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That hot guy with the everywhere tats
MIA
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JER COMES INTO the room about five minutes later. When he sees me standing in the bathroom wearing nothing but my bra and panties, his eyes widen briefly. “Really? You want to do it? Now? Here?”
He shuts the door fast, looking around like a kid caught trespassing.
I’m brushing my teeth and pause to spit in the sink, a big sudsy pile of white glop that lingers over the drain cover. I don’t answer, just keep brushing.
“We’ve never done it here. What if they hear us?”
I cup water in my palm, rinse out my mouth, spit. “You’re probably right.”
He touches my hip, and I resist the urge to pull away. He pushes me toward the bedroom. “I’ll be right in.”
My phone is still on the bathroom sink.
I cannot leave it there.
The text chain.
The evidence of the facetime.
The dick pic!
All it would take is Stranger texting at the wrong moment. Or Jer suddenly getting curious.
“I still need to wash my face.” I slide around his body, back toward the sink.
He doesn’t say anything. Just sets about his own nighttime routine. Is this what happens to everyone when they’ve been together long enough? Would this happen with Stranger if we were together for five years? Does it always become predictable and staid? Or are some people just more suited to one another?
“Jer?”
“Hmmm?” He’s flossing his teeth, rotating his jaw and baring his teeth at the mirror like an aggressive orangutan. It would be funny if he weren’t so earnest.
“Jer? Do you ever wonder if we’re right for each other?”
His gaze snaps to mine in the mirror. He stiffens, lowering his hands, the seagreen floss stretched tight between them, tethered between his thumbs.
“I know we are.” He turns toward me, the floss going slack as he unwinds it from his fingers, cocking his hip like he does when he’s annoyed. “Life isn’t like one of your books. You do know that romance novels are not real, right?”
That takes me aback. “What do romance novels have to do with anything?”
“You read that shit, you write that shit, and it sets up false expectations.”
My mouth drops. “Shit?”
He sucks in a long breath. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I think it’s exactly what you meant.”
I trace my tongue over my teeth, trying to decide if I’m even mad that he called my work shit. I’m not. I don’t care what he thinks about my work. And that in itself bothers me more than anything.
“I just meant, no man is like the characters you write, you know that, don’t you?”
I actually feel my own nostrils flaring, and draw in a breath to keep from raising my voice. “I do.”
“I can’t compete with a six-and-a-half foot alien with a cock like a foot-long who was written by a woman.” He drops the floss in the trash and unbuttons his dockers.
“Who said you should?”
“You live in a dream world of fake cocks and wild tantric sex under the stars. This is reality. We’ve been together for a long time. You know me. We want the same things out of life. We get along, our families get along.” His jaw takes on that stubborn edge it gets when he’s annoyed. “What do you want from me?”
“Nothing.” I say and brace myself, but he doesn’t even blink. I rest my hand on the counter, tracing a vein in the marble. “What do you want from me, Jer?”
“For you to be exactly as you are. It feels like you’re constantly expecting me to be something I’m not. I don’t want you to change.”
“You do want me to change, Jeremy. You want me to stop writing.”
“I never said that.”
“You called it shit. You don’t want me to tell anyone what I do.”
“I was angry. I’m sorry.” He stalks past me into the room, pulling his shirt over his head. I stare at the clean lines of his lean back.
“But you are ashamed of what I write.”
He doesn’t look at me as he sits down on the bed. “Let’s just...” He slices an angry hand through the air. “Let’s just finish this conversation in the morning.”
I slide my phone from the counter as casually as I can and follow him into the bedroom.
I barely sleep that night. I replay a thousand conversations with Stranger, and I realize something. We’ve discussed a hundred things, a thousand. Sex is there−it’s always there−but it’s not all there is.
Stranger and I talk about things. A lot of things. The world, philosophy, economy, art, literature, politics, travel. We talk about crackers, juice, our childhoods. We talk about the weather. We talk about anything. We talk about everything. And it’s fun. He can make me laugh describing his lunch.
And, yes, we do talk about sex. The wild, crazy, panty-wetting kind. The kind of sex I want to have. The kind I crave.
But maybe Jeremy is right, maybe I need to find out if sex is all this is. Maybe it’s just an illusion.
It’s 3:11 a.m. when I finally give in to the impulse, and text Stranger.
Mia: I’ll be in the Finger Lakes with friends, at a winery called Cayuga for a tasting at 7 p.m. tonight, spending the night at Cayuga Hotel and Spa. Maybe... I don’t know. It’s not far from you?
I fall asleep after that. In the morning, there are two pictures and a message waiting for me. One is a picture of Stranger, a selfie of him sipping from a mug of steaming coffee, standing outside surrounded by snow, the mountain glowing in rising sunlight behind him, with its barren trees. He’s got on a fleece—the same one from his profile picture—and he’s rugged and unshaved, his eyes all crinkly and warm, like he’s smiling just for me. The other is a picture of Gogo in her sweater and booties, looking ridiculously proud of herself in the snow. And the third is a text.
Stranger: Cayuga is twenty minutes from my house. It snowed last night but there’s ice under the fresh stuff. Drive carefully.
My stomach does a big lazy slow circle somewhere between turned on and terrified. Like that rollercoaster I’m on just went over a massive rise and I’m plummeting a straight path down.
I need to tell Jeremy. I need to talk to him. This isn’t just fun anymore.
He is already awake. The bed is empty.
I stagger down the steps, slightly hungover, but mostly tired from the sleepless night.
Mom sends me a dark glare.
Penny and Danny announce they want to come with us to the winery.
Jer clears his throat. “I already checked with everyone. They’re glad for more company. You know Erica.”
A chill runs down my spine.
Our friends. They are truly ours. Neither his nor mine alone. What I’m doing could destroy so many relationships. If Jer and I break up, he will get Annie. My heart twists at the thought. She’ll never speak to me again. I will probably get to keep Erica and Caesar though. Erica is bawdy. Jer doesn’t really like her.
Danny and Penny are my family though. I’d get them.
I smile at Penny.
She smiles at me.
I part my lips. I need to ask Jeremy to go out for coffee or something.
I need time with him.
Time alone.
As if fate hears me though, Dad immediately drapes an arm around Jeremy’s shoulders, slapping his back. “Want to go shoot some balls at the new indoor range?”
Jer’s eyes slide, blue and cool, over my face. “Hell yeah. Can I try out your new driver?”
My lower lip starts to wobble. I don’t even know why, so I turn away from everyone, get really busy refilling my coffee mug.
I hear Dad’s voice behind me. “Anyone else want to come? Mia? Danny? Penny?”
“No thanks.” My voice is only half clogged.
Jer comes up and presses a perfunctory kiss to my shoulder.
There won’t be time to talk to him now. And what will I say? Everyone loves you. We’re clearly perfect, but I want to meet up with this tattooed writer guy just to make sure that there isn’t some other way I’m supposed to live my life. Is that cool?
It would gut him.
My vision blurs with thick, hot tears. One spills over. I’m losing control.
I wipe my nose and eyes, trying to be cool, but I’m standing in the corner. Someone will notice. Soon, someone is going to wonder why I’m facing the corner. I can’t help it though, it’s like something is broiling inside me, something new and terrifying, and if I tell anyone about it, everything will explode. All of it. At once.
I clench my teeth.
Dad and Jer grab their coats and leave, and I’m still in the corner, blinking at the cupboard, willing the tears to leave me alone.
“What’s wrong with Mia?” Danny asks.
I don’t say anything.
“Seriously, Mia? Are you crying?”
He says crying like it’s something mysterious and horrible, like he’s terrified it might be true and then he’ll have to comfort me.
“No,” I say.
“You are? What’s wrong?”
It doesn’t really matter how old I get, there’s something about my baby brother being concerned about me. My stupid nose is running, I keep my back to everyone. “I’m fine, Danny. Really.”
Mom comes up. I know it’s her. I can just tell. She’s in my space. She touches my shoulder. “Mia, honey?”
“I’m fine.” I wipe my nose on my wrist.
“You aren’t fine.” She pauses a moment, and whatever she’s working up to say, I don’t want to hear it.
“I just need to be alone, Mom. I’m going out.”
She stares after me as I run upstairs, I can feel the weight of her eyes on the small of my back.
I take the fastest shower I can. I know exactly what I’m going to do today.
Twenty minutes later, Penny finds me in the mudroom as I sneak my way into the garage to borrow Mom’s car and go into town.
“Mia?” she says, her dark brows wrinkled. “Are you okay?”
I swallow. I have a hard time when people worry about me. I always have this need to reassure them that I’m the last person in the world anyone needs to ever worry about. I’ve got my life in order. I’m smug. I’m happy. I’m perfect. So I plaster a big smile on my face. “Yeah. I’m great!”
She pulls her coat off a peg on the wall. “Good. Then I’m coming with you.”
“You don’t even know where I’m going.”
“I don’t care.”
I open my mouth to argue, but she just yanks her zipper up.
“Whatever you’re doing, I don’t care. I’m coming. I’m a good listener. And no offense, but I’m not spending the whole day cooped up here with your mom. Besides, she asked me to make sure you’re okay.”
I can’t help but laugh. Good old Mom. I jerk my head at the door to the garage. “Alright then.”
We get in the car at the same time. The doors thudding heavily. Mom’s car smells the same as it always did. Leather and a faint whiff of the same Chanel perfume she’s worn since I was a kid.
“So...” She coughs pointedly. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
I turn on the car, and flip it in reverse. “Do you have any tattoos?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
She hums in agreement. “Four. Your brother has two.”
Really? “I didn’t know that.”
Penny makes a face. “There’s probably a lot you don’t know about Danny. I think he sometimes feels... uncomfortable telling you all things.”
“Because Mom’s so judgy?”
“I think it’s more... he doesn’t want to disappoint, and he always says how perfect you are.”
I laugh. If only they all knew I write books with spankings and anal, and made plans to meet with an internet Stranger.
“He just wants you all to be proud of him.”
“I’ll always be proud of Danny. No matter what.” I back into the driveway and hit the remote to close the garage behind us. “And I’m glad you’re here.”
She glances at me, tucking her dark hair behind her ears. “Why’s that?”
“Because you love him. But also... I’m going to get a tattoo and I have no idea how bad it’s going to hurt.”
THE DRIVE TO CAYUGA that afternoon is uneventful. I sit in the front and help Jeremy navigate his massive Mercedes SUV over the roads. All the while I try not to itch or worry about the tattoo tingle-burning away on my back. I want to look at it, touch it, remember the sharp sting as the artist inked it into my skin. I want to talk about it. But I don’t. It’s my secret. Well, Penny knows, but she promised not to tell anyone.
Penny got one too. A tiny symbol she said was Zibu for hope, a swoop with three dots on the inside of her wrist.
It took some work for us to find a tattoo parlor with an artist who spoke Arabic well enough to do the translation, but we found one. It hurt. Badly. But I’m so glad I did it.
On the way home, she touched the bandage. “Can I tell you a secret Mia?”
I turned in the car, remembering Stranger’s simple words and how they’d cut me to the core. You can say anything. I’ll listen. “Anything.”
She swallowed thickly, and I think I already knew something big was coming.
She chewed on her lips, her eyes getting big. “I don’t have a family. Not anymore. I lied. I’m so sorry. I’m an orphan.”
The car was quiet, some dumb ninety’s music station playing. “Don’t apologize.”
She shook her head tightly, but somehow it felt more like a nod. “Danny’s my family now. I just... I don’t ever talk about it. The truth.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “It’s bad. My dad...”
I touch her wrist. “Penny, don’t tell me anything you aren’t ready to tell. Your secrets are yours. I get it.”
Now, every time I meet her eyes on the drive to Cayuga, I want to hug her. I like this woman. Mom will too someday, I just know it.
Every time I lean back against the seat, I’m reminded of my tattoo and I feel giddy all over again. I feel wild. I feel alive. I feel excited. I can barely sit still.
Jer turns onto a tiny one-lane road toward the lake. The car pitches and bucks over potholes and snow piles, but it handles well. He bought this car right after we got engaged because it will be great for kids.
At the time, I thought that was sweet and thoughtful.
Now?
I glance at my phone. Three messages from Stranger.
My stomach heaves.
I want to see him, but also, I’m terrified.
And because I don’t know what to do, I do nothing. I don’t even read them. I just curl my fingers into fists and focus on the hotel as it comes into view.
It’s beautiful. A perfect winter New England hotel nestled between snow-covered trees. White wood with brick chimneys, dormer windows and black shutters.
The lobby is just as nice. Gleaming wood floors draped with woven rugs, cozy tufted furniture, massive windows overlooking the frozen water, interrupted occasionally by birch and maple, naked with winter and crusted with frost.
Caesar and Erica already checked in, but they’re waiting for us in the lobby, curled up on a sofa by the fire. They’re reading together.
It hits me hard.
I want that.
Exactly that.
I want to read with someone. Read and cuddle together. Pass our time, together, happily occupied in our literary worlds, but still connected.
Jer never reads.
Stranger reads. He reads all the time. I bet he’d love for me to put my head in his lap and read with him.
JER AND I CHECK IN and take our bags to a room that overlooks the frozen lake.
I finally relent and text Stranger. This is new, feeling guilty about not responding to him, like I owe him something, like I just know he’s worrying somewhere and it’s cruel not to respond. How did we get here? Why? It doesn’t matter. I know him well enough to know that he is worrying.
Mia: Roads were great. Plowed and salted. We just got in. Not sure about timing. I’ll let you know if anything comes up.
Stranger: Ok.
I put my phone on silent and shower. I can’t tell for sure, but I think that Ok was one of disappointment. Jesus, I’m in too deep, sinking so fast the shore is a distant memory and I’m not sure I even want to go back there again.
When I get out of the shower, I turn to study my back in the mirror. The tattoo is a little red at the edges, but it’s beautiful. I smile at the elegant squiggly letters. If I showed Stranger, would he smile? Laugh? I imagine him stroking a calloused finger over them and my nipples harden, goosebumps breaking out over my skin. I have to show someone. It’s a secret I can’t keep to myself.
There’s only one person I want to see it. I don’t even care if I sink all the way to the bottom of this new sea. I like this sea.
I snap a photo of my naked back, including the curve of my ass, and my make-up-free face in profile, my hair wet and dripping down my spine, the letters clear across my shoulder blade.
I send it to Stranger.
I linger over my makeup, mostly to avoid having to focus on Jeremy, who’s been especially hang dog all day, and dress in a black sweater dress and knee-high snow boots.
We’ve barely spoken.
He watches me from the bed, fully dressed, his eyes narrowed, head cocked like he’s trying to understand what’s suddenly so different about me. “You look nice.”
“Thanks.”
He rises from the bed and takes my hand. “I shouldn’t have said that about your writing. I didn’t mean it.”
“I got a tattoo.” I turn to the window, stare out at the frozen lake.
There’s a long pause.
“Where?”
I tug down the back of my dress, move my hair out of the way.
Another pause. “What will you do at our wedding?”
He didn’t even ask what it says. I could be deliberately obtuse and ask what he means, but I know what he means. My dress is strapless. He’s worried about it showing, about our friends and family seeing it.
I look back at him, study his pale blue eyes, and I realize something. He doesn’t really care about me. If he cared, his first question would have been why, Mia? Why did you get a tattoo out of the blue? Is everything ok?
“You’ve never bothered to read my writing. So how would you know if it’s shit or not?”
He’s silent.
“Maybe it’s awful.”
“I’ll read it now if you let me.”
I shrug. “Fine. I’ll pull up a book on my tablet. Open it to a scene. You can read it on the way to the winery.”
“That’s not really what I—”
“You can read it in the car.” For some reason my face starts to crumple and my throat tightens, so I turn my back to him. “Read it in public. And then tell me you aren’t ashamed of me. Erica and Caesar have read it.”
ERICA IS IN THE LOBBY when I get there, her red hair pulled up into a sleek bun. She’s wearing a skin-tight green dress that makes her look like a Barbie, full-blown and gorgeous.
I drop my head on her shoulder.
Jer loiters awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs.
“Jer just agreed to read a scene of mine,” I whisper.
She grins. Erica has this way of smiling with her whole body, it’s a squeal-slash-shoulder-motion combined with an ass wiggle. It’s infectious. She’s like a never-bursting bubble of energy.
Her shoulder bumps against my cheekbone as she wriggles. “Which one are you going to give him?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?”
She laughs, deep in her throat. I love her. I wish I saw more of her. She and Caesar live in Albany, a lot closer to Stranger actually, than to me down in Providence. She reads everything I write. “Yes! The one where Creed gets pissed and spanks her.”
Jer’s eyes get wider than I’ve ever seen.
Danny and Penny come down the stairs too, and he frowns. “Spanks?”
Penny looks like she’s trying desperately not to laugh.
“Okay,” I say. Penny told me her secrets. I’m going to be spilling secrets today. Might as well start practicing now. “I write romance novels. Not publishing. Well, I mean, it is publishing but not for a publisher. Just for me. That’s why I don’t talk about work, ever. I’ve been lying for years.”
Danny stares at me for a minute, scrubs a hand through his hair. “Cool.”
“Spanking romances?” asks Penny.
I can hear Stranger in my head. Do it, he’d say. Own it. Don’t be ashamed of what you write or who you are. “Sometimes. They’re erotic shifter romance novels. And people like them.”
“What’s your pen name? I might have read them. I love shifter romances,” Penny says without missing a beat, and I swear to god, I can’t wait to call her my sister.
“Mia Reed.”
Danny wipes his hand over his mouth and stares at Penny. “You read erotic books with spankings?”
“Heck yeah.” She pulls on her coat. “And I’ll be reading a Mia Reed original first thing tomorrow.
Danny looks confused, like maybe he finds it a little hot that Penny reads books about spankings, but then somehow his sister is involved so that makes it kind of awful. “If writing them makes you happy, I’m happy for you.”
That was easier than I expected. “Don’t tell Mom.”
A look of total understanding crosses his face. “I won’t.”
Caesar comes out of the bar with a couple glasses of champagne and passes them around. He’s the kind of guy who always looks like he’s biding his time before he tells you something outrageous, like he’s got some awesome story in his back pocket.
He hands a glass to Jeremy.
Erica does a shimmy. Seriously. But she can pull that off. “Jer is going to read one of Mia’s sex scenes on the way.”
Caesar nods like that makes sense. “Make it that scene you read aloud to me a few weeks ago, babe. Which was it?”
“Oh! The thumb in the bum scene!” Erica laughs again. “Oh my god.” She fans her face.
Jer’s whole face shuts down. Danny drags his hand over his mouth again.
Penny’s eyes gleam. “I want to read that.”
“I don’t,” Danny mutters.
My cheeks heat.
“Thumb in the bum. Done,” I say, brazening through the awkward, owning it, and flip through the book to a scene where Creed bends Rielle over a table and fucks her from behind. It’s... dirty.
I would spare my brother the details, but Erica has no such tact. She regales Penny with the whole sordid story as we climb into the car that will take us to Cayuga.
Danny looks... uncomfortable.
Caesar just laughs.
Jer blanches when I hand him my tablet. “Is this a test?”
“No.” But it is. For both of us.
He reads in silence.
I peek over his shoulder, surprised that he’s actually reading it. I beat back the simmering layer of humiliation and shame that I write books with thumbs in bums and spankings.
There’s something to be said for just laying it all out there. I studiously avoid meeting his gaze on the way there.
Cayuga Winery, when we get there, looks like a colonial schoolhouse had sex with a warehouse full of glass and they made a baby together. We get there after dark and it’s lit from within, glowing, the old shingled schoolhouse parts already strung with Christmas wreaths, and the modern glass parts gleaming.
“Welcome to the holiday season,” Erica shouts like a showman as she hops down from the car.
“Snow and Christmas lights.” Penny’s eyes gleam. “You don’t get this in LA. This is perfect!”
Jer hands back my tablet, and turns up the collars of his wool coat.
“Well?” I say when I’ve climbed out, my heels sinking in the snow on the winery’s front drive.
“I’m not sure it’s safe for you to be writing like that.”
“Like what?”
“You could attract the wrong sort of attention. People might get ideas.”
“Like you? Did you get any ideas?”
He makes a face like he’s just swallowed something gross. “Are there men on that writing website? Do they read scenes like that?”
“Sometimes.” I tug him toward the winery. “Did you get a little hard?”
“Mia? Jesus. No. We were in a packed car!” He follows me, his expression grim.
“Not even half way? Maybe a quarter of a boner?”
Stranger would have laughed at that.
Jer scoffs. Actually scoffs. A little huff of air that chills me to the core. “No.”
He reaches over my head to hold open the door for me, and gestures me in as an extra long, cold gust of air sends my hair swirling around me. “Are you into that?”
“Spankings, doggy and fingers in bums?” I tilt my head.
“Yeah.”
“Absolutely.”
He doesn’t respond.
I’m not even mad. He was right. That was a test. And we just failed. As a couple, we failed.
Jer and I don’t fit together. Not even a little. I need to tell him. I need to woman-up and tell him the truth. It’s not even about Stranger anymore. It’s about Jer and me and us together.
I will tell him. As soon as we get home, I’ll tell him the truth, give him back the ring, focus on my career for a while, figure out my life.
I’ve been fixating on Stranger, but it’s not about him. I need to get control of my life.
I pull out my phone and text Stranger.
Mia: Maybe I can fake getting sick or something?
Stranger: I like your tattoo. You overestimate my self-control.
Huh?
I cock my head, but can’t respond because Jer is staring at me.
Everyone else is already at our table. I take a seat beside Penny, at a long table by a fireplace. Our tasting is already laid out for us.
Caesar and Erica flirt/bicker about food, but they order a variety of samplings for us to have with the wine: breads, cheeses, cured meats, nuts, dates, spreads.
Everyone is talking a million miles a minute, which is handy. It means I can stay quiet.
My purse hangs over the back of my chair, and I can practically feel my phone inside it, pulsing away like a second heart. I long to check it. I want to tell him I’ll meet him tonight.
But I’m a coward. What if we meet and the luster is lost?
I sample the first wine.
Jeremy’s across the table from me laughing at something Erica said. Maybe if I break it gently, if it’s not about another man, he won’t hate me, and Annie and I can stay friends.
The wines here are typically minerally and just slightly sweet, because of the cold weather. This one is tart and delicious.
I’m somewhere between my fourth and fifth tasting, which means I’ve probably had a solid glass and a half. Enough to be warm and happy. I take a sip of a red and roll it around my tongue. Pretend like I’m analyzing the taste. But really I’m just wondering what Stranger meant by the self-control comment.
Penny elbows me in the side and whispers, “That guy over there is staring at you.”
Mouth still full of wine, I glance at her and raise my brows.
She jerks her chin toward the stairs leading to the barrel room. “That hot guy with everywhere tats. Next to the guy in the wheelchair.”
I follow the line of her gaze, see a tall man.
Brown leather ankle boots.
Dark jeans.
A tight, white Henley rolled up to his elbows, revealing swirling colorful sleeves of beautiful tattoos I know so well by now.
I nearly spit my wine across the table.
It’s sheer force of will that has me swallowing.
I know that face.
And he is staring at me.