Page 17 of Flash

“I’ll take that action,” Tex says. “I think he can hold out for two months.”

“No way. Two weeks tops,” Hero argues.

Piston is the only one who doesn’t throw in his opinion as to how long it will take me to humiliate myself with yet another guy who isn’t as interested in me as I am in him. He gives me a sympathetic look though, and that’s worse.

Chapter 6

LEWIS

By Friday morning it’s finally quiet in the shop. I’m positive the Taylor Swift calls only let up because the concert happened last night, but I’ll take the relief anyway. On the bright side, I managed to get some of the people who came by to ask about tickets to leave with flowers, so it wasn’t a total loss. Not that I’ll ever admit that to the jerks next door, of course.

It took me a day to come up with the perfect revenge, with absolutely no help from Rowan, and another day to organize it, but I think the lag time makes it that much sweeter. They probably think I’m not going to retaliate. They’re over there at Ink Slingers high-fiving each other and laughing, but little do they know, they have an interruption to their day on its way as we speak. I figure fair is fair. If they’re going to disrupt my business, they can’t complain about me disrupting theirs.

I chew on my thumbnail and peek out the front window, watching as a custom pink Mustang pulls into the parking lot and directly into one of the spaces in front of the tattoo shop.

“Oh my god, they’re here,” I whisper-squeal to Rowan. Bouncing on my toes, I wave him over and watch with glee as three drag queens get out of the Mustang dressed as cheerleaders.

“I really should have asked about your plan.” Row sighs.

“Oh please, it’s harmless.” I tut. “It’s just a drag queen-O-gram. They’ll go in there and do a sassy, insulting cheer routine in front of whatever customers are inside and then those big bullies will know they can’t mess with us without getting it back in return. I’m defending our honor. You should be thanking me.”

He snorts and pats my shoulder.

Once the queens go inside Ink Slingers, I’m completely in the dark about how things are going. I should have snuck over there and planted a hidden camera so I could see their faces. Maybe I should run over there right now and watch. I don’t have much time to debate that option before a customer comes in asking to talk about flowers for a baby shower though, effectively distracting me. Things pick up from there, with another few people filtering in and out, picking up bouquets for their partners or buying potted flowers to brighten up their indoor space. Some online orders trickle in after that, and by the time I’m all caught up, it’s been at least two hours since the drag-o-gram arrived.

“Their car is still parked out front. You don’t think they stayed to get tattoos after they did their mean cheer, do you?” I wonder out loud, not really expecting Row to weigh in on the situation.

I’m debating going over there to press my nose up to the window and see just what the hell is going on when the cheerleader queens come back into view. The three of them are smiling, carrying their poms at their sides and free of tattoos—at least, visible ones. I narrow my eyes suspiciously, watching them pile into the Mustang and take off.

“Uh, Lew, you might want to take a look at this.” Rowan leans on the counter, looking at his phone.

My stomach sinks and I hurry over, crowding in next to him so our shoulders are touching and I have a good view of his phone screen. He taps it and a TikTok starts to play. It’s the drag queens, unmistakably at Ink Slingers. Whoever filmed it didn’t start until their routine was already going on. I’m happy to see I at least got what I paid for, with the three queens hurling epic rhyming insults at the guys as they perform a synchronized routine. There’s laughter and cheers in the background that I’m hoping are coming from customers, but something tells me I missed the mark and those idiots actually liked being roasted by drag queens.

Likes, comments, and views roll in the whole time we’re watching, and the whole thing ends with the camera panning around to my nemesis, who flashes a shocker, along with a wink and his tongue sticking out, before giving a quick promo for the shop.

Epic fucking fail. I tried to annoy them in the middle of the workday and they turned it into a viral video for Ink Slingers.

“Dammit,” I bark, slamming my hand on the countertop.

The bell over the door chimes and I straighten up, forcing my scowl into a friendly smile to greet the customer.

“Welcome to Little Shop of Flowers, what can I help you with this afternoon?”

“Hi.” The woman approaches the counter, looking put together and professional in a pantsuit and a sleek ponytail. “I’m a wedding planner in the area actually, and the flower shop I’ve used for years has been causing me some problems recently, so I’m shopping around for an alternative.”

My heart jumps and my smile becomes genuine. Becoming the go-to shop for a wedding planner is basically guaranteed income.

“It’s so great to meet you. I’m Lewis, and I own and run the shop. Let me show you around and then I’d be happy to answer any questions you have. Can I ask what happened with the shop you’ve been working with?”

The corners of her eyes tighten. “Let’s just say they’re not always as professional as I would like.”

I nod in understanding. That could mean anything from late deliveries to bad arrangements to this woman just being Type A with excessively high expectations. I’m not going to pry any deeper, but it definitely makes me straighten my shoulders and covertly try to brush the loose dirt off the front of my apron.

“Well, I can assure you—” Before I can finish the sentence, the sound of loud, muffled music cuts me off.

Oh no.

I look past her, my eyes going wide as the door swings open. It’s like watching a trainwreck in slow motion with no way to stop the impending disaster. Four men strut in with the twink leading the pack. I vaguely recognize the other three from the day I stormed in there to yell about the Taylor Swift calls. All four of them are dressed in some of the worst drag I’ve ever seen in my life. They’re wearing ratty blond wigs that look like they came from the thrift store up the road, and they have dresses to match, floral and ill fitting. One thing I can say in their favor is that their makeup is on point.

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