More Than Lies (More Than #1)(19)

“That old man is cool as shit,” Mason remarked. “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 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.” 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. But, jeez.

“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?” 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 house at all for that matter.

I look back at my roommate.

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

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

“Want to explain?” I raise my eyebrows at Tara, but she doesn’t seem to care.

“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 innocently, 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 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, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t good people, because they are great. They’re 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 easily one of the best artists I’ve ever come across. Some of the shit he can do with a tattoo machine is bad fucking ass. I may design every bit of art I have on my body, but Adam is the guy that inks it into my skin.

Being a talented tattoo artist doesn’t equal good businessman, however. To be fair, I can’t say he isn’t good at the business end, because I’ve never seen his finances. The shop is always booked out, lights on, and well stocked with supplies. It’s the management part that I have issues with.

Adam is everyone’s friend. I’ve never run a business, but logic and common sense dictate 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, 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 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 price 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.