Delayed by Nathan Kingsly (the false prince TXT) 📗

surfaces from my thoughts at hearing my name. I was so far into my head that I didn’t realize I’d found a seat against the expanse of windows by the front door.

Riley walks towards me, his eyes squinting, taking in my features as I take in his. He’s the same: tall, that floppy hair, glasses in front of his dark eyes, and the only tattoo artist I’ve ever known not to have a single tattoo.

“Holy shit on a shingle, it is you!” He comes around the counter. I hold out a hand for him to shake, but he pulls me out of my chair and embraces me. He pats me on the back that reverberates in my chest. He pulls back and holds me at arm’s length. He starts to take in the skin he can see that no longer is a clear canvas, and his brows crease over his glasses. His eyes meet mine. “You’ve been busy.”

I haven’t said a single word to him yet, and he’s not giving me a chance now.

“Kitty! Mark me busy until otherwise told, I have a reunion and a free hand that will take it up.”

The stunning blonde behind the counter raises an eyebrow. “Ri, I’m right here. No need to shout.” She blows a bubble from her gum and allows that to be her reaction before looking down again at whatever she's doing.

He twists, throws an arm over my shoulders, and we are moving onto the studio floor. “How’s the tattoo I gave you? You’ve gotten more since I’ve seen you. You remember which one I did?”

“It’s good to see you, Riley. How’ve you been?”

“Better than you. You’re as pale as if you’ve seen ghosts again.” That stops him mid-stride and locks me into a stare. “Did something happen? Is your mom…”

I shake my head. “It’s nothing like that. I got mixed up with a girl….” I try to move past him, but his eyes grow wider than saucer plates, and he waves his hands like a lunatic. We’ve captured all the attention in this little tattoo parlor.

“Woah! Woah, back your shit up and tell me all about it.”

“Can we…” I point to his station. I grimace at the eavesdroppers, and he follows my line of sight.

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

I follow as we make it to his station against the far wall.

After he takes his seat, he gestures for me to lay on the bench as if this were therapy, and I, his patient. Honestly, that description is spot on for what happened last time. I opt for sitting.

He eyes me for a second, but when I say nothing, he pushes his glasses up his nose. “Tell me everything. But tell me while you take your shirt off, I need to check my tattoo.”

Sighing, I grip the back of my shirt and pull until it’s all the way over my head. Placing it on the floor with my bag, Riley’s hands are there testing the skin on my chest before it lands.

“The colors are strong for its age. You’ve done a good job taking care of it.” The skull in the middle of two Japanese-style red chrysanthemums in shades of red and black holds the most significance over the rest. A memorial for my father and what I lost with my mom.

He looks up at me. “You’re not getting out of telling me about this girl. Start talking.”

Sighing again, I grab the back of my neck and look at the ceiling. “Where do I start…” The question is to myself, but he answers.

“At the beginning seems the logical decision.”

“Smartass.” Straightening my neck, my hand drops to the table. “It’s so twisted and messed up.”

“The stories worth telling always are.”

There are four different tattoo shops in the area, and it's no coincidence that I asked to be dropped off here. Riley listened to every sorted detail of my father's passing and my mother's realization. He is my priest.

Resigning, I start to talk.

He leans away and grabs the nearest scrap paper, not caring that it has ink splotches on it and the pen that sits balanced behind one ear. The pencil flies as I recall our time together. As I do, I let my eyes wander around the room. It looks exactly the same. It’s intense black naked walls, cherry red furniture, and hardwood flooring, and space dividers make it simple yet boldly unique. Their logo uses the same deep colors. It makes me think of forbidden pleasures and deep secrets.

When I look back, I realize that it must have been a few minutes since Riley stopped drawing. His glasses balanced on the bottom slope of his nose, and he peers over them at me. His dark eyes seeing through me as if his vision is twenty-twenty.

“Dude, don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” He straightens and pushes his glasses back up his nose.

Like you feel sorry for me. Like I’m as lost as I feel, without direction or hope to find my way back to who I was before her.

Looking away from his gaze, I grab the paper from the bench that he’d been drawing on. The feel of paper rough on my fingers, and I realize it’s a scrap of commercial-grade paper towel that comes in those huge rolls. He didn’t even stop to get a decent piece of paper to draw on.

It's a tarot card titled the lovers in bold script. But not like any card I’ve ever seen. Skeletons in a tight embrace. A shorter one under the taller one’s head as it cradles the small skull against its ribs. There's a storm in the clouds above their heads, the edges of the card battered and a little torn.

“How about right here?” His finger taps on the inner part of my bicep.

“Won’t that placement interfere with the watch?” I run my hand over the massive pocket watch draped on my shoulder. There's a blade running through it, a death moth resting there, defiance in the spread of its wings. It was