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Rough Around the Hedges Snippet
🕑 Added 2023-03-09 22:45:07 +0000 UTCI'm writing what I *think* is the last chapter of Rough Around the Hedges. YAY. Then I have a week to furiously edit the hell out of it and turn it over to the editor. In between teaching, some time-consuming family drama, and what not. The upside? Back on BTLN next week!
This snippet is from Will's POV. He's on a date, which he has met in the coffee shop Wicked Brews.
Enjoy!
--Lish
****
Some people are turned on by tattoos. Nothing wrong with that. No different than liking certain hairstyles or clothes on people. As Lou liked to point out, it’s all plumage. You advertise for the kind of mate you want. Not saying you shouldn’t look deeper and all of that, but if something can help you narrow the field a little faster, why not use it? If you’re into pastel polos and khakis, for example, you’re likely into the lifestyle attached to those clothings and have certain life goals in mind.
I…am not pastel polos and khakis. My plumage was all wrong for that set.
My dating profiles had pictures attached, so my plumage was obvious. Can’t really hide neck tattoos, nor would I want to. There was a certain percentage of the population, however, that thought tattoos might be hot and wanted to date someone with them to see.
Marci, my coffee date, was in that percentage, and while she had obviously thought that tattoos might be a turn on for her in theory, in reality…
In reality my date looked like she was two seconds from bolting from this shop, this neighborhood, and possibly this planet.
I was a pretty big dude. Not as big as my roommate, but I topped six feet and my build wasn’t exactly trim. Marci was pocket-sized, like Louise. Unlike Louise, who had a chihuahua like tendency to take on creatures much larger than her, Marci appeared to be freaked out by everything about me.
I was trying to make her more comfortable—my shoulders were dropped. I slouched. I smiled. I was using all my pleases, thank yous, and keeping my voice soft.
It wasn’t working. I sighed. It had occurred to me that maybe something more was going on here. I was of the mindset that things were best brought into the light, otherwise they fester.
“Marci, I have to ask—are you okay?”
She blinked at me. “What?”
I gestured to her and she slid back reflexively. “Sorry, but you seem on edge, and I’m not sure if that’s a general condition, as in you’ve got things in your history that have made you unsure around certain types of men or men in general, or if it’s just me.”
She flushed.
I gentled my voice further. “Which is fine. I’m not offended or upset, so please don’t stress yourself. But if it’s the first, then I can help.” Nana always carried card-sized handouts that she had with hotlines for depression, assault, or anything she thought might help out some of the students who came into her library. I’d gotten in the habit of carrying them as well.
“Hotlines. Resources.” I shrugged. “Or I can just listen. But if it’s specifically me, as in you thought this was a good idea but it turns out you now have regrets, then we can just call it quits. I’ll get a bag for your cookie and we can shake hands as friends and go about our merry way.”
Her brows furrowed. “You’re not…mad?”
I shook my head slowly. “Nope.”
She dropped her gaze, looking at her tightly knit hands. Then her whole body relaxed into her chair. “I feel bad. Like I wasted your time? But I guess I was curious…” She waved a hand at me, though she looked embarrassed. “And you’re kinda hot.”
I laughed. “Just not your kind of hot. It’s cool.” I leaned forward. “If you’re curious, ask.”
She tapped her fingers on the table. “Just ask—any question I want?”
I leaned even closer, propping my elbows on the table. She wasn’t afraid of me anymore. Fear often comes from not knowing—from things we can’t see or understand. Knowledge was the cure. “I am an open book. If you ask something I decide is too personal, or makes me uncomfortable, I’ll say so. Promise.”
Her eyes lit up.
I grinned. “Go nuts.”
She shot questions at me, rapid-fire, everything from ‘do tattoos hurt’ to ‘what did your parents say?’ before she finally paused for breath. “Are you…” Red arced across her cheekbones. She dropped her eyes to my lap. “Pierced?”
I threw back my head and laughed. “I’m a body piercer.”
She flushed harder. “I know, but…”
I put her out of her obvious misery. “I’ve tried every piercing at least once to see what it felt like and what the healing process was like, so I can better advise people.” I dropped my gaze to my lap. “There are a lot of different piercings you could be referring to.” I moved so close only inches seperated us and whispered. “I didn’t keep all of them, but I kept a few.”
She mimicked me, leaning in. “What are they like?”
I happened to glance up at the counter. Van was pretending to clean the case, but she’d obviously been watching me and Marci.
She had an interesting look on her face. Unhappy, perhaps? She’d been so weirdly enthusiastic about me dating, that I hadn’t thought it an issue to meet Marci here. After all, if the date had gone well, she would have had to meet Marci eventually. That look on her face though…I put it together with the one she’d given me yesterday, where I thought for a second she wanted to kiss me.
And again, it was interesting.
It made me want to push, just a little, to see what might happen.
I halved the short distance between me and Marci, dropping my voice to a whisper. “Let me get another cup of coffee, and I’ll tell you everything.” I winked at her.
Marci giggled.
There was a crash behind the counter as Van dropped the paper cups she’d been restocking.
Yes. Very, very interesting.
****
