Standing By: A Knight's Tale #2 (24 page)

She should try to do all these poses with the heat blasted to inferno degrees and with the grace of a hippo—while breathing.

“Move slightly towards your left,” the instructor stands beside me and uses her hands to adjust my pose. However, as soon as she releases me, I anchor myself to the ground—again. “Find your balance.”

Mitch snickers and shots me a smug stare.

Luckily, my friend Karma gets him as he loses his balance from the
tree pose
and crumples to the floor. I hold in my laugh and check the clock, hoping the next ten minutes are easier on my so-called
balance
.

“We should go back to the beginner class,” Mitch purses his lips as we head out of the studio.

“Not one word,” I point my finger at him.

“You need an anchor,” Mitch says as we leave the yoga studio, heading home. “Something that’ll keep you grounded. A reminder perhaps that someone is on standby, ready for your call whenever you need him. Like me.”

“Yeah, why not, let’s tattoo a picture of you and your ego on my arm,” amusement flickers in his eyes as I speak. “Oh no, no, no. I’m not serious about it, don’t even consider it. I’m joking, Mr. Knight.”

“But it is perfect, Mrs. Knight.” Triumph echoes in his voice.

“I’m not putting a picture of your face on my body.” My firm tone reaches everyone around us. A few pedestrians stop and stare at us. Perhaps I didn’t say it as much as screamed it. Oops! “Or anything as a matter of fact. Those things are permanent.”

“You’re such a chicken, Hayley Mae Roth-Welsh-Knight.” He takes my hand and hails a cab. “You’re not scared of needles, are you, Cupcake?”

“Don’t call me Cupcake, that one is on the
banned for life list of nicknames
.” He thinks he can call me anything that comes to mind. “It’s six, I need food and my bed. Wow, my life is back in the pathetic lane, isn’t it?”

“First, you’re writing everything on that
banned for life nicknames list
. This has to stop.” He winks at me since he couldn’t pull the upset card. The guy mellows when I suck on my bottom lip and caress his arm. “We took a step or two backward after the B incident.” We don’t say her name anymore. “Nonetheless, tonight we’ll take three steps forward by getting some ink on you, my beautiful wife.”

“Ink?” I sigh and think fast on how to get out of this. Tattoos are forever deals. “You don’t have any ink and you’re leading by example, remember? I might agree after they tattoo you first but don’t forget I have to think about the place and—”

“We’re shooting for spontaneous, Hayes.” He stops me. “We’re doing all this to reinvent your lifestyle, not mine. I’m not a lame kitchen mouse.”

“Lame kitchen mouse?” I poke him as I say each word. “You call me a mouse and I’ll ink you a mouse face on that cheek of yours while you’re sleeping.”

“That yoga class didn’t zen you at all,” Mitch brushes my lips with his and I freeze. “Much better, we’re going to the parlor. Remember our motto,
carpe diem and all that shit
.”

“That shit includes you doing it with me,” I recover my bravado and wonder why I still freeze when I don’t see those kisses coming. “Again, I’ll get some ink if you do too or there’s no deal.”

“This is all about Hayley,” he insists.

“How tall are you?”

I know he’s almost six four, but I’m using it as a prelude to my theory that he fears needles. “Because if a pocket-sized person like me can take on a mean needle certainly you can do the same, right? Unless they are too much for you to handle.”

“Pfft.” He throws back his head and laughs that fake laugh when he knows someone has caught him. “I can take anything you toss my way, wifey. We’ll even get matching tattoos, whatever you choose, so long as it’s not girly.” He gives me a stern stare. “How about I become your anchor while you’re the compass of my life?”

This man can emit all kinds of lines from poetic, charming, mean and cheesy; he has an entire repertoire that never dries up. Lines he knows will work on anyone, even on me who already knows all his tricks. Those linked words usually push me to accept his dares and say, “
Why not?
” Which is why I don’t argue once the cab parks in front the tattoo parlor.

“I can’t believe I’m cutting into my reading time,” he smirks at what I say. “That cheesy line was a low hit; some will say you’re a romantic.”

“Only with you, wifey.” He snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me toward him as we walk toward the establishment. “You know what we want?”

As he opens the door, I spot a yin-yang symbol on the wall next to the reception area and point at it.

“That’s too simple, don’t you think?” Mitch says. “I want something powerful, like a dragon, not a circle.”

“A dragonfly?” I watch his expression go from laid-back to serious, not one he uses often. “Too girly?” He gives me a single nod. “Okay, hear me out. How about a yin-yang: on the inside of the yang they can draw a dragon for you and then a cute dragonfly for the yin, me?” The corners of his lips lift as if I’m handing him a piece of candy to pacify him.

He’s such a child. “You’re a brat, do you know that?

“I’m your brat.”

“I’m still wondering what I did to deserve such punishment.” I playfully push him. “Where should we place them?”

“If you want to make it like a joint design,” a tall man covered with colorful tattoos joins the conversation. “You want to do it somewhere where they’ll connect. Like the forearms, legs, feet—”

“Feet?” Mitch’s voice cracks some. “Doesn’t that hurt and what happened to the anchor and the compass?”

“Anchor goes here,” I show him my forearm. “Not sure where you want to put the compass. It’ll look hot on your shoulder, or right here on your chest.” I point to the left corner of his torso.

“Forearm, just like you.” He grabs my left arm and points at the place where he thinks it should be. “You’re a lefty, I’ll have it done on my right one.”

“Here it will look hotter,” I trace his left pec.

“Arm,” he says firmly. “And let’s forget about the dragons.”

“But I want a dragonfly, with flowers, and maybe a butterfly. Come on, I’ll make your favorite cupcake tomorrow, whichever one you want.” I like the idea of having something happy for those days when I feel crappy. The days I could use a floating device to keep me from taking a sharp object, not that I’ve taken any lately. “It’ll be perfect.”

“I’m going to regret this shit, Hayley Mae,” he uses his unhappy voice; his face accompanies the tone with a flat line on those yummy lips. Then as his eyes look into mine, his easy smile comes back. “You’re going to be the death of me, Hay-Bear.”

He doesn’t give me the chance to suck my bottom lip before he surprises me by doing it and then kissing me deeply.

We are introduced to Chris, the dragon specialist who starts the design of our piece after we explain what we have in mind.

“Let me take you to the double room,” Chris says. “Dawn, Rich, meet Hayley and Mitch.”

The room is covered with pictures of tattoos; there are a few mirrors, a desk with art supplies, a shelf and two chairs that remind me of a massage parlor. Dawn has purple hair, and her arms are decorated with black and white tattoos. We bond when she sees my Metallica t-shirt, and as she starts preparing my tattoo, we discuss bands.

“I like this tattoo,” Dawn tells me right as I take my place. I chose a black and white anchor held by a vine, which delineates an infinity symbol adorned with bluebells and a tiny butterfly. Inside the anchor is the phrase,
I refuse to sink
. “I have a similar one on my left shoulder blade. What is your guy getting?”

“A compass on top of a ship steering wheel. It has some old school style,” I tell her, as I turn to look at Mitch’s pale face as Rich orders him to take a seat. I wonder if it’s the needles or Rich’s size, he’s actually a few inches taller than Mitch and has the body of a linebacker—except Rich also has a ton of piercings and tattoos on his body.

The touch of the needle is tolerable; I only feel a pinch as Dawn begins to trace my anchor.

“Are you okay?” my artist asks and I nod. “Good, since you’re biting your lip.”

I do that because I want to refrain from laughing. Each and every time the needle touches his skin, he flinches. So far, he hasn’t backed down from the second tattoo but I’m expecting him to say something soon. I’ll accept his defeat, just as soon as he confesses about his fear of needles.

“Everything all right there, Mr. Knight?” I ask.

“All is peachy, Mrs. Knight.”

I burst out laughing because that’s one of the many girly words he hates. “You’re rubbing off too much on me, Hayley,” he says between clenched teeth. “Are you positive about the yin-yang? I don’t want to impose.” Then he signals his artist when his phone buzzes. “Would you mind if I take that call?”

Rich lifts his needle from Mitch’s skin and clears the bead of blood welling up on the surface before he lets Mitch pull his phone from his shorts.

“What do you want, Liam?” his tone lacks the usual playfulness. “I’m busy getting a tattoo… yes, a tattoo. Sorry, I can’t feed you but you can feed me and the wife. No, it wasn’t a fucking bet, Liam. Yes, take your time; we’ll be here all night. Beer and food—no fish or peanuts; make sure to tell them it’s for the wife. I’ll text you the address.” He hangs up.

“Your employees are going to think I’m a nutcase, Mitch.”

“They know you’re a nutcase, Hay-Bear.” He gives me a sheepish glance. “You know it’s easier to set aside special pans for you than facing the consequences of cross contamination. That’s why all my restaurants have exclusive pots, not only for you; I’ve done that for years.”

“I worry that my children will suffer the same allergies.” I don’t know where that came from.

“You shouldn’t,” he says, then shakes his head. “I think we should call Sophie and the rest of the bakery’s crew, there’s no fucking way I’m going to wake up early or let you wake up early for that matter.”

“When you told Liam that we’ll be here all night, it wasn’t a joke?”

He shakes his head, flinching beneath the tattooist’s drill.

“I’m not taking the morning off because of your little tattoo stunt.”

“We can cancel,” Mitch says.

“Nope, I want my dragonfly.” I stick my tongue out. “Unless you confess that needles scare you, then I’ll call it a day and we can leave when she finishes my anchor.”

“Our crew will cover for us.” He takes a deep breath between words and pinches. “Liam can do a coffee run if we start falling asleep.”

Stubborn brat.

*

“You can’t remember
her name?” I ask as we drink beers and talk. Chris is working on Mitch’s foot; he finished my foot tattoo about an hour ago and wrapped it with plastic after giving me a list of care instructions. “Why did she think you’d marry her?”

“I don’t know,” says Mitch.

“They both drank themselves to oblivion,” Liam says. “The twins have this ongoing competition and Einstein here didn’t use that head of his. They bet on who’d sleep with the hottest girl in Madrid—I was to judge and declare the winner of the event.”

“I doubt I fucked the woman,” Mitch says. “I can’t do much when I’m that drunk. Jake won that one since he fucked three girls—not at the same time—that night. For all I care, he can have that one so far I’m ahead. I married first.” He winks at me.

“So what’s next, Mitch, being first to have children?” I ask him.

He widens his eyes and gets quiet.

“Oh my god, you’re actually thinking about it!” I point at him. “You’re just too competitive Mitchel Alexander Knight. A child is a lifetime responsibility.”

“But, it’ll bring me the satisfaction of beating Jake—” He grins. “And becoming Dad’s favorite if we have a girl. See how great things can work out for me? We should start making the creature.” That infectious grin of his for some reason makes me want to say why the hell not. Fortunately, my brain starts functioning and stops listening to that person inside me that can’t say
no
to Mitchel Knight. “We’ll make beautiful children together, darling; a tiny girl, just like you—pocket-sized.”

“Is he drunk?” I ask Liam.

“No, but that’s his way of coping. He’s having a needle inserted inside his skin over and over.” Liam’s smile widens, and I have the impression that he’s enjoying Mitch’s pain. Out of nowhere, he pulls out his phone, snaps a shot and taps the screen. “Such a shame you didn’t do this years ago. This is so much better than when Miss Caliente would babysit us and end up slapping your face and cussing at you and your family in Spanish—very intercultural.”

JAK:
Record him, is he whimpering? Shit, why am I missing this moment?

LAK:
This is Hayley, he’s not whimpering and he won’t accept his fear of needles.

JAK:
He hates them! I wished you two had waited for me.

“You okay there big boy?” I ask Mitchel. He’s sweating and each time the needle leaves his skin and Chris clears the welt of blood, Mitch gives me a faint smile and straightens his hunched shoulders. “We can call it off, you have the one on your forearm and I have mine.”