Saturdays tend to be long days for me. I’m usually booked around the clock with only a quick dinner break. This one was no different. It’s almost midnight and we’re closing shop. Sean, Tatum and I are heading to C’s Pub for a couple of well-deserved beers. My younger brother Owen should already be there with some of his friends. We texted earlier and made plans to meet up. I haven’t seen him in a couple months. He lives in an apartment just outside the Boston University campus where he’ll be entering his sophomore year. He’s only twenty years old, but he looks like he’s at least my age or maybe older. He’s been a gym rat for the past few years bulking up for football and now he’s one of the starting lineman on the Boston University Terriers. He’s a typical jock all the girls throw their panties at. If it wasn’t for our green eyes no one would be able to tell we were related. His raven black hair is from my mother’s side of the family and his personality is more outgoing than mine. Sometimes I envy Owen’s ability to have fun and not think about responsibilities. Even though I’m the middle brother, I feel like a first born. Jam and my father have been fully immersed in the club life for ten years leaving me to look out for Owen, a responsibility I’ve always taken very seriously.

My eyes take a few seconds to adjust to the dim lighting inside the popular bar. The loud chatter of conversation and music assaults my ears as I move forward. Tatum darts off to some people she knows sitting at a table.

“I’m heading to the bar. What d’ya want to drink?” Sean asks.

“Thanks, man. I’ll take a Sam Adams.” I answer absentmindedly as my eyes scan the space for Owen and his football teammates. They’re easy to spot with their oversized shoulders and intimidating height. I’m not a small guy by any means, coming in over six feet, but these boys have a couple inches on me and about twenty pounds of solid muscle.

“Watch out asshole,” I say, bumping into Owen from behind.

He spins around, an intimidating scowl on his face which morphs into a large grin when he sees it’s me. “Josh, you fucker. You almost got a face full of fist.”

“Almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades,” I say, echoing words our father has said to us more times than we can both remember.

He smiles and nods. “Dad and his sage advice. He’s so much more than just an outlaw biker.”

I bark out a laugh. “He really is. Not that anyone would believe it once they got a look at him.”

“Right. If they don’t get stuck on the tattoos then the eight-inch beard is the showstopper.”

“How long has it been since you’ve seen Dad or Jameson?”

“I haven’t seen either of them since they went to Gram’s at Easter.” He raises his bottle of beer to his lips, taking a long pull, before continuing. “I don’t appreciate hearing how my college education is a waste of time and playing football is pointless. If they really think so, they should keep it to themselves out of respect for me.” He pounds on his thick chest for emphasis. “Because it’s important to me. I never shit on the club even though I’m sure decisions they make are questionable.”

“I know, dude, but you know to Dad and Jam the MC is everything. They can’t see past it and the fact that we’re not joining them has to be a source of disappointment.”

Sean walks up and hands off my beer.

“Is this your boyfriend?” Owen asks, with a mischievous grin, lifting his chin in Sean’s direction.

Sean wraps his arm around me. “You told him about us, honey?” He smiles at me, playing along.

“Fuck that. You’re not my type.” I shrug his arm off and sip on the cold brew.

“I’m everyone’s type.” He winks.

“Owen, this is my buddy, Sean. He’s the other tattoo artist at Canvas.”

“Hey, nice to meet you, man. You looked too badass to be with my brother, anyway.” He laughs and whacks my chest with the back of his hand.

“I don’t know, Josh is quite the catch. He’s the owner of the hottest new tattoo studio in the city, and he’s got the broody artist thing going for him. All the girls at the shop try to get his attention, but he doesn’t give them the time of day,” Sean informs him.

“Really?” Owen questions with a raised brow.

“Yep.” Sean raises the bottle to his lips.

“Maybe you are gay. It’s okay if you are, man. I’d never judge you for it.” He looks serious.

“I’m not gay, dude. I like pussy, I’m interested in one in particular, not any thrown my way.”

“Dude, they all feel great. Don’t discriminate,” Owen says and Sean holds his fist out for a bump.

“Yes, they do, but the one I’m interested in is above all others.”

“Who is she? I might need to give her a ride on the ‘O’ train.” He winks.

“You mean the O Express? It’s a quick ride.” I smirk.

Sean chuckles while Owen flips me the bird.

“So, who’s this girl with the unicorn pussy? Have I met her?”

I laugh. “No, you’ve never met her.”

“How can I meet her?” He wiggles his eyebrows.

“Fuck off with that, Owen. It’s one hundred kinds of fucked up you’d even consider sticking your dick where mine’s been.”

“Yeah, but if you used a condom then it’s like it never happened. Your dick didn’t touch her pussy.”

Shaking my head, I look at Sean. “Do you believe this shit?” I gesture at my brother.

“What?” Owen questions.

“Dude, please tell me you’re fucking with me or I’m going to think I didn’t do a very good job of instilling decent morals in you.”

“I didn’t join the club, so I guess you didn’t do too bad.”

“Yeah, but you’re like a man whore sticking your dick in anything with a pussy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying you shouldn’t fuck around, but maybe there should be more criteria than having a pussy for the tail you choose.”

“Speaking of sticking my dick in someone, can we continue this conversation some other time?” Owen asks, looking across the bar. Following the direction of his gaze, my stomach clenches when I realize it’s Elle he’s staring at. The hair on my arms stands up at the thought of him even considering touching her. I don’t even want her to be a momentary thought in his one-track mind.

“Dude, don’t even fucking look at her,” I growl.

His eyes narrow as they move to me. “Why can’t I look at her?”

My hand holding the bottle clenches so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t shatter.

“That right there is the unicorn pussy, Josh was talking about.”

“Dude,” he holds his fist out and I bump it. “She’s hot as fuck. I’m proud, man. I didn’t think your game was that good.” He shakes his head, his eyes still on Elle.

“Stop fucking looking at her and stay the fuck away,” I grit out between clenched teeth.

“No worries, bro. Judging by the way she’s looking at you, she feels the same.”

“It’s complicated - too complicated,” I grumble then swallow down the rest of my beer. Slamming the empty bottle on the table next to us, I shove my hands into the front pockets of my jeans. My heated gaze locks on Elle. I’ve been starved for the sight of her since the last time we were together at the hospital.

“Isn’t it always complicated? Does an uncomplicated relationship even exist?” Owen asks.

“I don’t know. Janny and I weren’t complicated.”

“Right, and you didn’t last. You guys were more friends than lovers. Maybe, complicated means passionate. If there’s no back and forth with someone and you agree with them all the time maybe things get boring.” He shrugs, raising his bottle to his lips.

Thinking over the words he said, I find them to be strangely insightful. Maybe he’s right. I’ve never been afraid of hard work. Maybe, Elle is no different.

Have I been too quick to give up on her? Does she need me to pursue her and show her she’s worth it?

Drinking her in, she’s more beautiful each time I see her. Eyes trekking down from her face to her chest, I notice the way her blue sundress hugs her full tits. Before I realize what I’m doing my feet are in motion and I’m closing the distance between us, purpose in every step I take. She notices me approaching and must sense the determination in my stride because she places her glass down on the nearest table and waits as I approach.

Barely slowing down, I grip her hand and continue toward the back of the bar without a single word. Coming upon a hallway with doors on both sides, I try the handle on the first two and find them both locked. With the third I luck out when the door opens to a decent sized break room. Tugging her inside, I thrust it closed with my hand, locking the handle. Hands still clasped, I direct her toward a table and chairs on the side of the room. Kicking one of the chairs to the side, my hands slip to her waist. Lifting her onto the table, I step between her legs. My hands cup her cheeks as our lips hungrily connect. Her legs wrap around my hips and urge me closer. My chest tightens uncomfortably from the varied emotions Elle stirs up in me. The way she makes me feel...I can’t find the words to express what she makes me feel. I’ve never experienced anything like it before. She brings out passion, need, hope, worry, love and so much more.

Our tongues dance around, seeking and retreating, both of us driven by an unquenchable desire. Her fingers press into the muscles of my back, long fingernails digging through the Van Halen 1984 concert tee I’m wearing. The small sting drags me out of the moment and reminds me of all the things I wish I could say to Elle. I don’t know all the right words, but I know some. And something needs to be said. We can’t keep physically connecting on such a powerful level and then going our separate ways. Merely stealing moments with Elle is not enough for me and I hope it’s the same for her.

Tearing my lips from hers, I place our foreheads together. Both of us are physically and emotionally rocked from our kiss and struggling to catch our breath. Each of her exhales are a gentle caress, like the hairs of my favorite fan brush softly stroking over my lips.

“We say so much with a simple touch, Elle. This is how we communicate. It’s no different than when I paint. I convey whatever I want the viewer to feel on the canvas without a single word.” Smoothing her hair back from her face with both palms, my fingers glide down the back of her head and slip between her thick brown tresses, holding her in place. My eyes roam over the elegant angles of her nose and cheekbones before locking on hers. Hints of copper and gold glint from her brown irises, captivating me. “Elle, we’re like a blank canvas. We can paint our relationship any way we want. We don’t have to fit the mold that works for others. Both of us get lost trying to find the right words to say and when we can’t - we say nothing. Or we say something hurtful when it’s not our intention. Words can be misconstrued, but actions are the true measure of a person. We should do what we do best...forget the words and let our hearts speak for themselves.”