Page 8 of Fox
Me: Oh, I’m sorry. Was the lack of a response not a clear enough indication that I am too busy scratching my ass to send a reply to you? Next time, I’ll pull out some crayons and draw you a picture.
Torch: wow…
Torch: that was uncharacteristically clever of you. Good job Papa Fox.
I sendher the middle finger emoji before turning my phone ondo not disturbbefore returning to the show. There is no way she and I will make it through this year.
FOUR
janie
Itake a steadying breath as I try, unsuccessfully, to calm my tremors down. I’ve done everything possible to put myself in a calm, confident mindset. My makeup is on point, and my freckles are covered. I chose a deep blue lantern-sleeve patched blouse, black high-waisted trousers, and nude heels. I went to an overpriced coffee shop and got my iced decaf, yet here I stand, staring at the backdoor of the shop… ready to run away.
“It’s okay,” I whisper as I walk toward the back door. “You are the boss. You got this, Janie.” The truth is, I want to cry or vomit. Or cryandvomit, I’m not sure. All I want to do is forfeit and give the damn shop to Fox and go. With the money I receive from the sale, I could leave the city, quit social media, and get a dog…maybe. I like dogs. I think I would like to have one, but it’s that commitment thing again.
“Janie, focus,” I growl, opening the door and slipping inside. I’m hit with the familiar aroma of ink, green soap, and disinfectant the moment I walk into the shop’s backroom. Instantly, I feel a burning in my nose and pricks at the backs of my eyes.Fuck. How have I missed this smell? I used to hate it.I remember getting teased as a teen because I always smelled of green soap. It was one of my jobs to fill the bottles for the artists,and inevitably, it would get in my hair, on my shoes, whatever. It doesn’t smell bad, but it doesn’t smell like a fifteen-year-old girl wants to when she’s trying to fit in with the rich kids at school.
“Well, look who finally decided to show up.” Fox’s rough, smug, rich, stupid voice announces as I enter the tattooing area. Nah, rough and rich makes his voice sound sexy, and he’s anything but.
Ignoring him, I walk up front to the waiting and merchandise area and sit on the stool behind the counter while Fox unlocks the door and Atlas turns on music and the point of sales computer.
“We don’t open until noon.”Goddamn it, my voice is shaking, that’s not a good sign. Usually, my voice is one of the last things my disorder affects. Perfect. Thelastthing I need is for Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass to ask about my voice. Glancing at the two men from behind my sunglasses, I take a brief second to look them over. They are both the same ridiculous height. Atlas is younger than Fox by several years but still close to a decade older than me. Fox’s muscles have changed over the years. When he first started here, Fox had an extremely tight and athletic body, much like Atlas does now. I look at the dark-haired man as he removes his shirt, showing off his bulging biceps, a firm, tight six-pack with a very sculpted V. His massive, sculpted chest and Japanese dragon tattoo are on full display as he changes his shirt and—OH MY GOD!
“Are those nipple piercings?” My voice is much higher and louder than I meant for it to be. They both stare at me before Fox looks at the silver-colored balls on either side of Atlas’ nipple.
“Well, goddamn At, you done got metal through your titties.” I shake my head at his stereotypical and atrocious “hillbilly” accent while he makes his witty-ass remark. Atlas gasps dramatically and puts a hand to his mouth.
“Oh my! Please don’t tell anyone! I wouldn’t want them to think I’m a slut!” He rapidly blinks his eyes at me. I give him an unamused look.
“Don’t worry,” I mutter, hanging my purse up. “Your Instagram ratted you out as a slut a long time ago.”
“Now, Janie.” Atlas smiles confidently, his green eyes sparkling with far too much excitement. I’ve been here five minutes and already have to resist the urge to punch him. “Don’t go cyberstalking me and then fall in love.” I gag at him before sitting on the stool.
“Sorry.” I make a show of gagging again. “Just throwing up a little in my mouth.” Atlas’ smile falls, and he looks dejected. Though it only lasts a second before his smirk is back.
“Oh, are we playing hard to get, Red? Don’t worry, I’m a master at wearing people down.” I let out a sarcastic “Ha!” while pulling out my phone.
“Oh, I don’t doubt your ability to wear people down for a second. But unfortunately for you, you aren’t my type.” I hear an annoyed laugh come from Fox.
“Thirty seconds, and you’re already on your phone.” His caustic observation charges me up, and I’m ready to attack him, but as I lift my head to give him a verbal beatdown, I’m struck silent by a shirtless Fox standing in front of me. He’s bigger than Atlas, but Atlas is tight, like the muscle that comes from gym workouts. Fox has those big, thick worker muscles. It’s like he moves logs for a living. Is that a job?Log mover?I will have to look that up later. His stomach is strong but has a softer layer over his abs that I can’t stop staring at.
“Did you decide to work here so you could gawk at us all day?” The condescension in Fox’s voice snaps me out of my trance, and I feel my chest and face warm with embarrassment.
“Yeah,” Atlas huffs, feigning outrage. “I mean, workplace sexual harassment can happen to men too, Janie. I am morethan just eye candy.” I curl my upper lips and stare at the two men before me.
“So, do you two just rub your singular brain cell together to get your shared wit?” I ask while fighting the smirk forming at the slight scowl tugging at Fox’s face.
Atlas shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m always down for some rubbing. It’s been a little dry recently.” He gives me a look that I am assuming he uses on the ladies to get them to drop their panties.
Obviously, I have to save womankind from these imbeciles. Grabbing a bottle of tattoo aftercare cream, I throw it at him before looking back at my phone, begging my hands to stop shaking so hard. The last thing I need is for them to notice and have something else to make fun of me for. I glance up to see Atlas staring at me and shake my head in annoyance.
“What is it, Atlas?” I hiss out.
“I just want it put on the record. I’m everyone’s type.” I drop my head on the counter and groan.
“Not everyone’s,” I mutter into the wood. Atlas snorts.
“Right, there isn’t a girl in this city I couldn’t have sucking my dick—”
