Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 636(@200wpm)___ 509(@250wpm)___ 424(@300wpm)
With no necessity for bleaching, the process of applying the dye was easy due to the shortness of his hair, and moments later, they both snacked on the remaining food and drank whisky from the minibar.
“Maybe that’s a career option for you in the future?” Nero asked, relaxing in the tub. “Would you rather be a barber or a hair stylist?”
Miguel shrugged and bit into a piece of cake, sliding back into the water, opposite Nero. “What future?”
Nero froze, and his gaze drifted to Miguel’s handsome profile. “You know… once we stop running.”
Miguel shrugged. “I never gave it much thought, because everything I did was to serve my purpose or pass the time. How about you? Will you be happy as a dirt-poor tattoo artist one day? Fucking your way through Lima?”
Nero laughed. “You think I’m that bad?”
Miguel leaned closer to pass Nero a piece of cake. “I don’t know. Are you?”
It was a challenge, and Nero wasn’t known for backing down, so he picked up his phone from the wooden dresser to look for his secret blog. He would not log in, in case the Caimans had someone tracking activity on the account, but since a decent amount of people visited his page, he didn’t have to worry about standing out to anyone monitoring the website.
He dabbled in different styles but had a particular interest in designs featuring bold outlines, and the symbolic use of animals.
“Those are all my designs,” Nero said and passed the cell to Miguel.
The raw interest in Miguel’s eyes gave Nero a giddy feeling in the stomach.
“These are really good,” Miguel said with a frown, scrolling through the gallery. “How did I not know you can draw? The tattoos you left on people on your birthday weren’t… like this.”
Nero beamed at him, because he’d purposefully marked some assholes with extremely unattractive, childish ink. “I was just fucking with them.”
Miguel snorted. “I’m just surprised you’ve been pretending you had no skill. Wasn’t your life about doing whatever the hell you wanted?
Nero chewed on his lip. “It’s enough that I’m gay, and that I bottom. Didn’t need to tell everyone I like drawing on top of that, but… now things might change. Maybe that’s what I’m going to do from now on?” he said and sought confirmation from Miguel despite him never being invested in anything related to art. He did love tattoos though, or he wouldn’t have covered most of his body with them.
Miguel put the phone away and reached into the water to massage Nero’s calf. “With your will and confidence, I’m sure you’ll make it work.”
It was as if the sun had descended into Nero’s chest, and he found himself smiling for no reason but joy. “I know. I could make you my assistant.”
Miguel shook his head, staring into the water. “What would that involve? Working the reception desk? You know I’m not good with people.”
“Details,” Nero said, stroking Miguel’s shoulder. “You have all that gorgeous ink to show off. It would be a shame to hide you at the back. Why do you like tattoos?”
Miguel looked thoughtful for a while. “You can’t laugh at me,” he warned, and when Nero nodded with his interest piqued, Miguel went on. “When I was growing up, being naked felt uncomfortable, and where I’m from it was often too hot to wear even a tank top. Having the ink all over helped me feel covered, like a second skin, so no one could truly see me.”
Nero swallowed the sudden thickness in his throat, because while this was the last thing he expected to hear, the confession made perfect sense. “My assistant can have all the ink he wants, free of charge,” he said and offered Miguel a soft smile.
A strange tension hung in the air for the briefest moment, but then the timer he’d set for the dye to develop rang, forcing them to change the topic. They emptied the tub, and Miguel washed the coloring out of Nero’s hair. It was a pleasure to see the water run clean, and once it was all done, he stretched, peeking at Miguel over his shoulder.
“A whole night ahead of us. Do I look fiery enough for you?”
Miguel squinted and cocked his head, which wasn’t a good sign. “I suppose…” he said, grabbing a towel.
“What does that mean?” Nero asked and rubbed his face on his way out of the tub, worried he might have dye stains there, but it was when he faced the mirror that reality dawned on him like saltwater squirted straight into the eyes.
Hir hair was an ugly reddish brown rather than the vibrant color on the packaging.
“What the fuck? I chose the more expensive one!”
Miguel turned away, but Nero could hear him trying (and failing) to stifle laughter.
Un-fucking-believable.
In hindsight, he should have considered that he was putting the color on top of green, not bleached, hair, but how was he supposed to know this when he always got his hair professionally done?