sweet oil, like a cologne perfect for an autumn day.
His hair was almost jet black, and she could tell it was long, but how long, she wasn’t certain for he had it pulled back in a sloppy ball that hit the nape of his neck. A few wispy strands hung across his broad shoulders while the rest had been wound loosely around a pen. She hadn’t seen many people wear their hair that way, but somehow, it suited him. His Adam’s apple was prominent, and though she wouldn’t describe him as muscle-bound, he was slender yet chiseled…and tall. He must’ve stood at least 6’4. If his smile weren’t so warm and kind, he’d be damn near daunting. His jawline was hard, yet not overly so. One feature that drew her in were the man’s high cheekbones. Prominent, the kind models starved themselves for, yet, he had them naturally. His features were so defined, so rigid, so masculine, yet…so stunning and sublime.
He might have some Indian in him… But his last name is Savant… What is that? Sounds French… Yeah, I bet that is what it is. It even sounds like, ‘croissant’, and when he said it, it had that French pronunciation going on…
She made a mental note to look it up for her own curiosity, to put the matter to rest, then fell back into her daydreams. His carefully cropped goatee presented a stark contrast to his otherwise ink-covered skin. Milan didn’t mind a man with one or two tattoos, maybe even three or four, and though she couldn’t see all of the man’s body what she had seen, left her with no doubt he was a damn walking collage. She found it disturbing, yet intriguing all the same.
Why would someone do that to themselves? Why so many?
She stumbled upon Julian in a fair enough way. She realized she’d need to make her own go of it, after discovering her coworker had received hers out of town, all the way in California while on a family trip. She set out on her own to discover a place that wasn’t terribly far away and also had great reviews via her online research. During that investigative process, she uncloaked all sorts of information, such as the rather bizarre matter of tattoo addiction and that obsession aspect was completely unfathomable in her wildest imagination.
She was certain that would never be her, addicted to ink. Though she wouldn’t coin herself as a wuss, afraid of a needle or two, it definitely wasn’t her notion to turn into reality and she couldn’t possibly envision how it would ever be, no matter how beautiful the finished result. No, this would be a one-time thing. An experience that would always remain in her memory bank, and then she could move on. Making her way towards her refrigerator, she pulled out the carton of orange juice and poured out a big glass, thinking about what she had to do at work that morning. She checked the time.
I better hurry up and get in the shower…
She gulped down the juice, made a mental note to stuff the ‘Soul Inscriptions’ paperwork in her purse and made a mad dash back up the stairs to her bedroom, her red-sock-covered feet barely touching the carpet as she took flight, fighting against the clock. On the way, she felt her jaw twitching. She resisted, but it was rather short lived. She was smiling again.
Yeah…he is really cute…no…handsome…mmm, the ‘Good Looks’ fairy blessed him…
‡
Chapter Three
J ulian scratched his inner thigh as he stared at Angela out the corner of his eye. His employees were busier than a can of oil during a bald man’s competition. It felt good to finally take a breather. He made sure to personally do no more than three appointments per day now that he’d begrudgingly agreed to hire more help. He wanted to become accustomed to doing less, and supervising more. Thus far, he hated it. He had been told by Angela, what was the point of having a successful, lucrative business, if he never got to feast from the fruits of his labor? And the little lady was right. He checked the time. Almost 7:30 P.M.
His
His hair was almost jet black, and she could tell it was long, but how long, she wasn’t certain for he had it pulled back in a sloppy ball that hit the nape of his neck. A few wispy strands hung across his broad shoulders while the rest had been wound loosely around a pen. She hadn’t seen many people wear their hair that way, but somehow, it suited him. His Adam’s apple was prominent, and though she wouldn’t describe him as muscle-bound, he was slender yet chiseled…and tall. He must’ve stood at least 6’4. If his smile weren’t so warm and kind, he’d be damn near daunting. His jawline was hard, yet not overly so. One feature that drew her in were the man’s high cheekbones. Prominent, the kind models starved themselves for, yet, he had them naturally. His features were so defined, so rigid, so masculine, yet…so stunning and sublime.
He might have some Indian in him… But his last name is Savant… What is that? Sounds French… Yeah, I bet that is what it is. It even sounds like, ‘croissant’, and when he said it, it had that French pronunciation going on…
She made a mental note to look it up for her own curiosity, to put the matter to rest, then fell back into her daydreams. His carefully cropped goatee presented a stark contrast to his otherwise ink-covered skin. Milan didn’t mind a man with one or two tattoos, maybe even three or four, and though she couldn’t see all of the man’s body what she had seen, left her with no doubt he was a damn walking collage. She found it disturbing, yet intriguing all the same.
Why would someone do that to themselves? Why so many?
She stumbled upon Julian in a fair enough way. She realized she’d need to make her own go of it, after discovering her coworker had received hers out of town, all the way in California while on a family trip. She set out on her own to discover a place that wasn’t terribly far away and also had great reviews via her online research. During that investigative process, she uncloaked all sorts of information, such as the rather bizarre matter of tattoo addiction and that obsession aspect was completely unfathomable in her wildest imagination.
She was certain that would never be her, addicted to ink. Though she wouldn’t coin herself as a wuss, afraid of a needle or two, it definitely wasn’t her notion to turn into reality and she couldn’t possibly envision how it would ever be, no matter how beautiful the finished result. No, this would be a one-time thing. An experience that would always remain in her memory bank, and then she could move on. Making her way towards her refrigerator, she pulled out the carton of orange juice and poured out a big glass, thinking about what she had to do at work that morning. She checked the time.
I better hurry up and get in the shower…
She gulped down the juice, made a mental note to stuff the ‘Soul Inscriptions’ paperwork in her purse and made a mad dash back up the stairs to her bedroom, her red-sock-covered feet barely touching the carpet as she took flight, fighting against the clock. On the way, she felt her jaw twitching. She resisted, but it was rather short lived. She was smiling again.
Yeah…he is really cute…no…handsome…mmm, the ‘Good Looks’ fairy blessed him…
‡
Chapter Three
J ulian scratched his inner thigh as he stared at Angela out the corner of his eye. His employees were busier than a can of oil during a bald man’s competition. It felt good to finally take a breather. He made sure to personally do no more than three appointments per day now that he’d begrudgingly agreed to hire more help. He wanted to become accustomed to doing less, and supervising more. Thus far, he hated it. He had been told by Angela, what was the point of having a successful, lucrative business, if he never got to feast from the fruits of his labor? And the little lady was right. He checked the time. Almost 7:30 P.M.
His
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