Covet Thy Neighbor

out of my reach, and curled up again with his back to me. Typical.
    While my cat reminded me of my place in the universe, I stared up at the ceiling and couldn’t make heads or tails of this situation with Darren.
    Okay, so there was no denying the physical attraction. Or the compatibility in bed. Darren was aggressive and demanding, and then turned around and bottomed with a degree of enthusiasm that drove me insane. And he wasn’t after anything serious, either.
    Question was, what did he expect out of this?
    And what did I expect out of it? Fuck if I knew. All I knew was that I didn’t get hung up on guys. I just didn’t. But then, I didn’t usually fuck someone I had to pass in the hall and on the street every damned day. I probably could’ve avoided him if he’d been a little more avoidable.
    At least this morning, we didn’t run into each other during my “commute.” Yet another advantage of working downstairs from my apartment: I could get the fuck from one door to the next in no time flat.
    And, in theory, use my work to get my mind off Darren, but that didn’t turn out to be terribly effective. Cleaning, designing, prepping, tattooing; even those tasks that held my attention couldn’t completely erase Darren from my thoughts.
    “Hey, Seth?” Lane looked up from the sleeve he was detailing on a Mohawked college kid’s forearm. “Don’t you have somewhere to be soon?”
    “What? Not until—” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh, shit!” I scrambled to my feet and grabbed my coat. “I’m going to be late.”
    Lane laughed. “Only you could be late for an appointment that’s right across the damned street.” Shaking his head, he muttered, “Idiot.” The kid with the Mohawk laughed, then flinched as Lane continued working.
    At least Michael would understand. He certainly knew me—and my habit of losing track of time—well enough. And fortunately these days, he was close by. He’d moved his practice from halfway across town to the vacant space across the street from my shop after he’d moved in with Jason. I had to say, there were worse things in life than your childhood best friend becoming an acupuncturist and opening a clinic across the street from you so he could tend to your every ache and pain.
    Then again, those worse things were having all those fucking aches and pains to begin with. Goddamn this aging bullshit.
    As I walked into the clinic, I took a deep breath of the mixture of herbs always hanging in the air. That smell alone was enough to unwind some muscles. It was like a promise that relief wasn’t far away.
    Nathan, the absolutely gorgeous hipster twink who worked as Michael’s receptionist, strutted out from the back room. “Oh, hey you! I was just wondering if you’d make it over here.”
    I smiled. “You know how it is.” I pointed at my shop. “Appointments run late.”
    “Don’t I know it.” He nodded down the hall and rolled his eyes. “Mr. ‘I only need forty-five minutes for each appointment so don’t book them for a full hour’ back there will learn eventually.”
    “Yeah, right.” I shook my head. “I’ve known the man since he was a kid. Trust me, he’ll never learn.”
    “I beg your pardon?” Michael came around the corner. “Are you talking trash about me to my employees?”
    “Isn’t like it’s anything he hasn’t heard or experienced before.”
    Nathan smothered a laugh and sat behind his desk. “No comment.”
    Michael threw him a glare, then beckoned to me. “All right. Dull, rusty needles for you today.”
    “Promises, promises.” I winked at Nathan, he returned it, and I followed Michael.
    In one of the rooms toward the end of the hall, I sat on the massage table while Michael took a seat on the rolling stool.
    “So,” he said. “How’s the neck feeling today?”
    “Not too bad. Been a little stiff on the right side the last couple of days, though.”
    “Full schedule this week?”
    “One after the other.”
    “Dumb shit.” Michael smacked my knee with his clipboard. “How many times do we have to go over this? If you’d get some more ergonomic equipment like I keep telling you, you wouldn’t fuck up your neck every time you have a busy week.”
    “And I wouldn’t be pouring money into your wallet, so back off.”
    “Mm-hmm.” He stood and set the clipboard where he’d been sitting. “Shirt off. Assume the position.”
    I took off my shirt and shoes, then lay facedown on the table.
    Michael