Page 56 of Omega Artist
“Oh, please. I disclosed plenty of juicy information earlier, didn’t I? Now it’s your turn. There’s nothing to be ashamed of! After all, isn’t sex one of the vital components of life?”
Feeling self-conscious, although I’ve longed to find someone I could be myself around, I nod approvingly. Eileen fits the bill, and I’m grateful for my newfound friend. As if we’ve known each other for years, the outspoken woman leaves me speechless by reading my mind. “So… you didn’t call me because you were too busy exploring your chemistry?” She winks and teases me when she sees my face heat up.
“So true!” I freely concede this time. “I’m pleased to announce that our chemistry is even stronger in real life than online.”
“Good for you, Alie. Passion is really important in a relationship.”
Once again, I pour my heart out to the endearing, hyper woman that I barely know, and it’s eerily therapeutic. I’m careful to omit details like his inked skin, my self-appointed mission, and his history with Sybil. The funny thing is that having this conversation with her feels oddly natural. I never would have imagined that things would come to this between Tig and me. This fast. This intense. This unsettling.
I fought the urge to call him after he kept his promise and fucked me senseless—and then some. I fought the urge to thank him after we spent the rest of the same day watching back-to-back Keanu Reeves movies until I fled to my uncle’s place at Central Park West for some much needed distance. I fought the urge to text him for a repeat to determine whether our first encounter had just been beginner’s luck.
Eileen laughs at that, and her face breaks into a gentle smile at the rest of my story.
I lost. I called him. I thanked him. I asked him. He won, and I’m thoroughly happy that he did. So far, the sex is simply too good. So far, postponing my plan is the most reasonable option. So far, I pat myself on the back for flying over here and giving him a try. Seriously, though, whether it’s due to our chemistry or our lust. My skills or his. His piercing or my eagerness… I can’t wrap my head around my infuriating attraction to this guy who made me come like none before. I’ve always considered tats barbaric, but his match the darkness of his paintings and sickeningly appeal to me; I’m both completely grossed out and insanely fascinated by his ink that I can’t help but touch whenever he’s around. After all I’ve told Sybil, you’d have to torture me to confess all of this. It makes no sense at all.
No longer fighting it, I explain that this online creature took me aback by not pushing the issue about my breasts. No questions asked. No touching attempted. No mockery expressed… It’s unlike what I’ve previously experienced.
Still, as the words easily tumble from my mouth, it dawns on me that I’m somewhat appeased. No more erratic breathing. No more racing heart. No more itching skin. My mind struggles with the idea of us, but my body is strangely on board with this tattooed stranger.
After a while, I feel the need to redirect the conversation to another subject. “Anyway, weren’t you supposed to fill me in on your son’s wedding? You told me that you have pictures! What are you waiting for?” I need to keep my mind occupied by something other than Tig de Luca, especially since he invited me to his art opening later tonight, an event that I haven’t told a soul about because it sounds way too official for my taste.
“All right, all right…” She pauses for effect, then explains, “Michael, my only child, is the one man who’s grounded me.” David, the amiable bartender, treats us to guac and tortilla chips. After they exchange a knowing look, she returns to her story. “It’s the one good thing that came from my first husband, Edward. Pun intended!” She giggles, and I can tell that the alcohol is beginning to loosen her already verbose tongue. “You see, I was too young when I had Michael, foolish enough to believe that a kid would strengthen my first marriage that was falling apart at the time,” she reveals, munching on chips piled high with the thick green dip that’s unusually decent for an Irish pub.
The pride in her eyes makes me feel lighter, and I clap my hands together. While on the plane, I wondered how she felt about the wedding. Today, it’s clear that she’s thrilled, so I let her select pictures of the newlyweds.
“Here, Michael’s the one with the dark blue suit that brings out his beautiful eyes.” Her chubby thumb touches the screen as she points out her son. She zooms in and passes her phone across the table. “Isn’t he handsome?”
“He sure is.” Michael looks so familiar, but I can’t place that handsome face, those broad shoulders, or that charming smile.
“Some claim that he resembles Channing Tatum.” Is that why I feel like I know him from somewhere? “And that’s his partner… I mean, husband—” She chuckles at her honest mistake.
“Troy,” I blurt out before she does and my hand flies to my mouth. “Oh my God! I can’t believe this.” My mouth goes dry at the realization that I met her son the night I first saw Tig in person, but people called him Mike. Troy’s words from that night resonate inside my head.May the force be with you, young Padawan. Instinctively, my hands cover hers. “I met them a few weeks ago.” And then, what she said on the plane comes back to my buzzed mind. “It can’t be, though…” My nails scratch my chin as I blank out, thoughtful. “Isn’t your son a fashion designer? The man I met owns a bar… I…”
“Wow, Alie, your memory is good. Michael studied fashion, and I honestly thought he was. It seems that sometimes life throws you a curve ball and things change. The unexpected twists and turns are what make life exciting, don’t you think?”
“I guess…” Even though I agree with her for the most part, there are some twists of fate that I wish I had the ability to change, like what happened to my mom. But I keep that to myself and let her get to the point once she’s cleaned up the chips.
“You see, my son discovered that he’s bi late in life, and I must say that it came as a complete shock to me. As for his career, he studied to be a designer but ultimately chose to invest his father’s money into a bar with his dream guy, now his husband, who dreamt of owning the place. I should’ve kept better track, I guess!” She slams her palm against her forehead and giggles. “I’m happy to see him happy.”
I fidget nervously and take a deep breath, then repeat, “Yeah, twists and turns!” Bitterness seeps into my voice, but I can’t help it. This coincidence amuses me, but I prefer to keep my relationships separate, especially after what I’ve shared with Eileen today. I didn’t expect her to somehow be connected to Tig through her son.
Thank God, she doesn’t know him!
I let out a relieved sigh as the thought crosses my mind.
“I’m telling you, Alie, my son who’s scared to death of needles found the strength, out of love, to get matching tattoos. Here.” She proudly flashes a photo of her son’s inked skin:I’m his. Not something that I’d choose to wear forever, even if my repulsion for tats has lessened a bit. She waves David over for another Guinness. Damn, she can definitely hold her liquor. But I decline her offer for a refill; I’ve already had too much. Waiting on her drink, she adds, “The tattoo artist was Troy’s best man. He’s quite a stunner.” She swipes through the pictures on her phone. “Look.” She thrusts her phone my way. Honestly, I’m interested in another tattoo artist.
Am I slow, or is the alcohol clouding my judgment?
I’m so fucking stupid. Mike. Troy. The tattoo artist. The stunning friend. The best man. My jaw drops so low that it’s comical. My face turns so flustered that it’s ridiculous. My pulse races so hectically that it’s dangerous. And before I can stop myself, when Eileen asks what’s the matter with me, I stutter, “That’s… him.”
My hand tightens around her phone. The state that Tig can put me in without being around to initiate it is beyond scary, and I grumble to myself.
“What do you mean? Don’t tell me that you know him, too?” Her brow spikes up and her fisted hands land on her hips. “It’s such a small world!”
“You have no idea, Eileen.” I make quick work of worrying my lip to the point that the metallic taste of blood rushes on my tongue. I wave at David and yell an order for a double shot of vodka. Staring at the four smiling guys in the picture, I can’t take my eyes off of the hot piece of man that’s been giving me pleasure in more ways than one. My entire body quivers in agreement.
What’s happening to me?
