Harlow

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“Hey, Sis. You ready?” Winston raps lightly on the bedroom door before pushing it open.

“Um, hello. I could have been naked,” I object, turning from where I’m standing in front of the closet, still trying to decide what to wear.

“You would have locked the door.” He shrugs before collapsing down on top of the bed. “What the hell’s taking you so long anyway? I told Miles we’d be at the shop by eleven and we need to eat before we go.”

“Would you relax? It’s not even eight o’clock yet. I think we have plenty of time.” I slide a few hangers to the side before pulling a standard black tank top off the rack.

“Yeah, but you know how crazy the city gets on Friday nights. Besides, if we get there early, maybe he can squeeze you in.”

“Winston, we’ve been over this. I’m not getting a tattoo,” I tell my brother for the hundredth time since I arrived five days ago.

Moving here hasn’t been the smoothest transition. We’ve lived so far apart for so long it’s like we’re getting to know each other all over again. He’s changed a lot in the last decade, and lord knows I have too. I hardly even remember the person I was before Alan. Trying to find out who I am after him has proven to be more difficult than I ever imagined it would be. It’s been so long since I’ve done anything for myself I’m not sure I know what I enjoy anymore.

So not only is my brother getting to know me all over again, but I’m getting to know me as well.

“Miles does some fantastic work, Low. Just check out this last piece he did.” He turns his arm so I can see the massive tribal that wraps around the back of his bicep. “Man’s a genius with a tattoo gun.”

“Miles and genius are two things I never thought I’d hear in the same sentence.” I roll my eyes, finding humor in the fact that my brother still thinks after all these years that his best friend is the end all to be all. Personally, I’ve never much cared for the guy.

Not that I can pinpoint any one thing I don’t like about him. But there was something about him that didn’t sit right with me, as we got older. Maybe it was his arrogance or the fact that he always had a different girl on his arm every time I saw him – which was quite frequently. Or maybe it’s that my brother always preferred hanging out with him over me which used to drive me crazy.

“When are you going to grasp that Miles isn’t the person you’ve always believed him to be?” Winston straightens his posture and gives me a stern look. “You don’t even know him anymore. Yet, you still insist on making back handed comments like that. Do you have any idea what he’s been through over the last few years?”

“Winston, I...” I start to apologize, seeing I’ve hit a nerve.

“He’s been through more than you could imagine. Not all of us have spent the last decade living the good life. Shit changes people, Low. You need to stop being so damn judgmental and give people a chance.”

“Wow.” I shift, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “So that’s what you think I’ve been doing, living the good life?” I completely ignore everything else he said and focus on that one little tidbit. “Need I remind you why I’m here?”

“I know it hasn’t been perfect. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just... you need to give Miles a chance. I think you’ll find he’s a good dude to have on your side when you need someone.”

“Okay, fine.” I huff, wanting to get off this conversation. “But if he turns out to be the same arrogant playboy that he was in high school, I’m out. I’ve spent the last several years of my life dealing with a man who thinks he’s god’s gift to everyone. I sure as hell don’t intend to subject myself to another one willingly.”

“I think you’ll find pretty quickly that Miles is not the person you remember. I don’t know that he’s ever been that person. Manwhore, maybe. Arrogant and conceded, not a day in his life. Besides, if I remember correctly, that was more your M-O.”

“I’m not conceded.” My voice shoots up an octave.

“Maybe not now, but in high school, you were about as conceded as they come. Trust me when I say, your dislike for Miles went both ways.”

“He didn’t like me?” I say, surprised that the thought kind of hurts my feelings.

“Can you blame him? You were awful to him. You were always sneering at him. Grumbling shit under your breath anytime you’d walk through a room he was in. I never understood it. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn you had a thing for him and were trying to disguise it with distaste.”

“Now that’s comical.” I shake my head, turning back toward the closet that only bears about a third of my clothing – the remainder still stuffed in boxes in the corner of the room. I quickly snag a three quarter sleeve charcoal cardigan off the hanger and drop it on top of the black tank draped across the arm of the chair next to me. “Now will you get out so I can get dressed?” I turn back around to face Winston.

Looking at him still throws me for a loop every time. He’s grown into the spitting image of our father. Broad shoulders, lean build, dark blonde hair with the same long forehead and dimpled chin. I’m pretty sure if I looked up some old pictures of my dad I’d find a mirror image of Winston looking back at me.

It’s scary how similar the two are. And the older Winston gets the more his mannerisms mirror Dad’s. The way he drinks from a can, how his eyes squint when he laughs, even the way he walks reminds me of our father. It’s uncanny.

“Just don’t take an eternity, yeah?” He pushes off the bed and crosses toward the door.

“I’ll be done in five,” I holler after him as he exits the room.

“So what you really mean is thirty?” he throws back, humor in his voice.

“Such a jerk,” I grumble under my breath, crossing the room to kick the door closed, making sure to lock it this time around.

I make quick work of changing. Trading my yoga pants and tunic for skinny jeans, a black tank, black strappy sandals, and the charcoal cardigan, I plan to bring with me in case it gets chilly. May in Ohio is nothing like Arizona this time of year. It’s pretty warm, but there’s still a chill in the air at night, and the last thing I want is to be stuck walking around downtown freezing my butt off.

I run a quick brush through my long strawberry blonde waves, quickly pinning it up in a clip, so it hangs loosely at the back of my head.

It takes me less than five minutes to dab on a little powder foundation and apply a light layer of mascara and lip gloss. But then I spend another five staring at my reflection in the mirror.

I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I’m so lost in thought that when a knock sounds against the bedroom door, it startles me to the point that my heart leaps into my throat.

“You ’bout done in there? You said five, and I said thirty. Thought maybe we could make it a happy medium and settle on fifteen.” Winston’s voice is muffled by the door separating us.

“You’re worse than Dad,” I tell him, jerking the door open seconds later.

When I was a teenager, my father would stand at the door and knock every two minutes until I was ready. Of course, in his defense, we were always late to wherever we were going if he let me get ready in my own time.

“And yet here you are, cramping my style,” Winston teases, arching a thick brow.

“Shut up.” I push past him into the hallway, his laugh following me all the way into the living room that’s open to both the kitchen and dining area.

“So what kind of tattoo are you getting, anyway?” I ask, grabbing my small, over the shoulder purse off the table before stuffing my cell phone and lip gloss tube inside.

“Miles has been working on something for me this week. Guess we’ll find out when we get there.”

“You don’t even know what you’re getting?” I give my brother a questioning look.

“You look at me like that now, but just you wait.” He wags a finger at me. “I’m telling you, Miles is an artistic genius. You’ll see what he does for me, and soon you’ll be begging him to ink you.”

“Yeah, not likely.” I shake my head.

Don’t get me wrong. I love tattoos. My friend, Angela, has a quote from her favorite movie tattooed on her forearm and I’ve always admired it. But as much as I like them, I can’t picture myself having one.

Then again, I don’t know if that’s because I don’t want one or because Alan made me feel a certain way about them. He drilled it into my head for years how unattractive tattoos are on women. So much so that maybe I started to believe it.

Just the thought has me reconsidering the tattoo idea just out of spite.

“You say that now.” Winston smiles, grabbing his keys off the bar that acts as a separation piece between the living room and kitchen. “You ready?”

“Yep.” I slide my purse over my shoulder and follow him from the apartment.

The minute we step out into the muggy evening air my chest feels heavy. I had forgotten how humid it is here. It gets hot in Arizona, like really hot, but it’s a different kind of heat. Not the kind that makes you feel like you’re suffocating.

We keep the windows down in Winston’s truck on the short drive over the river into Ohio. That’s something I loved about growing up in Covington.  Its proximity to downtown Cincinnati. I’ve always loved the city, especially all the festivals and outdoor concerts they offer in the summer.

Winston pulls into a small outdoor lot not far from Great American Ball Park, and I immediately know where he’s taking me.

“Tacos!” I practically bounce in my seat.

“You keep talking about them. Thought maybe if I brought you you’d shut the hell up,” he teases, throwing me a wink before killing the engine to the truck and quickly climbing out.

——

It’s nearly ten o’clock by the time we exit Condado. Even though I rarely drink, Winston talked me into ordering a margarita shortly after we got there. One turned into two, and before I knew it, we were talking and laughing like we hadn’t done since we were kids.

It feels good to spend this time with my brother. To reconnect to someone, I used to be so close to. I feel like I gave up so much for Alan that when I left him, a part of me worried I’d never be able to rebuild the relationships I left behind. I should have known Winston would never hold my absence against me. Even though he gives me crap, deep down I know he’d do anything for me.

We stop at a little convenience store along the two block walk to the tattoo shop so Winston can pick up a case of beer. That’s how he pays for his tattoos. Kind of a weird form of payment if you ask me, but hey, at least it saves him some money. Last time I checked beer is a lot cheaper than tattoos.

I find myself getting a little nervous as we cross the street toward Miles’ shop. It’s been years since I’ve seen him and well, like with seeing anyone you haven’t seen in a very long time, there are always nerves involved.

The tattoo parlor isn’t anything like I expected from the outside. Tucked between a coffee shop and a sandwich place on the main strip through town, it stands out like a sore thumb. But in a good way.

Other than a small glass door on the left, the entire front of the shop is one huge window which looks to be hand painted with some intricate artwork. Not only is it incredible to look at, but it also strategically limits the view inside to anyone walking by. There’s a huge lit sign above the dark awning – Inked spelled out in bold green lettering.

I haven’t even stepped through the door, yet already I can tell this is the type of trendy place people want to come to. It’s no wonder Miles opted to buy this place when the original owner decided to sell. You can’t get a better location. It’s right in the heart of all the action, yet somehow seems to be the one place your eyes gravitate toward.

Winston grabs the door, a bell sounding the minute he jerks it open and ushers me inside. The front of the shop is a casual waiting area decorated with leather couches and framed pieces of art. It’s super clean and modern without seeming too sterile.

I follow Winston through the waiting area, into the main shop. There’s a long counter on one side with a cash register on top and various pieces of jewelry on display on the glass shelves below. The other side is lined with three separate tattooing areas.

A large, bald man with a thick ring through the center of his nose looks up from the forearm he’s working on as we enter. He gives Winston a nod before his eyes briefly dart to me.

“He’s in the back,” he grumbles, returning his attention to the young guy he’s working on without another word.

“Come on.” Winston nods his head toward the back before setting off in that direction.

I follow him down a long hallway, past four private rooms, before we end up in what looks like a back storage area with a small office in the corner.

“Knock, knock.” Winston stops in the doorway of the office and holds up the case of beer. “Hope it’s cool we came early.”

“Yeah, I’m just catching up on some paperwork.” The familiarity of his voice is almost unsettling and yet oddly comforting at the same time. It’s deeper than I remember but still holds that same raspy quality it had when he was a teenager.

I hear what sounds like chair legs scratching across the floor, but Winston is completely blocking my view into the office so I can’t see what’s happening. Moments later, Winston steps back, and Miles appears in the doorway.

At first, I think my eyes are playing tricks on me. I blink slowly, once, then twice, trying to process the sight before me.

Gone is the lean, preppy athlete I remember. The one who always wore gym shorts and t-shirts. Miles never went anywhere without a baseball cap permanently attached to his head. There’s no reminisce of that boy left. Instead, standing in his place is the epitome of a man.

His brown hair is long on top, pushed to the side like he’s run his hands through it several times throughout the day. He has a dark beard outlining his full lips, and internally I shudder. God, I can’t even bring myself to look him in the eye.

Instead, I let my gaze travel down to his shoulders, and across his broad chest where the material of his shirt strains against the muscles hidden beneath. Then to his thick arms peppered in various colors of ink, before finally coming back up to his face.

I know it’s only been seconds since he appeared in front of me, but when my eyes finally make it to his, I feel like I’ve been ogling over him for hours.

During that time I could have sworn I was looking at a complete stranger. But the instant his hazel eyes lock with mine the confirmation is undeniable. He always had the most incredible colored eyes; green swirled with blue, a light yellow ring around the outside. The kind of eyes a person doesn’t forget easily.

“Miles?” His name comes out a question, and my attempt at casually disguising my shock comes crashing down in epic failure.

I mean how could anyone blame me though? Miles Hollins was good looking as a teenager, but Miles Hollins, the man? There are no words. He’s beautiful, in the most rugged way possible. And while beautiful feels like such a weird word to use to describe a man like Miles, it seems to be the only word that fits.

“Harlow.” Miles nods in my direction, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he knows exactly where my mind has gone and that thought alone snaps me back into reality.

So he’s still as cocky as ever, I think to myself. Noted.

“Hope you don’t mind that I’m crashing. Winston refused to let me stay home.”

“Sounds like Winston.” He chuckles, the sound vibrating me straight to my core.

What the hell?

Shifting from one foot to the other, I cross my arms nervously in front of myself.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” my brother interjects; seeming completely oblivious to the physical reaction my body seems to be having toward his best friend.

“Nothing.” Miles grins, clasping my brother on the shoulder as he exits the office. “Come on, since the shop closes soon we’re gonna be out front.” His deep, musky scent hits me like a thousand pound car as he passes and I swear the impact makes me feel unsteady on my own two feet.

Stupid margaritas. I knew better than to let Winston talk me into drinking. There’s a reason I don’t do it often. Alan hated that he couldn’t control me when I drank. I seem to have a hard time controlling myself.

And even though the effects of the margarita feel like a distant memory, I’m still convinced it’s what’s responsible for my reaction to Miles. Well, that and the fact that even though I hated him when we were kids, he grew into quite possibly the sexiest man I have ever seen up close. Any woman in my position would have reacted the same, if not worse.

So, after a couple of deep breaths, I finally follow Miles and Winston who have already disappeared into the main part of the shop by the time I reach the mouth of the hallway.

“Well, this is going to be fun,” I mutter under my breath before forcing myself forward.