More Than Lies (8 page)

“Don’t you have class during the week?” I see this bitch enough on the weekends. If Matt wants a full-time, live-in girlfriend then maybe his ass needs to move somewhere else. It’s not happening in my house.

“Usually, yes, but Holly and I went to a concert last night so I skipped. I’m heading back once I get dressed.” She steps away from me as I sidestep her to head to my room.

“Whatever,” I mumble, but turn back to face Amanda. “Cassie isn’t welcome here any longer, you got me?”

“What? Why not?” She doesn’t give me a chance to answer her. “Cassie is always nice to you, Shawn. If it weren’t for Holly being in love with you, she would have tried to get with you herself. She likes you, but doesn’t want to cause a rift between her and Holly.” She huffs and I’d roll my eyes if I were a chick. “I don’t understand.” One hand is clutching her towel and the other on her left hip.

“Then understand this, I’ve had all I’m willing to stand of Cassie disrespecting Tara.” I move in closer to her. I’m rather tall, so I know how I often come across as intimidating. “That’ll go for you too, if you continue making rude, snide little comments to her. Don’t think for a second that I won’t eighty-six your ass just because my roommate continues to blow his load in your pussy.”

“Why...I mean...what?” She stammers along shaking her head. I don’t understand what she isn’t grasping here. I was perfectly clear. “I don’t get it, Shawn.” Her voice has turned hard and eye brows have come together. “You can’t stand that goodie two-shoes any more than I can. I don’t get why my boyfriend remains friends with her.”

The pain inside my head had been mellowing up until this point.

What I don’t understand is why her boyfriend keeps her around in the first place. There is not one thing likable about the woman standing in front of me right now.

I step even closer, bending down so that I’m mere inches from her face.

“Do not ever assume you know what I think, who I like or dislike, or anything else for that matter. Tara would not live here if I didn’t like her so if you understand anything, understand this, the only reason I allow you in my house is because you happen to be dating her best friend. Ya feel me, Amanda?”

Her mouth is hanging open, but the most dimwitted person on earth would have understood that.

I’m done with this stupid bitch. She has taken up far too much of my morning. I turn on my heel and walk the short distance to my bedroom.

Once I’m behind closed doors and inside the room, I finish toweling off the water that’s still on my body before throwing on clean boxers, gym shorts, and a t-shirt. I work out every weekday morning before showing up at work. I’m a tattoo artist so my hours aren’t the typical eight to five. Starting my day at noon—I’ll never complain. I love what I do and I get paid damn good money to do it.

I walk out of my room without doing my hair. What’s the point when I’ll be showering again in two hours? Yeah, it may be a little weird that I shower before and after a workout, but it’s not like I’m in any condition to clean up when I first get home from a night spent liquoring it up at a bar, or the few minutes spent inside whatever random chick that decided to give me a piece inside or outside of said bar.

If I could, I’d wash them off me before crawling into my bed, but in most cases I’m lucky to make it to my room let alone into my bed and underneath my covers. A shower is definitely out of the question, skank or not.

When I walk into the kitchen I see Matt eating from a bowl at the table and Mason standing in front of the coffee maker. I’m not a huge eater before a workout, but even I need more than cereal.

Opening the fridge I take out the tall carton of egg whites, shredded mozzarella cheese and a container of mixed fruit. I make my breakfast and then join my roommate at the table. Shoveling a forkful of food in my mouth, I level my gaze over toward Mason.

“You ready to finish up your ink?”

“Absolutely. I’ll be seeing you once I get out of my last class around one this afternoon.” He takes a drink of his coffee as Amanda walks into the kitchen. She heads over to Matt.

“I’m out of here, babe. See you this weekend.” She kisses the side of his head and he nods. I don’t get these two. It’s easy to see he’s not that into her anymore, so why does he keep her around? It can’t be for her personality because she is lacking in that department.

She leaves and I’m happy to see her go.

I direct my attention back to Mason.

“Yours is the easiest one I’m doing today.” Once I finish shading red coloring into all of the flowers he’ll be complete. “Cosmo is coming in today and then he’ll be back on Friday for me to finish up. He’s getting a piece done on his forearm.”

I met Cosmo when I started apprenticing at a local tattoo shop in my hometown of Tupelo my senior year of high school. At the age of forty-nine, Cosmo became my first solo tat and I got to pop his tattoo cherry. He’s gotten seven more since then, making today’s work number nine. Everyone says when you start getting tattooed, it becomes an addiction and I think that holds true for a lot of folks.

“That old man is cool as shit. It’s been a while since I’ve seen him. I think I’ll shoot him a text and see if he wants to grab a beer later this afternoon.”

Cosmo took a liking to Mason and me back in the day. He’s often said he’s come to see us both as the sons he never had.

“You should do that. I wish I could join, but I have a full schedule up until 6:30-ish so there is no way I’ll be able to.”

It sucks, but I’ll get to catch up with him for an hour or so while I’m working on the outline of his ink.

“Dude.” I turn to glare at Matt. “I don’t roll that way.” Jeez, I know he isn’t that into his girl and I doubt she even gives good head. Bitch is too worried about her own self to care about someone else.

“Huh?” he questions through a mouthful of cereal.

“Stop rubbing your foot against my leg.” I push at him with my leg.

“I’m not.” He’s looking at me like I’m stupid.

“Seriously what the hell?” He’s not my ass. Seconds after pushing him away he’s back to touching me.

“I’m not touching you.” Says the motherfucker that’s about to get kicked. “Beast is under the table.”

“Excuse me?” What is this jackass talking about? Beast?

“Beast.” I look at him this time like he’s the one that is stupid. Pretty sure he is. “The cat.”

“We don’t have a cat.” I scoot my chair backwards and look down. Sure enough there is a big fat fluffy fur ball rolling around between my feet. “Why the fuck is this thing in my house?”

I hear plastic bags rustling and turn to see Tara walking into the kitchen with both hands carrying multiple grocery bags. I guess she wasn’t at Target after all, but I don’t care about that. I’m concerned with the feline in my kitchen the one that certainly does not belong in here or in my at all house for that matter.

I look back at my roommate.

“Don’t look at me. Ask Tara. She is the one that started feeding the stray.”

I bend down and pick Beast up. Why am I even calling this animal by a name?

“Wanna explain?”

“Explain what?” I wait. “All I did was feed a hungry critter. He sleeps with Mason.” Her eyes are peering into mine a little too innocent, but I turn, facing Mason.

“Hey, get off my ass, that fluffy bastard is warm.” He takes offense. “You all can fuck off.” He walks in my direction, coffee in right hand. “Give me, my fuckin’ cat.”

He takes the furry little shit and walks off.

So now we’ve gained a cat.

What the hell is next around here?

As I pull into my driveway, parking my F-150 beside Tara’s BMW, I shut off the ignition to my truck and relax into the driver’s seat. Today wasn’t bad by any means. Bad or good, I’ll always tell you the same. I love my job. I even like some of the guys I work with. There are a few that don’t have the talent it takes to make it in the tattoo world. Doesn’t mean they aren’t good people, because they are, simply not meant to be tattoo artists.

It’s not my place to tell them that, though. It’s Adam’s. He’s my boss and the owner of the studio. Adam is one of the best artists I’ve ever come across. Some of the shit he can do with a gun is bad fucking ass. I may design everything I have on my body, but Adam is the guy that inks it onto my skin.

Being a talented tattoo artist doesn’t equal good businessman, however. Let me back up because I can’t say he isn’t good at the business end. I’ve never seen his finances, and the place is always booked out, lights on, and the supplies endless. It’s the management end that I have issues with.

Adam is everyone’s friend. I’ve never run a business, but logic and common sense dictates that you can be friendly with your staff, but it’s a bad idea to be friends. I’m sure it works for some people and probably even in the tattoo world, but not in our studio. At least not where my boss is concerned. He can’t fire anyone let alone dish out constructive criticism. Trust me, there needs to be a lot of critiquing happening at Southern Ink.

I’ve witnessed the man hire a guy based on the dude’s personality alone and taking his word on his talent rather than seeing his portfolio. I doubt some of the fucks at the studio know what a portfolio is, much less have one.

I’m hoping to change this fact in the next few months. I’ve been on Adam’s ass for nearly a year trying to get him to sell me the business. Three, even four years ago, I would have never considered the idea of running a business. I’m still not so sure I know what I’m getting myself into, but I can’t sit back and allow a place I love to go down the drain. That’s exactly where I see it heading if things around the studio don’t change.

Adam finally agreed today. I’m not sure what changed his mind, but whatever it was, I’m glad.

I’m waiting on him to give me a figure and speak to his lawyer about what needs to happen to get the ball rolling. The sooner the title changes the sooner I can start making the changes I feel are necessary for Southern Ink to grow and improve. Removing the dead weight, placing a guy who has potential under an apprenticeship, and finding exceptional talent is where I plan to start.

I remove my keys and open the truck door, sliding out and taking a deep breath.

Home.

I don’t know what it is about this place that I love so much. Perhaps because I spent a lot time here as a kid when I would come stay with my grandparents on the occasional weekend or holiday. This house, this city, here feels right. It’s another reason I need to get the studio on track. If I can’t, then I can’t stay working there. I take pride in what I do and I want to work in an establishment that takes the same pride in the work their staff puts out.

That leaves me with one other option. It’s not a bad option, but it’s not where I want to be. My brother has a buddy that lives in Las Vegas. He used to live here in Mississippi. He grew up with my brother, but dropped out of high school his sophomore year then moved out west. Chance Manning is hands down a brilliant tattoo artist. Maybe even the best I’ve ever seen. I envy his work. If I have to leave, then I’d only consider going to work with him and his team.

When I walk inside my house, I hang my keys on the one empty hook out of the four next to the front door.

It’s Wednesday night, my favorite night of the week because it’s family dinner night with my roommates. What makes it’s so special? Well, you’d know if you ever had the pleasure of eating a meal cooked by Tara. The woman can cook, and good, too.

Tara spent a lot of time at my house because her brother was always over. My mother took a liking to Tara early on from what I remember. My mom taught Tara a lot of what she knows. They have a bond over food and I get to reap the benefits.

I used to think no one would ever surpass my mom’s cooking, but then I became roommates with Tara three years ago. I’ll never admit to that, though.

I remove my boots, kicking them off and shoving them against the wall with my foot. Then I pivot and make my way through the living room. The TV is on, playing what I’m assuming is a college football game that either Mason or Matt recorded on the DVR the previous weekend. I don’t look to see what teams are playing. Frankly I don’t give a shit. Sports aren’t my thing. I played in middle school and high school because my friends did, but I never enjoyed it.

Mason is lying face down on the couch, asleep. I finished up the remaining ink I needed to shade his tattoo a few hours ago. My best friend is half Korean and half American. His mother is from Korea, so he grew up with a lot of Asian flare in his home. He’s never been to Korea, but wanted a badass tat that represented his heritage.

It was about a year ago when Mason decided he wanted a tattoo. He told me he wanted something bold and powerful with an Asian theme or added Asian flare. What I designed is my best work to date.

The tattoo covers his back in its entirety and ends down his left leg. A blue-green skull sits in the center, with a wicked snake looped from the top of his right shoulder and ending on the outer side of his left thigh. The Asian theme comes into play with the vibrant colors and flowers spaced around, popping off his flesh.

It’s cool as shit and I almost wish it was on me. This is a piece that I’m most proud of. It’s taken a little over a year to complete because of his schedule, but it turned awesome.