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About the author:
Author, blogger, traveler, tea-drinker. I also like to take photographs. I like 80s dance parties. I love apocalypse movies. I tend to eat a lot of appetizers. I think Magic 8 balls are a valid way to make decisions. And I think the point of being an adult is the right to have ice cream for dinner if that’s what you want. But I only do that occasionally. I dream of being multi-lingual. I am currently very far from this goal. I’m always on the lookout for new adventures. I think my child-like enthusiasm for life is endearing. Hopefully, my friends and loved ones agree. I yoga on occasion. I feel Buffy the Vampire Slayer is the best TV show ever made. Veronica Mars a very close second. I was a closeted romantic for years but recently came out. I frequently watch horror movies alone – and then regret it. I like beautiful oddities. Thundersnow is my favorite weather phenomenon. I consume a lot of wine and conversation.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Jax
Almost dying has a way of changing your priorities. At least, it seems to have had that effect on me. It’s the only explanation I’ve got for why I’m currently hustling Monique out the front door of Vanished, the tattoo shop where I work, and not taking her up on her offer of an after-hours blow job. The really sad part is that I wasn't even tempted, despite knowing firsthand that it would be spectacular. This isn't the first tattoo I've given Monique.
But no. The equipment in my pants didn’t even twitch. Not interested. At all.
It probably doesn't help that the last woman I slept with on a brief but semi-regular basis was secretly obsessed with my best friend and tried to kill his girlfriend. To say that it ended badly would be a severe understatement.
It's been months. I haven't gone this long without sex since I was a virgin. And then, at least, I wanted to.
Pathetic.
I sigh when the door finally closes behind Monique and flip the ‘Open’ sign off, locking the door.
“Still riding the celibacy train, huh, big guy?” Logan snarks. She’s sitting on a stool behind the counter, sketching while she waits for me to finish up this last appointment.
“Stuff it,” I mutter.
She smirks at me but starts working on the deposit. I start the rest of our nightly routine, cleaning up for the morning. I’m interrupted by my phone ringing.
TV Star calling.
“Yo! You're home!” I shout into my cell. My best friend and boss-turned-partner, Lucas Abbott, has been out-of-town doing some promotional stuff in Los Angeles for the reality show based on our tattoo shop and our lives. The new season won't air for several months yet we're still shooting, but after the whole kidnapping and attempted murder, our producer thought it would be good to get some positive publicity. She even got Luke to agree to bring Ash out.
My life is fucking ridiculous, mainly in a good way, especially considering where I came from. Except for the almost dying from a gunshot and then sleeping with a crazy stalker/murderer thing. And the current state of disinterest that has infected my dick. Other than that, life is great. Really.
“I wish. Flight’s canceled.”
I hear Ash yelling hello to me in the background and can’t help but grin. Doc’s quickly becoming like a little sister to me, but more importantly, she makes Luke happy.
“That sucks. So when are you getting back?”
“I don’t know. Ash is on hold with the airline. But it may not be until sometime Tuesday or Wednesday.”
I shrug even though he can’t see me. “So go to the beach for a couple of days. We’ve got things under control. Freaking cold here right now, anyway.” I don’t really mind winter, but January in Chicago isn’t exactly pleasant outdoor weather. It’s been days since we’ve even seen the sun, fucking gray everywhere.
"Yeah, about that… ."
“What?” I stiffen, annoyed he may actually be worried about us running the shop a couple more days without him. Last month he asked me to step up as a full partner. Does he really not think I can handle this?
He clears his throat, which I know is a tell when he’s uncomfortable about something.
"So, I, uh, I kind of promised I'd do this thing Monday afternoon. And now I'm worried I won't be back in time. I was thinking," I hear Ash yelling something again in the background, and Lucas muffles the phone murmuring to her.
"Um. Hello? Want to tell me what's going on?" At least now, I'm pretty sure it's not related to Vanished, so I can relax.
Luke comes back on the line. “Yeah, sorry. We,” he stresses for emphasis, I can practically see Ash grinning at him, “were thinking you might be able to cover it for me.”
Immediately I'm suspicious. Luke knows I've got his back. He's being weird and shifty, though, so for some reason, he either thinks this is a bad idea, or he thinks I'm not going to like it. "Want to provide me a little more info, bro?"
"I agreed to speak at this after-school program at one of the high schools. They're trying to bring in local artists, musicians, writers to talk to kids about different careers in the arts. Somebody different every week or maybe month. I can't remember. I think the idea is to provide some kind of outlet since so many schools are having to cut their arts programs. Anyway, they're just starting it. I don't want to leave them hanging the first week, you know? I'm sure they could try to find someone else, but I thought if you could-."
“Sure, yeah.” Lucas and I do a lot of volunteer work with local schools and foster programs. Growing up in the system, we know how fucked up that life can be. Not always. But enough. I’m not sure why he’d think I wouldn’t be into this idea. “So I just go and talk about tattooing as a job?”
"That's the idea. And then let the kids ask you questions. I think it's only like 30 kids. Some after-school group. 'High-Risk Youth'. You know the drill."
I grunt. Yeah, I know how kids get labeled early on into ‘promising’ or ‘troubled’ despite the fact they have very little control over their reality. It’s all bullshit. Kids are just fucking kids, you know?
“No problem. I’ll cover it. Send me the details?”
“Yeah, I’ll text you what I’ve got. Thanks, Jax. Appreciate it. And I’ll, uh, send you Riley’s number.”
There it is. That’s why he’s acting shady. Personally, I have very mixed emotions about this information. It’s complicated. But I’m glad that Luke seems to be making progress with his bio family. At least some members of it.
“You’re such an asshole,” I laugh. “It’s Riley’s class? I thought Riley taught middle school?”
“Yeah, she started at this high school in the fall, I guess. She seems pretty excited about this after-school idea. Thanks for covering for me."
“No problem. Keep us posted when you get a flight out.”
“Will do.”
We hang up, and I think about what I just committed to. An afternoon with Riley.
Riley Abbott is one of Luke's cousins. Although he only discovered that a few years ago when another one of his cousins tracked him down and told him they were blood. Luke grew up with me in foster care. Poor. Forgotten. Shuffled around. Sometimes hungry. Sometimes beaten. 'High-Risk' some might even call it. Turns out the family his mother ran away from before abandoning Luke was loaded. Family money. Political connections. Fundraisers, fancy parties, mansions… all that shit. It's been a rough adjustment. Until recently, Lucas had firmly put every one of them into a box labeled 'Fuck You All'. Most of them are still trapped in that box, but Riley's managed to sneak out. She's kind of in her own box now. 'I Don't Want To Like You, But I Do.'
Which, unfortunately, is true for me too. Riley is fucking impossible not to like. That’s why it’s complicated.
She's an open book, sweet and kind and smart. With red hair and ivory skin, and wide gray eyes. And a great smile. Her laugh fucking tinkles. It’s impossible to keep a straight face when she laughs. She’s a good listener too. She likes to listen. She’s curious about people.
She's my best friend's family, and she's an Abbott.
And I can’t help but like her.
So, yeah. Complicated.