The Mistress ✓

7

Onika Maraj
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Y'all better really comment too🧐. Last chapter wasn't cool.

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I decide to wait a day before doing anything brazy.

After that, all bets are off because it's D-Day. Due day.

"You want me to tattoo what exactly on your ass?" The caramel giant stares at me with more shock than I would have expected for a New Orleans tattoo parlor by the name of Voodoo Ink.

"Its not like you care, is it?"

He leans forward, resting his thick, inked forearms on the counter. "Look, little lady, for starters, I'm booked out for the next six months solid."

I cross my arms and stare at him like I'm not impressed, but I actually am. Who knew this place was so good?

"It can't take you more than fifteen minutes to do it. You have to be able to fit that into your busy schedule."

Someone laughs from the back, and heels click against the black-and-white checkered floor toward the front of the shop. A gorgeous woman with Bettie Page bangs dyed bright blue assesses me.

"The only reason a woman wants 'Property of No One' tattooed on her ass is because of a bad breakup."

"The kind of breakup that ends with a cheating husband dead in a burned-out car in the Ninth Ward?" I eye then both, my chest twinging to put it out there so heartlessly, but facts over feelings.

The man pushes off the counter, and the woman's eyes widen. Their changed demeanors make me think they know exactly who I am now. Meek's death definitely made the eleven o'clock news.

"I'm afraid we won't be able to help you today, and I have a feeling most of the other shops in town are going to give you the same response," he says, his voice a little softer.

The woman steps around the counter. "How about we go grab a cup of coffee next door, and do that 'spilling your guts to a perfect stranger' thing to get it off your chest without making a bad tattoo you'll regret for the rest of your life."

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell her the rest of my life probably won't be very long, but instead I follow the swish of her retro pink dress, with black crinoline peeking out from beneath the skirt, as she leads me out of the tattoo shop.

The coffee place next door is really a donut shop called Your Favorite Hole. I've never stopped there because every donut I eat goes straight to the ass I wanted tattooed, and it's already difficult enough to fit in my jeans. I have to jump to put them on every time.

The woman orders for both of us, not bothering to ask me what I want. The barista whips into action, serving up the drinks in record time with a bag of donut holes.

"That's one's for you." She nods down at one cup and takes the other and the donuts to a table.

I pick up my drink and follow her.

"I'm Delilah, by the way," she says, holding out her free hand.

"Nicki."

"Maraj, right? I figured after your story. Not many people can duplicate that mess. But, honestly, I thought I recognized you before. You make bomb-ass whiskey. I love the single malt, and the cocktail you make with lemonade and a spring of mint. Seriously, to die for." She pauses. "And for the record I'm really sorry for your loss. No matter what, that sucked."