Page 32 of Omega Artist
“Yo, Tig!” Lucas slams his fist on the table to get my attention. “You see the resemblance, too, right?”
I shrug and rub the back of my neck to cover my discomfort with the ludicrous topic. “I guess, but I’m not really equip—”
“If you’re about to tell me that you can’t judge the resemblance between Mike and Channing—or say that either of them is really hot—because you’re straight, I’m gonna punch you in the face. You never struck me as uptight and retrograde!”
I flip him the bird and speak my mind at last. “What’s the point of this conversation anyway? Should I remind you that we were chatting about Troy and Mike’s matching tattoos, which is my area of expertise, not checking them out and deciding who we’d be down to bang, simply because they’re gay.”
“I think we struck a nerve,” Lucas sighs. “And now we’re aware that Tig’s a bigot.” The fucker high-fives Troy, and they smirk at my expense. I don’t bother answering either of them; it’s not worth the hassle. “Okay, then… back to the original topic. So, yeah, I’m not sure that’s ever gonna happen. Your man once confided that he’s afraid of needles, so I don’t see him getting inked anytime soon.”
Troy’s face has regained its sincerity, and hope flashes in his eyes. “Who knows? With the right kind of persuasion, he might give in. This one would be small, harmless.”
I growl at Troy’s assumption. “Sorry to disappoint, Troy, but a tattoo isneverharmless. Also, don’t forget that it’s going to be thereforever.”
“Don’t you always say that there’s no such thing as forever?” Clueless Lucas doesn’t know anything about my history. He sees me as single, brooding, and depraved, but he’s right. I do say that a lot, and I mean it. Isn’t it ironic that my profession is to provide the opposite? A tat is forever, apart from rare instances where people go through a painful and complicated process to get rid of it, which isn’t 100% effective. Lucas shifts in his seat and doesn’t wait for an answer. “Anyway…” he starts, tossing back most of his beer, “what’s with the matching tats?”
Poor Troy. Embarrassment is written all over his face now. This time, it’s my turn to help a friend. “There’s always a story behind a tattoo, but it doesn’t have to be revealed.”
“Same with piercings, I guess.” We all swivel our heads to see that Claire’s right behind Troy. “Right, Tig?” Her snort echoes in the back of the bar as her left hand grips Troy’s shoulder.
“Exactly.” My voice drops deeper to make myself heard and silently warn my friend, who actually performed said piercing, to keep her trap shut as she sits down opposite Lucas and gets busy filling a glass with beer. Nursing her alcohol, she sings along with the classic rock song that’s blasting. My mind must be twisted because I’m convinced that the new ventilation system improved the quality of the speaker.
“I thought you were anti-piercing. What’ve you done now?”
I elbow Lucas for pointing out the obvious. I was; Delia’s death reinforced my beliefs. But, out of the blue, I chose one of the most painful options.
“Right…” The bartender turns his attention to the crowd that’s multiplied during this pointless conversation. “I should go back behind the bar and help the newbie to get settled now that there’s more people. We wouldn’t want to throw Lucy in the deep end on her first week, would we?” And with that, he strides back to his usual spot while the three of us are, once again, left waiting for Leroy to show up. I watch Claire with unabashed envy; she’s already on her third drink. I miss alcohol. The comfort. The warmth. The buzz.
“So… you’re pierced now?” Lucas presses, scrutinizing my face. Seeing nothing new there, he takes a wild guess, his eyes on Claire. “Tongue? Nipple?” What’s gotten into him today? The fucker’s acting like his testosterone is screaming for him to get laid. I guess all of us use sex to unwind, and we definitely need it.
The piercing expert titters at Lucas’s question and makes a big production of mimicking a zipper motion in front of her cherry-red lips.
“Get off my dick, Lucas, would you?” My spiteful comeback is a mix of resentment, spurred by his maddening attitude, and jealousy—because I’m sober and they’re not. Whatever it is, I shiver from the irrepressible need to split because I’ve had all I can take of this senseless drunken conversation. Ditching them wouldn’t be fair, though, since I agreed to spend tonight with these clowns! I’d love to come up with a perfect excuse, but that’s not going to happen anytime soon.
“Oh, a Prince Albert, then?”
Claire clears her throat at his suggestion.
That’s it… “Fuck off!” Oh, that felt good!
Who cares if the nearby patrons are staring at me? Lucas can be such a PITA sometimes. I tune them out and check the time on my phone. Tapping my foot on the floor, I hope Leroy will get here soon and put an end to this nonsense. I refuse to admit that he’s let me down yet again. Ignoring my friends who, as far as I know, may very well still be discussing me, I scroll through all my notifications, only to realize that I have one missed call—not from Leroy.
My heart speeds up as I listen to Alie’s voice; she always texts before she calls. Always. It’s great that she broke the rule, because I hate absolutes like always and forever.
Alie G: Call me back whenever you get this. Don’t worry about it being too late.
I glance back at my friends; they’re engrossed in yet another topic that I don’t waste my time following. Instead I grab my coat, mumble that I’ll be back, and leave the booth in search of a quiet spot and some fresh air.
Once I’ve tugged on my beanie and winter coat, I find her name, press the call button, and open the front door to dash outside. A wall of freezing cold air slams into me, and I start meandering down the block to warm up. I can’t complain since it’s not raining or snowing today, but I wish I had a scarf. I heave a heavy sigh when I hear it ring several times, convinced that she isn’t available.
“Hey there.” At the sound of her voice, I stop dead in my tracks. That hoarse voice that’s so atypical for a woman. That hoarse voice that had me distraught the first time I heard it. That hoarse voice that confirmed that she must be a bit older than me. Warmth spreads down my spine and shoots straight to my dick.
“Hey, Alie. I’m not waking you, am I?” Now that I’m stationary, I realize that the icy wind’s picked up. Fumbling for my gloves in my coat pocket, I quickly put them on and zip my coat, then start moving again to keep from freezing to death. The wind hisses through the speaker.
“Nah, you’re good.”
The noise reverberates on her side as well; I mustn’t have a great connection tonight. My frozen self forgets all about the wind and cold when I picture Alie lying in bed, half-naked. I inwardly laugh at myself when my body sends me a warning sign. I’m attracted to her voice. I’m attracted to her words. I’m attracted to her… and our mundane conversation has me sporting a semi within seconds. The urge to fuck overwhelms me, and I grunt in frustration, hoping that she won’t hear it over the blustering wind.
On top of the protection it offers from the weather, I congratulate myself for wearing a long coat that conceals the wood I’m sporting!
