Filthy English

Remi came to a halt, giving me a quizzical look. “You love this place?”

“Yeah, why?”

“What is it? The building itself or the fact that it’s a tattoo shop?”

I thought about it. “Both appeal to me.”

“What if you had your own Friar’s Church in Raleigh?”

“You think I could open one in Raleigh? Me?” I laughed.

She smiled. “Dude, you’re going to be a homeowner. Paid in full. You can do anything you want.” She paused, her hand on my arm. “You’re an amazing person, Dax. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

“Wait, did I hear you say ‘Friar’?” Lulu said, her face scrunched up.

I nodded. “The owner and employees dress like monks, so don’t get frisky with the help, Lulu.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t go for men in dresses.”

We walked into the sanctuary where all the action was. On one side stood several artists at their individual stations, wearing floor-length brown robes tied with a piece of rope. On the other was a large seating area, a library of books with art designs, and a small bar.

Remi’s eyes were wide, taking it all in, from the gold chandeliers and candelabras that lined the wall to the brown stone floor. “I feel like I’m in a play. Or lost in time.”

Dressed in his robe, the reception friar greeted us and led us over to a circular seating area with heavy wooden chairs and musty bookshelves. The shop also had a small bar in the back, and that’s where Spider headed. Remi and Lulu busied themselves getting comfy and browsing through the tattoo books.

Friar Laurence, a rotund balding man in his forties, came over a few minutes later and seemed glad that Spider and I had come back and brought new customers. After the introductions were made, we told him that Remi would be getting her first tattoo.

He nodded, a pleasant smile on his face. “Sure. We’ve got a few stations opening in the next hour or so.”

Remi nodded, a torn expression on her face.

“Hey. You scared?” I asked.

“No, I can handle the pain—I was thinking about what Hartford would think . . .” Her voice trailed off.

“Who gives a shit what he thinks? He doesn’t deserve you,” I snapped.

Startled blue eyes studied my face. “That sounds like more than just a frat rivalry. You really don’t like him, do you?”

My lips tightened, but I reined my anger in. “He’s tolerable.”

Hated that fucker for what he did to Remi.

“Oh, for God’s sake, will you two just screw already? This back and forth is giving me a headache,” Lulu said as she walked over to join us from her seat, obviously having overheard our conversation.

She snorted. “God, just joking, guys. You can both close your mouths now.” A sigh came from her. “Anyway, my head is seriously pounding, so I’m going to head back to the hotel.”

“I’ll go with you. We can take the tube and leave you guys the car,” Spider chimed in, coming back to join us carrying a drink in his hand. He tipped it up. “You good with that?”

Me and Remi alone?

Keep it in your pants, Sex Lord.

Of course, we tried to talk them into staying, but it had been a long day of showing them the sights in London, and neither of them wanted a tattoo.

After they left, we grabbed the rest of Remi’s tequila from Spider’s Mercedes in the car park and headed back to the tattoo shop. Along the way, the rumbling of thunder reached our ears. I looked up at the darkening sky and grinned at Remi. “You ready for a surprise London shower?”

She nodded.

Rain fell softly at first, just a drop here and there, but in seconds it was pouring.

“Hop on,” I said, bending down so she could reach my shoulders.

Giggling as she clutched the tequila, she climbed on piggyback style. I hiked her up further, hooking her thighs up with my hands and holding on.

“I hope you know what you’re doing!” she called over the downpour.

I took off at a fast walking pace toward the church, dodging sudden puddles and a few cars as I weaved through traffic.

We reached the building and entered the vestibule, where I sat her down on the marble tile to dry out before we went inside the sanctuary.

“That was incredible, the best thing I’ve done in London,” she said, pushing wet hair off her face. “I thought you might drop me though. I’m no lightweight.”

My eyes roved over her, lingering on her full breasts, skating down to the curves of her hips. Perfection. My gaze ended on her wet lips.

Stop it, Dax.

“Wait a minute . . .” She did a complete circle in the small area. “It just dawned on me that the owner’s name is Friar Laurence.” She giggled. “Holy Shakespeare, it’s like Romeo and Juliet.”

“Not following,” I said, brushing water off my forearms.

“Don’t you see? Romeo and Juliet fell in love at a masquerade party and were married the next day in secret by a Friar Laurence—in an old church. Of course it was set in Verona, but still . . . weird, right?”

An idea struck and I ran with it. Grinning, I hooked my arm through hers. “Let’s get married here then. Right now. You get your wedding fix, and I get to tell Spider we got hitched and watch him piss his pants.”

“What?” Her face whitened.

“As a joke, Remi.”

“Oh.” She blinked. “Yeah, of course. Sure.”