Stepbrother Inked(12)

"Fine," I said, which was only half true. The physical discomfort I  could deal with no problem; it was the emotional discomfort that was  getting to me. "You?" He looked up at me and raised his eyebrow, the one  with all the piercings in it. Three silver balls sat above the dark  curve of his brow and only one below. I had no idea how he got them in  there like that; was it just one piercing or three? I'd never had the  courage to ask.

"You're asking me when you're the one getting your first ink?" He snorted and I felt my lips turn down at the corners.

"I was only asking because when you came back from smoking, it seemed  like you were having a really good time." The words came out sharper  than I intended them to and I cringed. Flor sat back and put a hand on  my belly, like he was trying to hold me in place. If he hadn't been  wearing gloves, I might've melted from the touch.

"Hold still," he barked and then, narrowing his eyes at me asked, "and what the fuck do you mean by that?"

"I mean," I said, hating that I'd even brought this up, trying to look  away and failing. His eyes were just too damn perfect, too astute, too  sharp. "If you're going to hook up with one of your groupies between  breaks, at least hide the evidence." I stared at his brightly colored  hickey for emphasis and watched as he reached a black gloved hand up and  wiped it away. Flor stared at the smudge of pastel pink on his fingers  and then shrugged, sitting back and laying his machine on a silver tray  next to his chair. He peeled off the gloves and stood up.

"I started dating that girl you met last week," he mumbled, like it was  no big deal. My heart turned to ice, just like it always did when  Florian got a girlfriend. Actual girlfriends, not just fuck buddies were  few and far between. He was only twenty-one, but the idea of him  settling down and having kids with someone made me feel ill. I was not  ready to be an aunt to the children of my biggest crush.

"The drag queen?" I asked and he snorted again, grabbing one of the blue  medical wipes he used to clear away the ink and blood while he was  tattooing. I watched as he stared at his reflection and methodically  wiped his throat clean. "The one with the big hair and the orange and  pink flower?"

"That's the one," he said, like he didn't give a shit about how I felt.  Maybe he had no clue? This is definitely it. Time to make a clean break.  He's got a girlfriend and you've got Dorian. One date in and you can  already tell he's a nice guy. Plus, Addi vouches for him. That has to  count for something, right?

"She was cute, I guess," I mumbled under my breath, leaning back and  wondering what sort of nastiness my stepbrother might've gotten to in  the past week with this girl. All these little touches he was giving me,  inadvertently turning me from ice to liquid magma and back again, and I  was sure she'd probably had dozens. In fact, I was certain of it.  Florian didn't hold back, didn't save those beautiful eyes and that  gorgeous body for any one person, at least not for extended periods of  time.

I still hate you, I thought miserably while I waited for him to come  back to the chair and start again. Yet again, he grabbed a new pair of  gloves and started up the needle with a faint buzzing sound that I  actually found relaxing. Better than talking to you, you asshole.

"What about you? Anymore dates with Mr. Nice Guy?" Flor leaned in and  focused all of his attention on the needle burrowing into my skin,  wiping my hip every couple of seconds or so to clear the ink away.  "Planning on losing your virginity to him?"                       
       
           



       

I swallowed hard.

"I'm not a virgin, Flor." The words came out in a whisper, like I was  ashamed of that fact. I wasn't, but it didn't make it any easier to tell  him about it. He seriously stopped tattooing, pulling the needle back  and lifting his face up to mine. It was frustratingly unreadable and I  found myself regretting the admission almost as soon as I'd uttered it.  "What?" I asked, trying to play the offensive. "It's not like you are  either." And that I knew for a fact. I'd seen Florian having sex with  girls. More than once, actually, and the memories were burned into my  brain.

"Huh."

That's it, all he said. He put the needle back to my skin and I yelped. I swear, it felt like he was pressing harder that time.

"Chin up, little sister," he said, lifting his black gloved hand and  tapping me under the chin. Even though his cocky, self-assured smile and  the glint in those sharp as pine needles green eyes of his should've  pissed me off, they didn't. I felt my body make another coup in an  attempt to subvert my brain. He's such a slut, I could probably have him  if I wanted, at least for one night. I blushed and looked away. "Just a  few more hours to go," he whispered, like he was already chomping at  the bit to be finished with the whole fiasco.

More time passed though I'm not sure how much; Florian didn't turn on  any music nor did he speak to me. I started to wonder if I'd made a  terrible mistake in coming here.

"How long ago?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence. It took me a  while to piece together what he meant and then I found myself blushing  again.

Six months ago, just after my eighteenth birthday.

"None of your business," I blurted, not wanting to tell him I'd only  been with one guy and only a handful of times. Oh, and that I'd slept  with his best friend and business partner. "Why do you care anyway?"

"Because I want to find the guy that deflowered by baby sister and beat the ever living shit out of him."

I groaned.

"Would you stop it with the big brother act? You are not my brother, Florian."

"Our parents are in love and they've been together for over a decade.  What the hell does that mean?" he snapped back at me, sounding almost  like he was trying to convince himself more than he was me. I stared at  his dark hair, tousled and beautiful and oh so sexy. He'd always used to  dye the very tips, sport red or blue or purple hair; it drove my dad  nuts. As soon as he'd graduated high school though, he'd let it go back  to its natural black and it'd stayed that way.

"It means that I don't have to tell you anything about my sex life, just like I don't want to know anything about yours."

"Whatever," he snorted back at me. I tried to sneak my phone out of my  pocket, so I could text Addi to come rescue me when he started talking  again. "I'm going out of town next week. Can you take care of my cat?"

Not exactly the heart pumping, coma inducing string of lust riddled words I wanted so desperately for him to spout at me.

"Where are you going?" I asked and he snorted, yet again.

"I thought your business wasn't my business and vice versa? Can you take  care of the cat or not?" I glared at the top of his head, hating how  luxurious and thick his hair was, how good it smelled.

"Six months," I admitted and then took a deep breath that almost perfectly synched up with one of his. "Where are you going?"

"I've got a tattoo invitational up in Portland," he said and just as I  was about to release the breath I was holding, he added, "I'm taking  Rhonda."

"Rhonda? The drag queen's name is Rhonda?"

"Oh, I can assure you, this is no dude in a dress."

I squinched up my face and closed my eyes. Okay, yes, this was a  mistake. A big one. Huge. Of gargantuan proportions. I hate you, I  thought again.

"Fine, I'll take care of your stupid cat."

Florian wrinkled up his brow but said nothing.

We suffered the rest of the evening in silence and small talk until he  finally sat back, rubbed his arm across his sweaty forehead and  announced, "I'm done."

He helped me up and out of the chair and although I pretended not to  care that his fingers on my arm burned like fire, I was trembling by the  time I stood up. Or maybe that was because of the tattoo. I'd like to  believe that instead.

I moved to the mirror and looked down at my skin, colored with a  brilliant wash of rich purples and blues, a gray-yellow moon and a white  stag standing proudly before it all.

"In some cultures, the white stag is portrayed as a symbol of transgressing the taboo."

My spine curled as I glanced over at him, sticking a cigarette between  his lips and acting like he hadn't just thrown out a non sequitur worthy  of wracking my already fragile brain.                       
       
           



       

"I'm gonna go have a quick smoke and then I'll be back to talk about  aftercare." He raised his eyebrows at me, moved out the door and left me  alone with my thoughts and a stamp on my hip that would forever remind  me of the crush I was never supposed to have.