I'm back from my weekend in NYC and I have some new ink. Yes, I did it! Got a tattoo.
Here it is...
Here it is...
Hell YES...it hurt. There's not much flesh going on over there. I didn't realize just how bony my foot was. lol I've been wanting to do this since my 35th birthday (I won't say exactly how many years ago that was but it was less than five).
Wouldn't it be cool to say I got the hearts because I'm a romance author? Actually, the hearts represent the three men in my life. My husband thinks I'm in the middle of a mid-life crises with the erotic fiction writing and now the tatt, but when I text him the picture of my new addition, he immediately responded with, "Which heart is mine?"
The middle one, babe because you're the center of my world.
Okay...enough sap. I need to get back to my WIP. I'll leave you with a little bit of the intro...
(Very unedited and very rough)
As a rule, Jackson Avis hated strip clubs. They were dark, seedy and smelled of stale beer. This one was supposed to be upscale, but if it was, he didn’t see what made it that way. It looked just like any other undesirable joint he’d ever been in this side of Chicago.
He looked around and shook his head at the amount of men staring at the floor show. What were these losers doing here in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon? Doesn't anyone work?
The only reason he was here was because he was doing Pat, the owner of this lovely establishment, a favor. One of his most popular girls had the unfortunate luck of being in the car when her crack-head boyfriend got arrested. He made it a point to never take cases like that, but since Pat was a childhood friend, he made an exception.
He usually dealt with upscale clients, more of the white collar criminals, like lawyers, doctors, and public officials. It was the upper crust of society who didn’t know right from wrong that kept him in business. And, their wives and children usually made just as many mistakes as they did. They kept him in a pretty comfortable lifestyle, so he couldn’t complain.
He’d just dropped off the final paper work detailing Kitty’s, the stripper with the bad luck, community service sentence. She got off easy, but not without much persuasion on Jackson’s part. He made a pretty good case on her behalf, but that was what he was known for, finding loopholes and weaknesses.
His work here was done, but Pat insisted he sit down and have a drink. If he tried to argue, Pat would've been offended, so here he was, on a Wednesday afternoon, in the shittiest part of town, watching a girl no older than his own two kids shaking her money maker.
“Jack.” Pat motioned to a table front and center. “Sit down and order whatever you want.” He agitatedly looked around the room. “Now where is that little twit of a waitress?”
“Not for long,” he said. “I hired her against my better judgment as a favor to the guitarist in the band who plays here on Friday nights. She’s crashing on his couch and is down on her luck, so I gave her a job. You should see the rack on this one.” He laughed. “Such a waste.”
“What do you mean?”
“She fuckin’ refuses to strip,” he said. “And, let me tell you, she’d make a much better stripper than she does a waitress. Where does she get off?” He scratched the top of his balding head. “If she’s so fuckin’ hungry, she should jump at the opportunity.”
“Maybe she has some morals?” Jack stared up at the stage and watched as the skinny little blond gyrated against the pole.
“Morals, my ass,” he said. “This is good, honest work. I’m not prostituting anyone and if the girl is so down on her luck, she should be willing to give it a try.”
“Look,” Jack said. “I’m really not thirsty and I have to get back to the office.”
“No, wait,” he said as he stared over at the bar. “Here comes the princess now.”
Jack looked up at the petite, brunette heading in their direction. She was strikingly beautiful, and she stuck out like a sore thumb in here. Even dressed in the required uniform; tight, ripped, barely-there jean shorts and a thin white dress shirt that hardly covered her tits and tied above her bellybutton, she didn’t appear trashy. Jack noticed right away there was a certain grace about her. A dignity most girls who ended up in a place like this just didn’t have. He could tell right away she didn’t want to be here as she walked over to where he was seated.
Pat hopped up and moved closer to her. “It’s ‘bout time,” he said. “My friend has been waiting a long time for a drink. Is this how you treat my guests?”
“No, I-I was waitin’ for the other table’s drinks, but I put the wrong order in and Billy had to redo them.” The meek waitress was flustered and afraid. “I’m sorry.”
“Now you know why you’re not workin’ on Friday and Saturday nights,” he said. “I could never trust you to wait on a packed club, could I?”
She shook her head. “But, I’m learning.”
“It’s been three weeks,” Pat said. “Maybe you’d do better up there?” He pointed to the stage and Jack noticed the disgust in her eyes. He wanted to put her out of her misery.
“Pat,” Jack said. “I’d like to order now.”
“Of course,” he said. “Sugar, this is Mr. Jackson Avis. He’s an old friend of mine and he just did me a really big favor, so you take care of him and give him whatever he wants.”
“Jack.” He extended his hand for him to shake. “Thanks again for all your help with Kitty Kat.”
“I’d like to say it was my pleasure, but—” He laughed.
“I know, you have high morals, too.” Pat shook his head and hollered over his shoulder. “Just tell Lilli over here what you want and hopefully she won’t screw it up.”
Lilli glanced down at the floor for a few seconds before looking up and giving Jack a small smile. Her long black hair fell down the center of her back and curled slightly at the ends and her eyes were a most alluring shade. Jack couldn’t tell for sure in the dim lighting, but they almost appeared violet. She was certainly the most unique woman he’d ever encountered. And, he knew right away, a girl like this didn’t belong in a shit- hole like this.
“What would you like?” she quietly asked.
“For you to have a seat.” He got up and pulled the chair out and motioned for her to sit.
“What? No, I can’t. I’m working.”
Jack looked around and noted it wasn’t that busy.
“I think you can sit for a few minutes.” He smiled. “Pat said you should give me what I want.”
“I-I don’t do that.” She shook her head. "Some of the other girls here do, but not me."
“I’m only asking you to sit and I rarely ask twice.” He felt a sense of relief knowing she didn't prostitute herself to the customers in this disgusting place. “Please.”