over yesterday."

"I heard you were busy with a client."

"Yeah." I was surprised she knew about that. "I'm, ah . . . gonna check out the philosophy section and see if you've got any new stuff."

"Of course you are."

She waved me off, wearing a too-sweet smile. I turned away to head to the back of the store, hoping I'd find her new employee.

"Jennie's in the basement."

I stopped. Turned around. "Uh, what?" I asked, playing dumb.

"The girl I hired. The one you keep coming in to see?" Her eyebrows lifted in challenge. When I didn't say anything she continued: "She's in the basement sorting through acquisitions."

"Right." I avoided the jab at my frequent visits and my reason for them. "She's working out okay for you?"

"She's quite helpful. Although she'll likely have to cut back her hours once the semester starts."

"She's a student?"

"Mm. She's in a master's program at Northwestern. I believe she's on a scholarship."

The tuition there was pricey, so a scholarship was no little thing. It meant she was smart as well as hot. "Huh. She live around here?"

Cassie set down her pen and regarded me with speculation. "You have a lot of questions today."

I shrugged. "You've never hired anyone to help in here before. Consider me curious."

Cassie pointed to the ceiling. "I rented the apartment upstairs to her. She's only been here for a few weeks."

I blinked. "No shit." How convenient, since I live across the street in a condo above Inked Armor.

"She's from Minnesota," Cassie said, divulging yet another piece of information. It was like dangling cupcakes in front of me; I couldn't help but bite.

"Small town?"

"Somewhere outside of Minneapolis, I believe. You know, Lisa, you could just talk to her and get all these details."

I thought about her initial reaction to me—the spilled coffee, her speedy escape. If she came from some nowhere town, I probably scared the hell out of her. "Yeah. I don't know about that."

"She doesn't know too many people here. She could use a friend."

I was pretty sure I wouldn't be good friend material, considering I was developing a semi just talking about her. "She's been chatty with Rosé," I said. She would be a good person for Jennie to get to know. Aside from Cassie, Rosé was the only girl I would consider a close friend. She was like a sister to me.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I glanced at the number. "It looks like my client's early. I gotta get Rosé her coffee and head back to work. I'll catch you later." I crossed through Serendipity to the café, ordered coffees, and booked it back through the store on the slight chance Jennie had magically appeared while I'd been in the café.

As I passed Cassie, she looked up from the paperwork on the counter. "She works tomorrow at four. In case you were thinking about stopping by again."

I just waved as I pushed open the door.

..

I finished with my last client just after ten. Jack was raring for a night out and I was antsy enough to join him. I wasn't big into the bar scene anymore, but I needed to let off some steam. With freshman season upon us, the steady stream of walk-ins wasn't going to end anytime soon. Going out was a good way to take my mind off the impending month of banal pieces coming my way.

We locked up the shop and walked the three blocks to the bar. It was a busy night, college kids were packed in like sardines. Jack led the way through the crowd, people parting like the Red Sea. Jack was a big guy. He wasn't much into piercing, but the guy was covered in ink. When he wasn't smiling, which was most of the time, he looked scary as shit.

Jack scanned for the bartender. Down at the far end was a slick looking baby-faced guy; guaranteed we'd have to wait five minutes to get served by him. Just a few feet away, a plastic-looking fake-blonde with questionably real tits motioned Jack over. He leaned in, his eyes shifting down to her mountain of cleavage as he ordered a double round of beers. He was so predictable. We clinked on the first one and downed them. Then took the second one a little slower. Still, it wasn't long before I called the bartender over and ordered another round. Beer in hand, I turned to face the dance floor. Aggressive hardcore rock pounded out of the speakers, making conversation impossible. Not that Jack wanted to talk to me; he was here to check out the women. I was here to keep my mind off other things. It wasn't working all that well, however.

"You all right, L?" Jack yelled over the music.

"Yeah. Fine." I clinked my beer against his and took a swig.

Now that I was here, I wasn't sure I wanted to be. Initially the plan had been to avoid home. Usually I looked forward to the solitude, but something about going back to that empty space just didn't appeal tonight, so here I was.

A girl with long dark hair was making her way through the throng of bodies. When the light caught her profile, I felt a strange pang of disappointment. I checked out every girl who remotely matched Jennie's description, in case she was here. Which was stupid, considering the number of nightclubs, pubs, and bars available in downtown Chicago. It didn't stop me from looking, though. Christ, I really needed a hobby.

"What's up with you, lately? You've got something else going on you're not talking about?"

"Nah. Just bored," I said, taking a hefty swig of beer.

"So pick someone up. That should help." Jack grinned.

I had serious doubts, but I didn't share that with him.

He chatted up a few girls as he drained his beers, looking for this evening's one-nighter. He'd already turned two away. The chick he settled on was approaching cougar status, not that he cared. She draped herself around him and fawned all over his ink.

I could hear her asking him if he had more under his shirt. The inevitable invitation—in which he offered to take her back to his place for a detailed exploration—came next. He'd be lucky if they made it that far; his current find was practically humping him against the bar. Jack's potential orgasm provider wasn't anyone I'd consider taking home. Her bleached-out hair and collagen-puffed lips were far too reminiscent of someone I'd been involved with previously.

When I saw her hand migrating south to cop a feel below the belt, it was time to leave. I had no plans to take anyone home or accompany anyone home. I used to take those opportunities when they presented themselves, which was often, but over the past year I'd found the prospect less and less appealing. I honestly couldn't remember the last time I'd gone home with someone for the express purpose of getting off. Even when I had in the past, I'd never once stayed the night. It was a case of get her off, get in, get myself off, and get out. No exchanging numbers. No promises to call.

I nudged him. "I'm out."

He glanced at me, a frown making the hard features of his face almost sinister. "You sure? She's got friends if you wanna stay." He inclined his head in the direction of two other women, both of whom were watching us, talking to each other. Neither seemed particularly concerned about their friend.

"Thanks, but I'm good." I tipped my beer back, draining it. "See you tomorrow."

Pushing my way through the sweaty, writhing bodies, I ended up with an ass grinding against my junk. The girl was far too hammered to know what was going on. She looked over her shoulder, eyes widening in shock as she processed my appearance. She spun around and what was left in her plastic cup sloshed over my arm and my shirt. She slurred out an apology and swiped at my arm with her hand, like that was going to help. I stepped away, not wanting her to touch me, and kept heading for the exit.

I wasn't accosted again on my way out, which was good because my patience was wearing thin. The air outside the club was just as humid as before but slightly less oppressive. My shirt was damp from the drink and while my arm was mostly dry, my skin was sticky from the fruity concoction.

It took only fifteen minutes to walk home, but it wasn't long enough. I was pent up tonight and my skin felt tight. It was too late to go for a run, and since I'd had four beers, I wouldn't have the coordination necessary to manage the treadmill in the condo's gym. I proved that when I stopped in front of my building and fumbled for my key fob, dropping it on the sidewalk.

When I straightened, my gaze drifted up to the apartments above Serendipity. The one on the right had been occupied for some time, but the one on the left had only been occupied for the past few weeks. Now, thanks to my aunt, I knew who lived there.

There were some lights on in the apartment and the windows were open wide. Faint strains of music filtered down, too low for me to catch the tune. The curtains billowed out on a gust of wind and sucked the fabric against the screen before it fanned out again. It would rain tonight. I could feel it in the heavy, thick summer air.

I swiped my fob and opened the door, stepping into the air-conditioned foyer. I took the stairs to the second floor instead of the elevator. Once I was inside my apartment I reengaged the locks and put my shoes in the closet. Then I hit the lights and did a walkthrough: kitchen, living room, down the hall, bathroom, spare room, master. After every room passed my visual inspection, I returned to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. Everything was how I'd left it; neat, organized, nothing out of place. Draining the contents of my glass, I refilled it and took it to my bedroom. I set it on a coaster to prevent rings from marring the wood surface of the nightstand, because I was anal about shit like that.

I went to the window, planning to draw the curtains closed before I hit the shower. Serendipity was across to the right, the two-story converted house sandwiched between a low-rise apartment complex and a three-story financial building.

My second-floor unit gave me a perfect view of Jennie's apartment. The curtains were still open and I could see right inside. She had shit for furniture, which made sense since she was a student. There was a couch and a chair with a coffee table set up in the middle, end tables flanking the couch, with small lamps lending a dim glow to the room. Bookshelves lined the back wall. A flat-screen TV hung from the opposite wall.

I was about to drop the curtain when she came into view from the hallway. I knew the layout of that apartment, having been in there before when my uncle Nate bought the place. It had been a shithole, inhabited by addicts. He'd made huge improvements to the neighborhood when he evicted those assholes and started renovations. I'd helped him clean the place out. At the time I'd been battling my own issues, and seeing what rock bottom looked like was one hell of a wake-up call.

Jennie crossed over to the fridge and opened the freezer. She pulled out an ice cube tray and a bottle, but it was her outfit that caught my attention. She was wearing shorts that rode high on her thighs, hugging her curves, giving a great view of the contours of her ass. Her white tank top didn't leave much to the imagination, with straps so thin they were nearly invisible from here. If I squinted, she looked almost naked. All the important parts were covered though, particularly the places where most good girls put their body art. Jennie might be one of those girls, but I preferred the possibility that she could be ink free. I didn't think about why that seemed to matter.

Instead, like a creeper, I watched as she fixed herself a drink. At one point she opened the fridge door; and the light within accented every dip and curve of her lithe body. She stood there for a good long while, then bent over. For a second I wished I had binoculars; then I realized what an asshole that would make me.

But that didn't stop me from getting hard or from waiting until she finished making her drink and disappeared back down the hall before I dropped the curtain. Even then I remained at the window, hoping she'd forgotten something and would reappear. When raindrops began to splatter against the pane, I finally turned away.

I stripped out of my clothes and tossed them in the color-coded hampers in my closet. Then I headed for the bathroom. I wanted a shower before I went to bed. I hit the dimmer switch, lowering the lighting to a serene level before I turned on the water. While I waited for it to heat, I brushed my teeth. The room was half filled with steam by the time I stepped under the hot spray.

I stared down at my cock, which was standing at attention with no immediate plans to settle down. I attributed it partly to Jennie's attire, though I figured it was also a Pavlovian response, part of my daily routine: wake up, shower, whack it, go to work, come home, shower, whack it, go to bed. It was like eating: sometimes perfunctory, sometimes enjoyable, always necessary. Walking around with a semi all day was not only uncomfortable, it was unprofessional and embarrassing.

I didn't attend to my hard-on right away, even though I wanted to. Instead, I washed my hair and then soaped up. All the while, I replayed the events of the day: from the sessions, to the conversation with Cassie about her new employee, to the gongshow of the bar, finally stopping at the image of Jennie standing in front of her fridge in her barely-there get-up.

I'd been restless as fuck all day, more so after stopping by Serendipity. It reminded me of the days before I had my shit together, when I couldn't settle because I was looking for a fix. Except now it wasn't the chemical kind I wanted; it was in the form of warm, bare female flesh. I looked down at my dick again. Now at least I had a valid reason to be sporting a hard-on that rivaled a titanium rod. This fixation with Jennie was ridiculous, and I'd made it worse by peeping on her while she was in the privacy of her own home.

I sighed, reached for the conditioner, and squirted some in my palm. Gripping my erection tightly in my fist, I coated my cock in the slick substance. My head dropped as I braced the other hand on the wall and began stroking. The relief was instantaneous.

I tried to shut off my brain, to focus on just the sensation, but I couldn't get the image of Jennie out of my head. The light inside the fridge had created a halo around her curvy, slender form, making her look like a half-naked angel. Or a pinup. I let my mind take the fantasy where it wanted to go. The shorts turned into lacy panties, but I left the tank top on because it was white and I had plans for it.

In my imagination, she took a gallon of water out of the fridge. I shut my eyes tight and kept up with the stroking, speeding up as she unscrewed the cap, brought it to her lips, and tipped it back. A thin trail traveled down her chin, dripping onto her chest and between what I envisioned were perky tits with delicate little nipples. The dribble became a stream, which became a cascade—a waterfall drenching that white tank and those lacy panties, showing me exactly what was underneath.

I came so hard, my legs almost buckled.

I stood there for a long while, panting, face mashed against the tile, not sure what the fuck just happened. I could barely find the coordination to shut off the water. When I was finally able to move, I stepped out of the shower and did a half-assed job toweling off, still reeling from the scenario my brain had cooked up.

I cut the lights and made it to the bed, then dropped down on the mattress, expecting to fall asleep immediately. But I didn't. I lay there for about ten minutes before I realized the orgasm-induced sleep haze had worn off. I rolled over onto my back and glanced down, baffled by the tented sheets at my crotch. I willed it to deflate. It didn't. Maybe I shouldn't have prolonged the waiting before. Maybe it was like a back-up, or something. But I wasn't giving in. It could wait until morning.

Twenty minutes later I was still awake, but at least my hard-on was gone. Mostly. I knew what the problem was, even if I didn't want to admit it. Somehow this girl had set up camp in the back corner of my mind, and there didn't seem to be anything I could do to get her out.

Except now I wasn't thinking about her naked. I was just thinking about her; what she looked like when she was deep in thought, the way she smelled so damn good. Which was unusual, because I never got wound up about a chick like this. Usually when I took care of myself, it was to nameless, faceless bodies.

But I could fix this stupid obsession right quick. I'd just talk to her. The next time I went to Serendipity, I'd find out she was just another vapid, pretentious college brat, and put the fantasy to rest. Except I already knew she was smart. The pretension I couldn't be sure about, but Cassie wasn't likely to hire someone who was like that. Whatever. She was working tomorrow. I could suss her out better then.

That I knew her schedule should've been a tip-off that my plan was flawed. But denial was a funny thing. It allowed me to justify the images floating around in my head, not all of them lurid. They all contained Jennie, though. And if I was really honest with myself, which I rarely was, I didn't want the illusion to break.

Because all of a sudden, my controlled, self-imposed exile didn't seem all that appealing.

For the first time in years, I wanted . . . something. Anything. As long as it was real.

..

..

..