Page 7 of The Confidant

“Night,cher. Apleasuredoing business with you.” I can’t help how much teasing comes out in my tone. I’m coming to accept the fact that I’m a hussy for this man. I can’t help myself.

I’m going to fantasize about him for a while. I can already feel it. I’m already reaching for my sketchbook to draw him while the image is still fresh.

He pauses at the door and turns back to me with his fierce focus.

“I won’t regret any of this. I’ll be back for the next one.”

I don’t have a chance to respond as he walks out.

Chapter Two

Adelaide

The next few days are slow. Flash pieces only. My cohort in all things tattoo and piercings is noticing the trend and getting antsy. Not that his being all over the place is unusual.

Damon stands with me at the counter, and as time passes, we both pout.

The bell goes off, and we straighten up like a pair of unruly kids getting busted doing something wrong.

A man with a golden tan strides in and glances around in confusion. He has aqua contacts, and his hair is so golden it seems more like metal than hair. If his neon pink shoes didn’t steal his thunder, the bright Hawaiian shirt he’s wearing would.

“Huh. This isn’t it. Wrong dimension?” He mutters to himself absently.

Damon and I share a confused glance. The minor movement seems to draw his attention to us.

“Oh, hi! Sorry to interrupt your book. I won’t see you later.”

He waves with a slightly demented grin and leaves.

“Uh, should we call someone?” Damon asks with a wary, concerned look.

“Meh, leave him be. No violence, no problems,” I remind him, and prop my chin on my hand to continue the boredom.

When Damon finally goes to the breakroom-slash-office to grab a soda, I reach under the counter and glance at the tablet again.

Poe Richards.

Gladiolus himself.

His Maman must have had a thing for tragic poets. I guess he’s lucky she didn’t name him Shakespeare.

I’ve already sketched him about five times since I saw him last. The memory of him hasn’t faded into the background yet. I’m worried that it might be taking up permanent residence in my head, and it isn’t paying rent.

“I can’t believe you didn’t take a single picture,” Damon pipes up from my side, catching me for the millionth time daydreaming about the guy.

I didn’t want to put him on display and reveal his scars. I barely took the pictures of Asher that I did. He insisted that they were my best work and needed to be seen. The unusual request made me submit like nothing else could.

The bell rings, and we both stand at attention too quickly again.

Damon settles back with a practiced, professional smile of welcome.

I can’t catch my breath.

It’s Gladiolus in the fine flesh, looking hot as hell.

“Good afternoon,” Damon speaks first.

I want to snap that he’s mine, but I stifle it just in time.

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