I tucked it into my front skirt pocket and said, “I want Lincoln’s honest opinion. Not Laces.”
He leaned toward me, his musky scent slamming into my lungs as he whispered, “They are one in the same.”
Stopping at the elevator that led to the second floor, I pushed the up button and shook my head. “No, they’re not.” The elevator dinged and he looked genuinely intrigued as we stepped inside. “Laces is your heart. Lincoln is your soul.”
As the elevator lifted his back fell against the glass window and he turned his head. There was a storm brewing in his blue eyes, a fight that couldn’t be won just yet. “Some would say I don’t have either.”
“Those people are idiots.” I said, letting out a low smile. “A heartless, bad boy would’ve left me to fend for myself with Dr. Folton.” I shivered at the thought of the pervy old geezer making his own sexual entrances, I leaned toward Laces. “Soulless men don’t care about Emily Bronte, either.”
His dark eyes cut to me. “You think too highly of me.”
“Maybe.”
As we got off of the elevator and headed north toward a trendy art store called Up The Wall, I noticed several women taking second glances as we passed by; their eyes traveled up and down his body, lingering on his buff chest and chiseled facial features. Even the grandmothers. No one was immune. He had a presence that demanded attention.
“I think you’re going to give that grandma on the bench a stroke.” I said once we were inside Up The Wall. Sans the associate, the art supply store was a ghost town. Laces had found his calling in the middle of the store and was in artist mode, studying the vast collection of different sized charcoal pencils. Plucking a few packs from the holder, he held them up like a trophy and thanked the high heavens. In doing so the bottom of his shirt lifted, revealing a toned stomach leading down to that V that had the power to make the smart girls dumb. My eyes widened and my heart picked up.
So did the grandma’s. Dropping her yogurt into a trashcan she adjusted her bifocals and smiled—which didn’t go unnoticed by Laces. After his dramatic show he grabbed a shopping basket and dropped his pencils inside, winking at the grandma as he moved toward the sketchpads. “I’m about to make that woman’s day.” He told me.
“Hmm?”
“The last time she got laid, condoms weren’t on the market.” Laces said, passing off his basket. Grinning like a possum, he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in that way boys do. Yes, I was certain the grandma was going to have a heart attack.
It was the first time I had seen him shirtless, and he did not disappoint. Not that I wanted him to, per say, but part of me had held on to hope that there would be a few flaws so I wouldn’t be so self-conscious. A man of his caliber—of his status—was expected to have some wear-and-tear; one didn’t just enter an asylum looking like a sculpture of Zeus.
But then again, most men weren’t Laces.
Every groove was smooth and taut.
Every muscle defined to perfection by genetics, or God…the way the muscles flexed in his upper biceps as he tossed his shirt into the basket, like they had a mind of their own…Dear Lord…
Perfect sun-kissed tan.
Perfect physique.
And the V-crease, oh the aforementioned crease, had returned from it’s two-minute sabbatical, ready to take over the world with him. As a precaution, my hand flew to my jaw to check that it was still closed. No. Crap. I gestured toward his godly physique—and squeaked. Yes, I actually squeaked.
“Come!” He called out. His unnatural ass shifted against the fabric of his tight jeans as he stomped toward the back of the store in all of his shirtless glory.
“You have to wear a shirt, sir!” The cashier called out to him as he snatched a couple of erasers. “Sir!”
Laces swirled around on his heel to face him, and flashed the biggest grin. “I’m classified legally insane by the beautiful state of North Carolina.” He took a step forward and toyed with the sleeve of the black and red flannel shirt tied around his jeans. “I don’t have to wear shit if I don’t want to. Now stop giving me a hard time and start ringing shit up.”
Eighteen
Gambrielle
“I cannot do this.”
No. My mother, who had already disowned me, would start pulling in other family members to disown me as well. No one in our family had ever gotten a tattoo. Not if they wanted to stay in the family. Hugging the art supplies that Laces had purchased from Up The Wall, I shook my head for what felt like the twentieth time that day as Laces pointed at a beautiful, white butterfly in the tattoo portfolio he had been looking through. “You need ink. TODAY.”
Nope.
“I’m thinking a sexy butterfly with some skulls above that nice ass of yours.” Laces face split into a wide grin. “I could draw it for you, if you want? Give it a more personal touch…”
I held up my finger, “Or…you can get a tattoo on your pelvic,” I pointed an unsteady finger at the general direction of his crotch and felt nothing but flames burning up my cheeks. “That would give me something to look at while you’re sketching a dagger through Bey’s chest.” I liked my idea. I liked it very much.
Mmhmm.
No pain for me and I would reap the rewards.
Laces smiled, thinking about it. “I fail to see where I benefit from this.”
My chest rumbled. “It’s the gift that keeps on giving.” Every time he took off his shirt, I would be rewarded with the gift of his glorious, lean, tattooed body. What more could a girl ask for? Not a damn thing.
A bubbly tattoo artist named Mark, who had a blinding, yellow mullet, plucked his toothpick out of his mouth and leaned across the black, marble counter. “I’m going to help you out here, brother. If you want to get laid this century, you’ll go into that back room and drop your drawers.” He said in an uppity tone.
Staring down at me, Laces’ eyebrows raised inquiringly. “It that what this is? A hostage negotiation?”
My smile turned into a chuckle. “Maybe.”
His compelling, magnetic blue eyes never left mine as he said in a low, husky voice “Guess we better book that tattoo, Mark.”
Everything inside me melted. He’s actually going through with it! I couldn’t believe it.
Maybe we could make this work, I thought as Laces winked at me and signed proceeded to sign the consent papers for Mark. Whatever we were was not conventional by any means. Far from it. But what was? Right?
And then it happened.
Fate, decided to step in.
“There he is!” Hearing what sounded like Nurse Kline’s voice in the near distance, I glanced over my shoulder. Almost immediately my body went numb when I finally saw who was following behind her.
Joe.
My stepfather!
“Oh my God.” I whispered, grabbing my chest. I felt like I was about to have a heart attack!
“There you are!” Joe proclaimed. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
I’ll bet you have…
Laces quickly scribbled his signature and like me, looked in the direction of the noise. “Oh shit!” He hissed.