Miles

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“So what’s new with you? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” Winston twists the cap off his second beer and takes a long pull as he settles back down into the recliner that’s caddy corner from me.

Winston is my oldest friend. There’s barely a single memory from childhood that he’s not a part of. And while we aren’t nearly as inseparable as we used to be, we make it a point to get together at least once every week or so to catch up and shoot the shit.

“Not much. The shop’s busier than it has ever been. Business is booming.” I shrug, resting the cold beer on the top of my thigh as I sink back into the couch.

“Think you’ve got time to squeeze in an old friend sometime in the next couple of weeks?”

My eyes dip to the tribal tattoo that wraps around Winston’s forearm. It was the first tattoo I did when I started working for Dexter six years ago. At that time, I had no idea that I would one day end up owning the tattoo shop.

I originally got into tattoos as a way of therapy. It helped calm my mind after I returned home from my second tour in the Middle East. Provided me something to focus on. I’ve always loved art and drawing, so it came natural to me. When Dex decided to retire and sell the shop four years ago, I didn’t hesitate.

INKed was a pretty well established shop when Dexter owned it, but after bringing on some really talented artists and going through one hell of a remodel, I’ve been able to take it to an entirely different level. Our artists are so sought after that people suffer through a six-month-long waitlist just to get their ink done by us.

“That depends. What’s got you itching for ink therapy?” I ask.

Having known Winston nearly my entire life and having done all but two of his eight tattoos, I know he usually only comes in when he needs to let off some steam.

“My sister’s moving in with me.” He blows out a breath through his nose before sucking back a long drink of beer.

“No shit? What about that big shot husband of hers?” Harlow was five years younger than the both of us. When she was in grade school, and we were on our way into high school, she would follow us around like we’d hung the moon.

Harlow always looked cute and sweet with her strawberry blonde hair and adorable freckles that peppered across her nose and cheeks, but she was anything but. As she’d gotten older and we were both preparing to graduate, everything about her, especially her attitude toward me changed.

Winston used to call her the devil, and on many occasions, I had to agree with him. That girl had a temper like no one I’d ever seen. And stubborn, my god was she stubborn.

Last I heard she was living the high life, assumingly better than us with a well-off husband.

“Left him about a month ago. Apparently, that jackass has been cheating on her for years. She was planning on staying in Arizona, but I guess Alan has been giving her a rough time, so she’s decided to move home.”

“Shit, man.” I shake my head, feeling bad for Winston’s little sister, even though she treated me like shit the last time I saw her.

Then again, I haven’t seen Harlow in a decade, so I can’t really say how I feel about her now. Who knows; maybe she’s changed. Lord knows I have. Regardless, no one deserves to be dealt a shit hand like that. I’ve been cheated on before and it’s not something I’d wish on anyone.

“That’s messed up, man. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s taken everything I have not to fly my ass to Tuscan and give that mother fucker a piece of my mind. If I didn’t think the blowback would land on Harlow, I would have. I never liked him. I always knew there was something sleazy about him.”

“How soon she gonna be here?” I tip back my bottle, letting the cold liquid rush into my mouth.

“Next week.” He sighs. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to have her home. And I know Dad and Jackie are over the moon. I’m just not sure what her mental state is going to be like when she gets here. You know me, I can’t handle all that crying and moping shit. I don’t know what to do with someone like that.”

“Why isn’t she staying with your dad and Jackie?” I ask, wondering why she would choose to shack up with her brother in a tiny two bedroom apartment rather than live with her dad and stepmom in the large four bedroom home she grew up in.

“I think it’s a pride thing.” He shrugs.

“I get that. How long you think she’ll be here?”

“Hard to say. Hopefully not long. I love my sister and all, but you know me. I like living alone.”

“I can understand that completely. Luckily, I don’t have any siblings, so I don’t have to worry about that shit.” I grin as I tip the beer bottle to my lips.

“Lucky ass,” Winston grumbles, mirroring my action and taking a long pull of his beer. “So, about that ink?”

“I can hook you up, but it’ll have to be after hours. I’m booked solid until December.”

“Shit, dude. It’s only May.”

“Tell me about it. Sometimes I feel like I’m never going to be able to catch my breath.”

“It’s a good problem to have,” he points out.

“It definitely is,” I agree.

“Maybe I can bring Harlow in with me. I’m sure she’d love to check out the shop, and who knows, maybe you can convince her to remove the stick from her ass and get some ink of her own.”

As much as I dislike the idea, I know I can’t verbalize it without likely pissing Winston off. No matter how much she drives him crazy, she’s still his baby sister. While he would never admit it out loud, he’s always been protective of her.

I nod, choosing not to say anything as I drain the remainder of my beer in one long pull.

“How’s next Friday work?”

“I should be able to make that happen. Be at the shop at eleven and don’t forget you’re responsible for the beer.”

“As always.” He chuckles.

“Or I could charge you like I do everyone else,” I jokingly counter.

“I think I like our beer trade off better.” He grins.

“Yeah, thought so.” I laugh. “Speaking of ink, I gotta bounce. I’ve got a doubles appointment at four,” I say, pushing to a stand. “Thanks for the beer.” I cross the open space into the kitchen before dropping the bottle into the trash can.

“Anytime, man,” he calls from the chair, not bothering to get up. “I’ll call you next week to confirm Friday.”

“Sounds good.” I throw up a half wave before pulling open the door and stepping out into the humid Kentucky heat.

If there’s one thing I hate about summer here, it’s the humidity. Mid-May and already the air is so heavy it feels hard to pull in a real breath.

Taking the stairs down two at a time, I reach my black Ducati within seconds. Snatching the helmet off the seat, I quickly slide it on before climbing onto the motorcycle.

I was never a fan of bikes when I was younger, but a buddy of mine that I’d served with had an old Kawasaki that he let me drive when I visited him after I left the army. I fell in love and purchased my first bike within a couple of weeks of returning home.

Firing the engine to life, I glance behind me to make sure I’m clear before slowly guiding my bike out of its parking spot. Having stayed a little longer than I had anticipated, I’ll be lucky if I make it into the city by four.

My shop is located right across the river in Cincinnati. It’s only a few short miles, but with the amount of traffic going in and out of the city late in the afternoon; it takes a lot longer than it really should.

Because of this, it’s ten after four by the time I pull into the small parking lot directly behind my shop. INKed is sandwiched between Beans and Things, a hip little coffee shop, and Mike’s Sub. Both of which are pretty good neighbors to have considering I don’t usually have a lot of time to grab food between clients and more often than not I need  caffeine to pick me up about halfway through the evening.

Pushing my way through the back door, I drop my helmet and keys on the cluttered desk in the office before making my way into the front of the shop. I nod to Chuck who’s busy working on a back piece, before throwing a half wave to Bryan who barely nods before turning his attention back to the belly button he’s about to shove a needle through.

Delia, my recently promoted manager-in-training, looks up from the front counter and offers me a smile the moment she catches sight of me approaching.

“Bout time you showed up.” She gives me her normal dose of shit. If I walked in and she didn’t bust my balls about something I’d know something was up.

“Got caught up at Winston’s,” I explain even though I don’t need to. “My double here yet?”

“In the waiting room.” She gestures to the small room at the front of the shop.

I lean to the side and catch sight of the two-early- twenty somethings standing side-by-side, admiring some of the artwork on the walls.

In addition to some of our best work framed and hung up, the room is decorated with two large black couches flanking both side walls and a large table in the middle cluttered with several generic tattoo books.

The front wall is a huge window looking out onto the busy street, the opposite a half wall that allows the people in the waiting area a front row seat to anyone getting work done. Unless the client isn’t comfortable with the public display, in which, that case they can opt to have their work done in one of the private rooms.

“Should be a fun night for you.” Delia leans in and nudges my shoulder, gesturing toward the two women.

“Funny,” I deadpan, shaking my head.

Delia knows my least favorite tattoos are trivial pieces that have no real meaning. From what these girls sent me last week, that’s exactly what I’m going to be working on tonight. Flowers. And not even cool ones.

I’ll never understand why someone would go on a six-month wait list to have the most generic tattoo done that you can have done anywhere. Not to mention my prices run quite a bit higher than the competition because simply put – we offer the best quality and we can afford to charge for that.

“Oh come on, boss. Laugh why don’t you?” Delia cuts in.

“Say something funny and I’ll think about it.” I arch my brow, fighting a smile.

“Such a dick.” She crinkles her nose which has a small ring through each side.

Delia started working here a couple of years before I came on board. She’s a tiny little thing, barely standing over five feet and weighing maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, but she’s also one of the toughest people I think I’ve ever met. No one messes with her and for a good reason. She’s as crazy as they come.

She’s a year older than me, is one of the most talented artists I’ve ever worked with and has about twice the amount of ink that I do – which is saying something considering my arms and torso are completely covered. Because of this, she knows she can give me a hard time and get away with it. Most of my other employees wouldn’t dream of speaking to me the way she does. Not that I give a shit. Again, if she didn’t bust my balls about something I’d be worried.

“Do me a favor.” I ignore her dick comment. “Will you schedule Winston in for next Friday at eleven?”

“Another late night?” She arches a brow. “Tell me, Superman, do you ever sleep?”

“Not if I can help it,” I smart, tossing her a smile before heading into the lobby to see if my clients are ready to start.

While I consider Delia, a friend, I have never opened up to her about my issues. Especially not the ones pertaining to my days in the military and the effect that still has on me today. If she only knew just how difficult sleep is for me on an average night.

Shaking off the thought, I force a smile as I enter the waiting room, not missing the way both sets of eyes hone in on me the moment I do.

“Holy shit. You’re hot.” The blonde smiles, both hands going to her hips.

“Thank you,” I say, completely unphased.

I’ve grown accustomed to this type of attention over the years. Not because I think I’m something special, but because women seem to have a thing for men with beards and tattoos.

“Who’s first?” I ask, chuckling when both girls hold their hands up in unison.

“I thought you were going to let me go first,” the brunette whines to her friend.

“I want to go first,” the other counters.

“Tell you what, why don’t we head back and you two can figure it out while I get everything ready?” I don’t wait for a response before spinning on my heel and taking off toward the back.