more time before shutting the door confirms that his performance was all for Seth, not me.
I refrain from looking back at Seth because his expression is almost as if he’s… jealous?
Chapter Five
Seth
I walk into Ink Envy, my buddy Dylan’s tattoo shop, and slump into a chair in the waiting area.
“What’s wrong with you?” Dylan asks from the reception table. He walks around and sits across from me.
“Just a shitty day.”
“Did you try to hit on one of your clients?” Frankie, another tattooist, asks as she dips her needle into more ink.
“No, I’m a professional.” You have no idea how many times I have to tell that to my friends. They think boudoir photography is porn. It’s not how I want to use my skill as a photographer, but it’s what’s paying the bills. My friends Blanca and Ethan threw some freelance work my way a few months ago, but they don’t need me on the regular.
“Oh, I think maybe he did hit on a client and they said no,” Jax, one of my roommates and also a tattoo artist, calls, dropping his sketchbook on the table in front of him. “It’s okay, Seth, just hop back on the horse.”
“Yeah, Jax can give you some tips. He’s never gotten off the horse,” Frankie snips.
Jax rolls his eyes. “You have it all turned around there, Spark Plug. I’m the horse that the women don’t want to get off of.” He winks at her, which pisses her off.
Dylan puts his head in his hands. “They never stop,” he mumbles.
“And let me guess, you’re referring to yourself as a horse because you’re hung like one?” Frankie doesn’t look up from where she’s working on her client.
“We can go in the back and you can confirm it for yourself.” Jax stands with his hands out at his sides.
The woman Frankie is tattooing perks up and Frankie forcefully pushes her back down on the table.
“It’s not always about the size, big guy,” Frankie says.
“And whoever told you that has a micro dick. Believe me, Spark Plug, if you took a ride on me, you’d realize how lame that statement is.”
“Give it a rest,” Dylan says. “We have a client here.”
“Oh, I don’t mind. I mean, if he wants to whip it out right here, you’ll hear no complaints from me,” the woman on Frankie’s table says with a smile.
Frankie guffaws and Jax’s fingers go to the button on his jeans.
“For Christ’s sake, have some self-respect,” Frankie yells.
Jax laughs, sitting back down and picking up his sketchbook with a shit-eating grin so wide, it makes me think it makes his day when they go back and forth like this.
“You’re such a manwhore,” Frankie adds before the sound of the needle drowns out whatever Jax might say back.
Truth is, Frankie’s wrong. Jax talks a big game and I’m sure in the past his talk lived up to his actions, but he’s never brought a woman back to our apartment. If he isn’t working, he’s usually home. I thought when he moved in, it’d help with my own game. I had visions of Jax, Knox, and me going out to bars and having parties, a circulation of girls in and out every weekend, but sadly, we play our fucking Xbox more than we actually find chicks to fuck.
“I just… sorry, man, I’m going to Rian’s shop.” I stand.
“I’ll come with.” Dylan turns toward the bickering duo. “Try not to kill each other.”
He follows me to the shop next door—his fiancée Rian’s baking business, Sweet Infusion. The doorbell chimes when we step in, and the scent of sugar and icing hits us. Dylan flips over the closed sign and locks the doors.
“We’ve been over this. If it’s five o’clock, you’re closed. I don’t like the door open when you’re in the back, washing dishes,” Dylan lectures Rian as we walk into the back where she’s washing cake pans in the large stainless steel industrial sink.
She’s also unaware of our presence because she’s dancing to “Dancing Queen” by ABBA. I do all of us a favor and turn off the Bluetooth radio. Rian whips around.
“That’s my cleaning playlist,” she says.
I slide up on the counter and scroll through her phone next to the speaker, with what looks like a playlist filled with seventies songs.
“You have to lock the doors,” Dylan repeats with a pleading look on his face.
She kisses him. They probably saw each other at lunch. Hell, they probably fucked… I raise my hand.
“What?” Dylan asks.
“Can you tell me the