Stick and Poke, page 1
Stick and Poke
An Insta Love OTT Alpha Male Romance
Flora Madison
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Flora Madison
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Copyright © 2019 by Flora Madison
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Epilogue
New Release Alert!
Also By Flora Madison
1
Reed
It’s just about that time, my favorite part of the day. My dream woman, the one I’ve been obsessing over for months, is about to pass by outside my tattoo shop. If I miss seeing her pass by the shop, the day’s a waste. I fantasize about the day she comes into the shop, about the day I can finally make her mine. That day can’t come fast enough.
Unfortunately there’s a persistent tattoo groupie standing before me, begging me for a tattoo that she’s not going to get…at least not from me.
The groupie holds up the bottom of her shirt—if you can call it a shirt; the truth is that it’s more of a headband wrapped around her torso—to show me where she wants her tattoo. You’d think a man would be excited to have all of this attention from strange, hot women day in and day out. Most are, but I’m not your typical man. These types of women are a dime a dozen.
“Sorry,” I tell the groupie as I turn away. “I can’t tattoo you today. I’m booked up for the week.”
“Aw,” she whines, and reaches for my hand. “You’re sure you don’t have any time for me?” When I turn back around, her shirt is hiked up even higher giving me an even healthier view. She sways in place like she’s listening to music that no one else can hear. I start to pull my hand away, but I’m not fast enough.
My dream girl appears in my peripheral vision.
Her hair is pulled into a messy ponytail. She’s wearing a light blue sweater, tight enough to show off her ridiculous curves. Her jeans are like second skin, hugging her hips like they’d rather die than let go. Thick and beautiful, this woman stops my heart every day but she never seems to notice that I’m staring at her…until today.
Time slows to a crawl as her eyes meet mine. They’re the same sweet baby blue as her sweater. An electric jolt lights up every cell in my body, making it hard for me to swallow. After all of these months of watching this gorgeous creature, we’re finally making eye contact through the shop window. I’ve been craving this moment since I first saw her. A tiny smile raises one corner of her full mouth. Then, her vision shifts away from my eyes and directly to my arm, attached to a woman who, from my dream girl’s point of view, is flashing her breasts in my face.
Time speeds up once more. My dream girl keeps walking. I pull my hand away a beat too late.
“Yes,” I say annoyed, “I’m totally booked. But you can check in with my boy Jayden here.” Jayden looks up from his current client, smiles and gives a nod. And just like that she’s sold, moved on to the next guy who will give her the attention she wants. I, on the other hand, am off the hook.
I take a deep breath and head to the back room, nearly kicking myself for the timing of it all. What are the chances? The one time I make actual eye contact with my dream girl, so thick and curvy that even now I can barely contain the stiffening pressure against my jeans, she sees a typical tattoo groupie attached to my arm.
Son of a bitch.
Since I just turned down a potential three-hundred dollar tattoo, I’d better keep myself busy. It’s not that I’m in desperate need of the money. I own Stick and Poke and the shop’s doing great; it’s in the black that’s for certain. My mom left me a ton of money when she died, probably out of pure guilt. She left when I was only twelve, just took off one day when I was at school. I didn’t talk to her again until I was almost twenty-three. She was already dying of cancer, her three other marriages had shit the bed, and she was looking to make amends. Clearly she married up, because her alimony left her quite the wealthy woman. But what’s all the money in the world when you’re sick and lonely?
While I didn’t necessarily forgive her for walking out on me and pop, I did, with pleasure, take that guilt money. It allowed me to open this shop, and buy an apartment in Brooklyn. I guess things have a way of working out, even if they suck. That’s what happens when you find out the woman you thought was your ultimate symbol of caring and love was actually nothing more than a dissatisfied party girl.
The curtain swishes open and Jayden pops his head in, pulling me back from my thoughts. “Dude, you really don’t want that hot chick?” Typical Jayden, he’s only been tattooing for a few years and hasn’t quite gotten over the immense sexual attention it brings you. He’s out with different women all the time. More power to him, but I’ve been there and done that. Not only did I live to tell about it, but it’s the same story over and over.
“She’s all yours, bro.” I say reaching for the inventory sheet, but not really reading it. Jayden steps into the small room, crowding my space.
“What’s wrong with you, man? You haven’t been acting right.”
“Do tell, Jayden. What does it mean to act right?”
“You know, going out with us, partying. Getting laid.” He jabs his elbow into my ribs, but I don’t even flinch. Less time at the bars and clubs means more time at the gym. My body was always pretty tight, but now I’m like a brick house, and being this disciplined feels good.
“I had a beer with you last night.”
“Yeah, a pre-game beer here before we went out to the bar and you went home.”
“That doesn’t count?”
“No! I want you to come out with us.”
“Fine.” I say, just needing to get Jayden off of my back. “I will go out with you.”
“Tonight.” I squeeze my eyes shut. Tonight I wanted to get home early so I could go to Crossfit in the morning before work. “Come on dude, you owe me. It’s my birthday.”
I turn to face Jayden, my eyebrows knit. “Your birthday’s in December.”
Jayden’s face softens, a smile spreads across his lips. “Awww, bro. You remembered!” He reaches out and clasps me by the hand. “Either way, I want to see your ass out tonight. Just one beer. You need to live a little!”
I should tell him that I’m tired of all the typical bar flies and groupies, the party girls who want to get laid and afterward stalk me into liking them. I should tell him that I’m looking for more than just sex, that I want someone I can rely on, who I can talk to. Instead, I put down the clipboard, turn to my employee and say, “As long as I don’t have a last minute walk-in, I’ll meet you tonight at the bar.”
Jayden smiles, does a strange little dance with his shoulders, and leaves me alone in the stock room praying to God that someone comes in so I don’t have to follow through on a night out.
2
Mollie
“It’s only been two months!” My best friend Sloane screams. A splash of wine escapes her glass and hits the kitchen floor. I’d laugh if I weren’t so busy trying to stop myself from crying. It’s stupid, I know and I should be bigger than this, but I’m not. “What kind of a jerk gets engaged to someone else two months after breaking off a two year engagement?”
“My ex-fiancé,” I say downing the last of my wine. Not that there was much left, the first glass went down as smooth as silk. Like a true bestie, Sloane’s already heading over to refill me. “I should’ve known,” I say, watching the pink liquid fill my glass, ready to take me away from this miserable, albeit accidental, revelation. When you have mutual friends, the grapevine can be rather claustrophobic. “Garrett was always working late, and he was always working with her.”
“That bitch.” Sloane says, and plops next to me on the couch.
“Well, it takes two to tango.” A tear rolls down my cheek and I curse myself for wasting my emotional supply on Garrett.
“Or horizontal bop,” Sloane adds.
“Not helping.”
“Sorry.” My head falls forward and the memories of Garrett rush over me. Sloane wraps me up in a side hug. “Mills, you’re going to be okay.”
“I know.” I say, but do I? “The worst part of all is that I miss him.” Sloane leans away from me ever so slightly. When I raise my head, her brows are knit. “What? I do.”
“How can you possibly miss a man who broke off a two year engagement on the grounds that you were—”
“Sloane, please don’t say it.”
“I think you need to hear it, and it’s either that or I give you a wake-up slap across the face.”
“Please don’t hit me, either—”
“Boring, Mollie! He said you were boring.”
The words cut deep into my chest, causing me to flinch. As if it weren’t bad enough to find out that he’d been having an affair, but claiming the reason that he’d wandered was my fault nearly killed me. Sure I like to have the same breakfast every day, and lunch, and sometimes dinner if I make a big enough batch of something for a few days, but that doesn’t make me uninteresting. Yeah, most of my wardrobe is the same shirt in six colors—all different shades of blue, and believe me there are many different shades—and I’d rather read a book than hit the latest club, but I think that makes me normal. Or at least, I used to think so.
“Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m destined to be a crazy cat lady surrounded by books.”
“You only have one cat, and books are awesome.”
“Touché,” I say, and reach for the box of tissues. After a long nose blow, I’m able to catch my breath. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Go out and get laid?” Sloane shrugs. I glance over at my friend, my red rimmed eyes and unbrushed hair aren’t exactly a universal turn on. “I don’t know, just do something crazy.”
“In case you haven’t been paying attention, that’s not exactly my brand.”
My glass is almost touching my lips when Sloane grabs me by the shoulder and shakes me. Luckily I pull the glass away in time to avoid a second spill. “Oh my God, I’ve got it!” Sloane’s spine straightens. “You should get a tattoo.”
The memory comes back to me in a flash. The hot guy in Stick and Poke looking at some girl’s tits. I’d been too shy to peer inside until today, and seeing that scene proved to me exactly why.
“What?! No, I’m not the kind of person that can just walk into a tattoo shop.”
“Well, for tonight, just pretend that you are. Besides, it’s not the nineteen-fifties, Mollie. Anyone can walk into a tattoo shop. I bet even the Pope’s rocking some serious ink under that robe.”
“Sloane, I don’t think that’s the answer.”
“It’ll make you feel better. Think about it. You get some fresh ink, post it on Insta, and I guarantee you that it will get back to Garrett.” Sloane snaps her fingers, “In no time.”
The idea of seeing that hot tattoo guy up close and in person sounds kind of nice. It would sound even nicer if my face wasn’t a red, swollen mess. “Why would I want to get something engrained on my body that reminds me of that asshole?”
“Maybe it’s more of a reminder that you should never get involved with another asshole like Garrett? That you deserve better. That you’re awesome just the way you are.”
“Are you hitting on me?” I tease.
“Come on, boring girl. Live a little.”
“Sloane—”
“How about this? I dare you to go down there and get a tattoo. Prove to yourself that you’re not the blandy puss stick in the mud that Garrett says you are. I’ll go with you. I’ll be there the whole time.” Sloane reaches out and grabs me by the shoulder. “I’ll even pay for it.”
I study the look in Sloane’s eye. She’s dead serious about this. In all honesty, the idea of getting a tattoo on a whim is both terrifying and freeing. It’s definitely out of character for me, and maybe Sloane’s right, maybe that’s exactly what I need.
I down the rest of my wine in one last gulp.
“Where’s my purse?” I say, and roll my eyes.
“Come on.” She says, leaping off of the sofa. She throws my sweater at me. “Before you change your mind.”
Not that I have the chance, I barely have time to lock the door before we’re barreling down the stairs and out into the fall air. While I‘m laughing as the crisp breeze hits me square in the face, I also realize that I’m a little tipsier than I thought. Oh Jeez, what the hell am I getting myself into?
The door chimes overhead as we enter Stick and Poke. Music blares from the speakers as we make our way to the front desk. The back is roped off, but we can see that there’s one artist coming out from a back room.
There’s no mistaking that he’s the same guy I locked eyes with today. Only holy shit, he’s so much hotter in person. I didn’t think that it was possible. He’s tall—like, over six feet tall—and his arms are covered in tattoos peering out from his bulging shirt sleeves.
“Hey,” he says in a soft, gruff voice. “Can I help you?” In his eyes there’s this look of familiarity, it nearly stops me dead in my tracks. Maybe he remembers me from earlier?
Earlier when he had a tiny, sexy little sprite of a girl clinging to his arm.
My mouth bobs open and closed for a moment, then I remember what I’m here for. Fuck Garrett, I’m no wilting lily. Sure, I may be an introvert, but tonight I’m going to play up the fact that I can be anyone I want for one night. And besides, she’s not here now. It’s only me. And I’ve got a little bit of liquid courage racing through my veins.
“Hey there,” I say, and pull my hair down from its messy bun—a dramatic, but freeing gesture. “I’m Mollie and I want you to give my my first tattoo.”
The guy doesn’t exactly smile, but there’s a look on his face that I can’t quite read. It’s enough to send my panties into a pool of dripping hot wetness.
3
Reed
Holy shit, I can’t believe it’s her. The woman of my dreams has a name and it’s Mollie. She extends her hand across the rope and I take it, nearly dumbstruck by how much more beautiful she is in person. A surge of electricity shoots through me as I study every inch of her face: the splattering of light freckles across her nose, the perfectly placed beauty mark on her full upper lip, and of course those eyes that could stop any man dead in his tracks and make the world melt away.
Those eyes are locked in on me, and I’m going to keep them that way forever.
“I’m Reed.” I say, not wanting to pull my hand away. “Reed Fallon.”
“Mollie Greer,” she smiles back at me. Her body is even more perfect than I thought. Even her casual sweat shorts and T-shirt can’t hide the curves Mollie was blessed with. I finally find the strength to take my hand back and resist the urge to adjust my throbbing cock through my jeans. “So,” I say, finally finding my voice. “What are you thinking about getting?”
“I’m not sure, yet.” She says leaning against the counter, pressing her tits up further under that jean jacket she’s wearing. I detect the slightest hint of wine lurking underneath her floral perfume.
“It’s your first tattoo and you don’t know what you want? That’s not very common, you know.”
“I’m not very common,” she says, blatantly flirting with me. Call me crazy, but watching her pass every single day at the same time, I picked up on a few instinctual things. For one, I thought she’d be less forward than this. Maybe it’s her collection of nearly identical sweaters in four or five different shades of blue. Second, she never once looked into the shop until today. Most women who are groupie-minded can’t keep their eyes away when they pass. Maybe my instincts about her are a little off?
“Tell me why you came in here tonight,” I ask, hoping that she’ll say it’s because she wants me to claim her, rough and raw.
The confident mask Mollie’s been wearing falters slightly, and her eyes glaze over for the slightest beat. She clears her throat and shakes it off. “I just went through a really shitty break-up, and I don’t want him to think he got the best of me.”
“A break-up tattoo?”
That’s not what I expected. Who in their right goddamn mind would ever give up a curvy goddess like this. I can barely even control myself. I want to press my cock up against her right now and show her that I’d never hurt her, and she’s not even technically mine…yet. But once she is, I’m never letting her go. That much I can guarantee.
“This is a big decision, Mollie. You’re choosing something you’ll have for the rest of your life. Maybe you should come back when you know what you want.” I’m not just talking about a tattoo, here. But, she doesn’t know that.
