Page 8 of Strelitzias in Spring

“I—” I start, but my cousin cuts me off, asking about payment.

“You know I’m not accepting your fucking money, Celeste, or that of your friends.” I stare at Serena’s back. When the fuck did she get off the table? I watch as the girls walk out of the room, heading to the front of the shop, where Ava and Aubrey wait with two guys I’ve never seen before. I’m about to follow them out when the douchebag’s voice cuts in.

“You know, there’s something about these girls that will have you serving your balls up on a fucking platter. I can see you noticed Serena.” He tilts his head. What the fuck is he talking about? I’m a grown man, and while yeah, she’s fucking hot, she’s also six years younger than me, and I just fucking met her. I drown him out until I finally see his mouth shut.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are, frat boy, but don’t presume you know me.”

We go back and forth until finally, I realize he’s fucking gone over my cousin and projecting that shit on me and a woman I just met. Laughing, I tell him, “You’re so fucked. Celeste probably already has your balls in a vice.” Hitting him on the back just a little too hard, I send his body forward with the force. “Welcome to the family. But if you fuck with her, I’ll personally see to your death.”

Walking to the front of my shop with my arm around Celeste’s man, I’m met with my cousin’s wild stare and her accusations that I just bonded with her boyfriend.

“Fuck off, Celeste. You”—I turn to look at Serena—“I didn’t get to go over the aftercare instructions with you. Come back to my station, and we’ll go over how to prevent infection.”

“It’s fine. CeCe and Ava know what to do; they can tell me,” Serena says in a terse voice.

“That’s not how I do business, princess. So, either walk back into the room and sit your pretty ass on the chair, or I’ll drag you there. Your choice.” I hear Ava spout some shit about sexual tension behind me, but my eyes don’t leave Serena. Annoyed that she’s not listening to me, I continue, “If it becomes infected, you have no one to blame but yourself. Don’t blame me or my shop for that shit, and don’t fucking call me complaining that you messed up your tattoo.”

Like a balloon that loses all of its air, Serena’s shoulders deflate, and she loses the fire that intrigued me moments ago. Barely meeting my eyes, she nods, acting like a meek little mouse.

I furrow my brows, confused again by the sudden change in her demeanor. In the thirty-minute interaction I’ve had with her, I’ve seen three different facets of her personality: timid, angered and defiant, and finally, submissive and dejected. I have fucking whiplash from the shift.

“Alright, well, this has been fun. Thank you, Wolfie,” Celeste calls out, forcing her friends to trail after her.

“Well, that was interesting,” Aubrey says from the receptionist’s desk. “I’m heading home. You want some company?” I glance at one of my closest friends. To some, they may think her question is sexual, but I know better. Aubrey has been in a committed relationship with Trent, another tattooist in the shop, for the last ten years, and our friendship is strictly platonic. She’s truly just asking if I’m okay.

“No, go home. Tell Trent I said to fuck off.” She laughs and rolls her eyes, shutting down the computer before grabbing her bag and walking out the front door with a wave. I watch her walk across the lit parking lot until she gets into her car and drives off.

Alone with my thoughts, I try not to remember the feel of smooth golden skin beneath my gloves.

4

Serena

There’s been no peace in the days following my visit to the tattoo shop. Though my dad swore my betrayal was inexcusable, he will not stop texting me and calling me. My phone buzzes again on my desk at the tutoring center, an annoying staccato that’s tempting me to throw my phone out of the window.

Sighing, I reach down and read the texts from my dad.

Dad(11:32 AM): We need to speak. Be at my house for dinner at six.

Dad(1:46 PM): You have not confirmed dinner. Be there.

Dad(2:13 PM): Answer your phone right now. You have a phone for my convenience, not yours. If you continue to ignore me, I will turn your service off.

Shit. Looking at the time on my screen, I sigh in relief when I realize it’s only been a few minutes since his latest text.

Serena: Sorry, Dad. I’m in the tutoring center working with students. I haven’t had my phone. I’m unable to come tonight. I have class until eight.

Dad: Skip it.

Tears form in my eyes, blurring my vision. Growing up, I was the epitome of a “daddy’s girl”; there was nothing I wanted more than to spend time with my dad and be the center of his universe. When my parents first divorced, I was angry and resentful, but my dad still made time for me. Now, the older I get, it’s like I’m an inconvenient stranger with shared strands of DNA. Even before I slept with Devin, my presence in his house was an unwelcome occurrence tolerated only because his guilt nagged him to be a semi-present parent.

Clutching my phone, I take a deep breath before typing out another message.

Serena: I have a test today. I can’t skip my exam.

Biting my lip, I type out a hasty “I’m sorry,” praying that my lie will appease him. Almost instantly, my phone buzzes with another text message.

Dad: Tomorrow, Serena.

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