Time Out of Mind (Suncoast Society #43)(69)

“Because it is. It’s important to me.”

Clark was behind the wheel. He’d found a good tattoo artist at a place in Pasadena who would do it during off-hours for a premium price, as well as sign a NDA in the process.

Mevi stared at the spot on his right wrist, the markings that he renewed several times a day. He’d also carefully traced it into his notebook, and had taken pictures of it, just in case, so he could recreate it if something happened and it totally faded.

After today…it would never fade.

Just like Doyle wouldn’t fade in his soul.

Maybe it made him stupid or a hopeless romantic. He didn’t care. Even if he never laid eyes on Doyle again, the man would always be in his heart. He never wanted the marks to fade.

“Did you hear anything?” Mevi softly asked.

Clark let out one of “those” sighs. “Not yet. If I do, I’ll let you know.”

“I’m still pissed at Bonnie.”

“You’re not her favorite person, either, you know. I had to talk her off the ledge last week.”

“What?”

“Metaphorically.” He glanced over at Mevi. “There’s a reason she opted to go three hours home instead of staying at a hotel near the venue, and not because she wanted to thumb through her junk mail.”

“I know.” Bonnie had barely spoken to him since Chicago. She still put on a good act for the crowds and the VIP after-parties, but that was it. At the hotels, she always headed to her room without socializing.

“You two need to settle this shit before you fly to Europe.”

“I know.”

“How come in all the years you’ve known her you’ve never had a discussion with her about this?”

“Because after the first couple of years, I wasn’t sure how to tell her I was gay. Especially when I’d been sleeping with her.”

“Wait…is she the only person you’ve slept with?”

“No.” He studied his hands.

“I meant besides Doyle.”

“No.” His hands were reeeaally fascinating.

“I meant women before Bonnie.”

“No.”

“Why do I not believe you?”

“Fine. Bonnie was the second.”

“What about your rep about you supposedly being a womanizer?”

He felt his face heat. “I had a lot of sudden cases of intestinal distress from possible food poisoning and/or food allergies right before doing it with anyone.”

“Seriously? And they bought it?”

“Yep. Especially if I got them off first.”

“Ah. Never leave them hanging?”

“Well, I didn’t want to be inconsiderate. Want to hear my imitation of explosive diarrhea noises?”

“Hard pass, sorry.”

“How about my fake vomiting noises? I once had a woman start puking from hearing me do it in her bathroom.”

“Uh, again, hard pass, thanks.”

“So as far as they knew, I was great in bed. I always set it up to act like I wasn’t feeling very well before we got started, but I told them nah, I’d be okay. They had fun, I’d already baited the hook that something was off, and never even had to get naked. Made my early excuses and ran. They felt sorry for me and, since they weren’t stiffed, so to speak, they never said a bad word about me. As far as they knew, I’d gotten the short end of the stick.”

“That means technically you were with more than two women.”

“That I actually did the full deed with? No. Girl in high school. Senior prom, drunk in the back of my pickup truck when I was seventeen.”

“Classy.”

“For a senior in my income bracket and zip code, yes. We didn’t have to share the truck with anyone.”

Clark finally chuckled, shaking his head.





The sign on the front of the shop listed their hours and that they were closed today. When Clark knocked on the front door, a middle-aged guy with tat sleeves on both arms answered. The shop was not only clean, it looked to be a high-end parlor.

“Clark?”

“Yeah.” He held up a form. “Sorry, but I need to protect my client.”

The guy shrugged as he stepped aside and waved them in. “The money you’re paying me, I’ll sign away my left nut if you want it.” He took the pen and form, scanned it, and quickly signed.

The pictures on the walls, of artwork and finished tats, blew Mevi’s mind. This guy wasn’t just a tattoo artist, he was an artist, period.

“So what are we doing today?”

Mevi still stared at a large photo of a full left arm sleeve depicting a dragon in black and grey tones, so realistic it looked to be exploding from the woman’s arm. He held up his right wrist.

“That.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“Dude. I almost feel bad taking your money. That’s literally going to take me about ten minutes. I thought you were going to want something way more complicated. Hell, I won’t even need to charge you extra like I told you I might.”

“Then let’s get moving,” Clark said. “I want to beat traffic back to Anaheim.”

First, Mevi had to sign a form of his own, waving liability for the tat and testifying that he was sober and over eighteen. Then the guy made a template of the marks before he cleaned them off Mevi’s wrist with alcohol and soap. “You sure you don’t want any other details? I could make them look 3D if you want. Shadows? Color?”