Part 32 (2/2)

”You could do this Pierce.”

He grins, I glare.

”I only trust you to do it,” he says. ”Besides, you and I both know you wouldn't mind getting your fingers wrapped 'round my junk again.”

I groan and look away. Why does he insist on calling it his junk? It's disgusting.

”No, okay? I can refer you to someone who is qualified, though.”

”I don't want anybody else touching my c.o.c.k, Penny. Just you. You know it's all yours.”

The girl on the chair clears her throat. ”Maybe I'd better go into the waiting room.”

I nod at her. ”Sorry, Maya. This will only take a minute.”

”Take your time, honey,” she says, and she gets up. She looks Pierce up and down. He licks his lips and flashes his eyes at her, and I'm certain I see her knees wobble.

I feel it in my chest: The white-hot burn of unwanted jealousy.

Even worse? He sees it in my eyes.

”Oh, don't worry, Pen, she's not my type. You are.”

”Please go away.”

”Come on, sis,” he whispers conspiratorially.

”Don't call me that. It's Penny. And I'm not your sister.”

”Stepsister.”

”No! Not yet I'm not.”

Pierce grins. ”I read up about it on the internet, the c.o.c.k piercing, I mean. They say there can be complications, but that it's unlikely.”

”There can,” I tell him. I'm leaning back on my stool now, and clasping my hands in front of me, elbows on my knees, hoping I look as irritated as I feel. ”But it's unlikely as long as you take good care of it.”

”What happens if I don't?”

”Infection is most likely, but a relatively low risk. Urine cleans the cut somewhat.”

”How big is the risk?” he asks. His face grows serious. I can't tell if he's still messing around or not. Sometimes he's so hard to read.

”What do you think, idiot? You're sticking a ten-gauge metal ring through the skin on the base of your p.e.n.i.s, and pa.s.sing it into your urethra. It's not exactly something the body is used to, so of course there's a risk.”

”Ah.”

I narrow my eyes at him. ”With as much as you like to talk about and use your p.r.i.c.k, are you sure it's one you're willing to take?”

”That's why I want you to do it. I trust you. I know you and Tina run a clean shop.” He grins. ”Also, you know how to handle my ju-”

”This is Tina's shop, not mine.” I focus on my vials of ink instead of him. ”And she doesn't do piercings here.”

”What's the difference? Your shop, her shop... why not branch out? Attract a new clientele.”

Now my patience has officially been torn to tatters. ”What is this really about, huh? Do you really want a Prince Albert, or are you just trying to find some new way to annoy me? Especially after everything that happened? You're going to do this to me now?”

I'm huffing, really on the verge of just losing it, but he just laughs it off. It's insanely infuriating. He flops down into the reclined chair, let's out a sigh, and puts his arms up, gripping onto the top edge. It creaks beneath his weight.

His tight t-s.h.i.+rt strains against his body. He's a heavy guy; all muscle, whipcord tight. He said he was close to two-hundred pounds at six-two.

”You can't just come into my place of work and hara.s.s me like this, Pierce. I thought we moved past this immature posturing.”

”Hey,” he says, feigning innocence. ”I'm a client.”

”You're not booked for today.”

”I want an unscheduled consultation.”

”On d.i.c.k piercings?” I cry, slapping my thighs with frustration. ”You're really annoying the s.h.i.+t out of me, and Tina is going to be back from lunch at any moment. You're going to get me in trouble!”

Pierce levels his eyes at me, except now they've gone hard. ”You left this morning without saying bye. You were cold and distant all night last night.”

”And this is how you address that, is it?” I ask, scowling at him. I throw the tattoo machine down onto my equipment tray, and fold my arms across my chest. ”You said we'd talk about it last night. You said we'd talk about what happened. Don't you think we need to talk about it?”

He raises his eyebrows, challenging me. ”It takes two to f.u.c.k, which is all you seemed to want to do.”

I feel my temperature rising. ”I told you not to do that fight. I told you that you were getting mixed up with the wrong people. It was too close!”

Unbelievably, he just shrugs. He's silently saying whatever.

”It would be nice if you took responsibility for once.”

”Responsibility?” he asks, eyes narrowing. ”You know why I had to do that fight!”

”Right, of course. How could I forget? Look at you! You're all f.u.c.ked up.” I point at the eight st.i.tches in the cut above his eye. I then look down at his foot. ”They f.u.c.king shot you in the foot, Pierce. What the h.e.l.l are you even doing walking around?”

”I'm fine.”