Pretty In Ink Read online

  I dropped the phone in my lap and began to clap my hands.

  “Press “play” again,” she said.

  I eagerly picked up the phone and stared down at the screen. KC and the Sunshine Band’s “Boogie Shoes” was next on the playlist. I pressed “play”, dropped the phone in my lap, and waited.

  As the funky beat started, she began to writhe to the music. Her dance slightly more sensual, and quite seductive in nature, it was all I could do to watch her without having my mind fade to thoughts of sex. After half of the short song had played, my mind was completely in the gutter, and I began to struggle with sitting still. As the song ended, she pointed her index finger at me.

  “Yes?” I said as I sat up straight.

  She curled her finger into the palm of her hand. “Press “play” and come here.”

  I picked up my phone, glanced at name of the song, and tossed my legs over the side of the bed. After walking past the foot of the bed and almost to her side, I pressed “play” and tossed the phone onto the comforter.

  As Rose Royce’s “I Wanna Get Next To You” began to play, I wrapped my arm around her, held her free hand in mine, and slowly danced across the floor of my bedroom for the first time.

  But I was absolutely certain it would not be the last.

  With her chest pressed to mine and her head resting on my shoulder, I lowered my chin and inhaled the scent of her shampoo. Her hair was one of her stand out features, and smelling the unique products she used brought a flood of fond memories. As the song ended, I leaned forward and kissed her full on the lips. As our mouths parted, I leaned back and shook my head from side to side.

  “Where in the world did you learn to dance like that?” I asked.

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Countless hours of practice. Watching videos. More practice.”

  “And the choice of music? Wow,” I said.

  “I hate all the shit they play today. I like 1970’s funk, Motown classics, and dance grooves. I’ve been dancing around my house alone since I was a little girl to the same songs, over and over,” she said.

  “You’re an amazing dancer,” I said.

  “Thank you,” she said as she turned her head to the side and rested her face against my chest. “I want you to be proud of me. I’ve never felt this way.”

  I pushed against her shoulders and gazed into her eyes. “I am so very proud of you.”

  “I have a shitty job, make shitty money, and live in a shitty little house,” she said as she shrugged her shoulders.

  “You change people’s lives with your artistic talent, in a manner that is unique and different than a typical artist. Your talent is remarkable. I’ve seen your tattoos, I’ve watched you paint with watercolors, and I’ve seen your sketches. You’re an extremely talented artist. I now know that you’re also a remarkable dancer. Stevie, you’re an amazing woman, and every day I’m proud to call you my…” I paused, slightly confused on what to say.

  “My girlfriend,” I said.

  “Thank you. But I don’t make any money doing it. Not that much, anyway,” she said.

  “And we’re fortunate, I guess, that you don’t need to,” I said.

  “I want to contribute,” she said.

  “You do contribute,” I said as I stepped away from her.

  I pointed at her and then pointed my finger at myself. “This? You and me? You’re half of this. We’re perfect for each other. Together we make one hell of a team, and without you, I’m nothing.”

  “Nothing? Seriously?” she said sarcastically as she gazed around the room. “Look around you.”

  “I’m thirty years old. Thirty. And, just so you know, I’m worth a several hundred million dollars already. I don’t really even know the exact amount to be honest. And, even so, I was ready to end it all before I met you. Why? Because even with all of that money, and all of this,” I paused and outstretched my arms.

  “I was lonely and sad,” I continued. “You’re worried about what you contribute? You contributed what I was incapable of buying. You contribute life, joy, happiness, promise of a future, and most of all, something I have never really known. Love. You contribute love. And that, my dear, is priceless.”

  Her mouth curled into a smile. “I love you.”

  “And I love you,” I said. “And I’m so very proud of you.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile.

  “Now,” I said as I turned toward the bed.

  I picked up my phone, glanced at the screen, and grinned. The next scheduled song on her playlist was one that I had heard before, and I was quite excited to see her dance to it. Excitedly, I pressed the “play” button and turned to face her.

  “Dance for me,” I said. “And make me proud.”

  As the sound of fingers snapping began, she dropped her head and stared down at the floor. At the instant the lyrics to a modern spin of the old classic “Lady Marmalade” began, she started to strut across the floor, slowly working her way toward me.

  As I reached out to touch her, she quickly spun around, causing the tips of her purple hair to lightly flick against my face.

  She continued to dance, and I wondered how many times she had danced to the song at home in front of a mirror. It was apparent each and every move was rehearsed, as they appeared to be professionally choreographed. I stood silently and proudly; attempting, at least for the time being, to hide my smile and enjoy the show. I was so shocked by her athletic ability and her fluid movements I had to continuously remind myself to breathe.

  And she danced, in her pajamas, from the beginning of the song until the unwanted ending unlike any woman I had ever seen dance.

  And I stood before her the proudest man in the world.

  STEVIE

  Sundays were my favorite day of the week, because I got to spend the entire day with the man I loved, doing whatever it was we chose to do without the interruption of phone calls, scheduled appointments, or computers. The late summer days could be spent outside at home, a restaurant, or bar, and it allowed us not only to enjoy the weather, but each other in the process.

  We picked a bar downtown which was close to the shop, and had planned on eating lunch and later going for a long drive in Wilson’s convertible BMW. The day was sunny, had almost no wind, and was warm, but by no means hot. In short, it was perfect. Convertible cars and motorcycles were all over the city on our ride to the bar, and provided further proof of the perfect weather. Sitting at the outside patio with the warm sun in my face, I studied the menu for the perfect lunch sandwich to compliment my perfect day.

  “I want that big Philly cheese steak with the jalapenos, and I want the jalapenos cooked with the peppers on the grille,” I said.

  “Alright, and you?” the waiter asked.

  “Caesar salad, light on the dressing, and cottage cheese,” Wilson said.

  The waiter nodded his head.

  “He’s on a diet,” I said.

  “He’ll live longer,” the waiter said with a nod.

  I raised my bottle of beer and tilted it toward him. “But I’ll have more fun.”

  “So, you said your mother is a drug addict, and your father is an alcoholic. It doesn’t bother you to drink though. How does that work?” he asked as he took a drink of his glass of water.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “I have no idea, but I’ve never had a problem. If it ever becomes one, I’ll stop.”

  “That’s good to know,” he said.

  “And you never drink if you’re driving?” I asked.

  “Not a drop,” he said.

  “And that’s good to know,” I said as I took a drink of beer.

  He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table. “So, you don’t mind sleeping at my house?” he asked.

  Actually, I loved sleeping at his house. It really had nothing to do with the house, but everything to do with sleeping with him. Being in bed with the man I loved was comforting, relaxing, provided a more quality night’s sleep, and for whatever reason, made
me feel much safer than sleeping at home with my gun. There was something about a man at my side that always made me feel safer than being alone.

  “I love it,” I said.

  “What do you think about just moving in? Permanently? And, if I’m out of line, just say so,” he said.

  He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. I was shocked by his offer, and although I immediately felt I should scream “yes”, my eager attitude faded within a few seconds. I had never moved in with a man, and any time I lived with one, it was always the man who moved in with me. As controlling as most of my ex-boyfriends were, I always had the false sense of security that we were living in my house, and if something ever needed to change, I had a place to call home. I doubted I had anything to worry about with Wilson, but part of me was hesitant to immediately agree to it.

  “I mean, I’m not sloppy or anything, but having me be there full time would mean, well, I’d be there full time,” I said.

  “I realize that. It’s what I want,” he said as he uncrossed his arms and leaned into the edge of the table.

  “Underwear, tampons, hair products, tweezers, birth control pills, makeup, and stinking fucking shoes; I have about a hundred pairs of stinky ass Chuck’s. Shit’s going to be everywhere,” I said.

  He closed his eyes, clasped his hands together, and responded. “Sounds great.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked.

  “Positive,” he said.

  “Let me think about it for a bit,” I said.

  “As long as you like,” he said as he leaned into the back of his chair.

  The sound of motorcycles approaching reminded me of the warm weather, the ride we planned on taking later, and of my ex. I missed riding on motorcycles, but what I gained with Wilson was far greater than anything I would gain from all the motorcycle rides in the world. It was a small sacrifice to pay for a huge improvement in my life.

  I took a drink of my beer and gazed blankly beyond Wilson and toward the entrance of the patio. As a man walked into the patio area, my eyes immediately went into focus and studied him thoroughly.

  Fuck.

  It was the shit head I had kicked out of my house at gunpoint for being a bad lay, and he was with another biker who was considerably smaller. Although I considered saying nothing and hoping for the best, I quickly decided it might be best to just leave. While trying to decide what to say to get out of the place without out-and-out lying or making a scene, it was apparent he recognized me.

  “Hey you little bitch. Where’s my fucking boots?” he hollered.

  Oh fucking fuck.

  It dawned on me as he began to walk toward me that although Wichita was the largest city in Kansas and had 400,000 people living in it, it was completely different from San Diego. Running into the same guy again in San Diego would have been almost impossible. But, in Wichita, there were six bars downtown that were open on Sunday. The odds, at least in this city, were pretty damned good.

  As he and his friend walked up behind Wilson, I bit my lower lip and tried to decide what I could do, if anything, to try and diffuse the situation. Now standing six feet to the side of Wilson’s chair with his arms folded in front of his chest, he glanced at Wilson, shifted his eyes toward me, and sighed.

  I locked my eyes on Wilson’s who was still unaware of anything.

  “Old friend,” I whispered as I tilted my head to the side.

  “Where’s my boots?” the biker grunted.

  “I did what I told you I was going to do, and left them at the door,” I said.

  “Well, they weren’t there,” he growled.

  I shrugged my shoulders. “Don’t know what to say.”

  It was pretty apparent biker boy wasn’t planning on leaving. As much as I loved Wilson, I sat across the table wishing he was bigger, meaner, and tougher. For just a minute, I wished he was the same person inside, but a bad-ass biker who was willing – and able – to stand up, speak his mind, and if necessary, pound the dog shit out of the guy who was now standing at his side. I slumped into my seat realizing I couldn’t have my cake and eat it too. I loved Wilson, but he wasn’t a biker, he wasn’t a fighter, nor was he a tough guy. I just hoped whatever happened was over quickly, for both of our sakes. Fuck, if I needed to, I’d buy the asshole a pair of boots.

  Oh, great idea.

  “I’ll buy you a pair of boots,” I said.

  “Those boots came from a shop in Laredo, made special for me, you little bitch,” he said.

  Oh, fuck.

  The entire time, my focus had been on the biker. As I shifted my eyes toward Wilson, I could see he had unbuttoned his sleeves and was methodically, and slowly, rolling them up his forearms. I had no idea what he really had planned, but if he thought for one minute he had a chance at fighting the two bikers, he was completely nuts. Although it was apparent they weren’t affiliated with any club, and weren’t wearing any colors, the big one from my house would no doubt crush Wilson in one punch.

  Wilson pushed his chair away from the table, stepped completely to the other side, and untucked his shirt.

  Oh shit.

  I felt like covering my eyes, but I couldn’t. Wilson tilted his head left, and then right, popping his neck. The entire process went unnoticed by the big biker.

  That’s not going to help. He’s going to kill you, Dear.

  I stood from my seat, ready to fight the big asshole. It wouldn’t be the first time I was hit by a biker.

  “Sit down, Stevie,” Wilson said in a demanding tone.

  His voice was different. Way different. I dropped back into my seat.

  Wilson cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Gentlemen.”

  You’re going to die.

  “Your names?” Wilson asked as if taking a poll.

  Oh fuck, really? Babe, they’re going to murder you.

  The big one from my house laughed out loud and turned toward the guy standing beside him.

  “I’m Snake, and this here’s Applejack. What’s you’re fucking name, princess?” the big biker responded.

  “My name is irrelevant. I take exception to how you spoke to, and how you are continuing to speak to my girlfriend. I’m going to give you an opportunity to leave, and ask that you consider this matter with the boots a closed one. And, if you so choose to leave, I ask that it never be mentioned again,” Wilson said very matter-of-factly.

  Dear God, they’re going to slaughter you.

  Both bikers laughed out loud at the same time. After catching his breath, the big one pressed his hands into his thighs, chuckled again, and eventually stood straight up.

  “And if we don’t?” he asked with a laugh.

  “Is that your choice?” Wilson asked.

  The big one nodded his head and grinned.

  “Applejack,” Wilson said as he took a step in Snake’s direction. “I have no concerns with you, as long as you stay out of this.”

  Wilson kicked his dress shoes to the side, bent his knees slightly, and tugged the thighs of his slacks upward with his thumb and forefinger while maintaining eye contact with Snake. He looked like a fucking cage fighter preparing for a match.

  What the fuck?

  As Snake slowly raised his clenched fists, Wilson jumped into the air and spun in a complete circle. His left foot slapped against the left side of the biker’s face, knocking him completely off balance. Before Snake had a chance to realize what happened, Wilson leaned forward and pummeled him with about fifteen or twenty punches to the face, throat, and abdomen. As Snake bent at the waist, and attempted to cover his face with his arms, Wilson hit him in the back of the neck with his elbow, driving him to the concrete patio.

  Holy fuck!

  “Applejack?” Wilson growled.

  “Look, Dude. I don’t want any trouble. Fuck those boots. I need to get him an ambulance or something,” Applejack said as he reached down and attempted to lift the big biker to his feet.

  I sat in complete shock and stared. And then I remembered t
he day we met, on my way home.

  I’ve studied martial arts my entire life, and I’m quite dedicated. My parents insisted on it. A man should be able to protect himself and the ones he loves.

  “Consider the woman off-limits,” Wilson said. “If you have anything further to say about this, I’ll gladly pick up where I left off.”

  He reached into his back pocket, pulled out his wallet, and tossed a fifty dollar bill on the table. After digging in his wallet for a few more seconds, he pulled out a business card and tossed it on the ground beside Applejack.

  “Just in case he didn’t understand my request,” Wilson said with a nod.

  He leaned over, picked up his shoes, and turned to face me. I stood from my seat and stared.

  “Ready to go for that drive?” he asked.

  I jumped to his side, wrapped my arm around his waist, and proudly walked with him toward the car.

  “About that offer to move in…” I said as I watched him walk across the parking lot in his gold-toed black dress socks.

  “Yes?” he said.

  “Does it still stand?” I asked.

  “Absolutely,” he responded.

  “Good. Let’s do it,” I said. “I’m ready.”

  He raised his right hand and stared at it as we walked across the parking lot toward the car.

  “Kicking that biker’s ass the deciding factor?” he asked with a laugh.

  “No,” I said. “But it damned sure helped.”

  “I’ll never let anyone hurt you,” he said.

  And after seeing him beat the absolute shit out of that massive biker in thirty seconds flat, I was sure he was right.

  WILSON

  Living with Stevie provided my life with exactly what it had been missing. Although I had no way of really knowing in advance, having her live with me gave not only the sense of security that came along with a long-term relationship, but added warmth to the house, causing a longing inside of me to return when I was away. Being physically separated from her was something I quickly learned to despise.