Wood: A True Lover's Story

“That one was my first,” Wood said suddenly, and Trent flinched, feeling his face heat to an inferno. “It’s a lily that I kept adding to. As a tattoo it means you’ll have fortune on the job and good luck amongst friends.”

Trent’s gaze landed on Wood’s mouth, surprised he’d said something that poetic.

“It was beautiful and addicting that, like you said, I kept adding more and more.” Wood rubbed his big hand over his stomach, staring down at his own body. He pointed to the lily and began to trace the delicate-looking green-and-blue petals. “I added the amaryllis next because they are so close to the lily, then the azaleas continue down my pelvis and over my hip.” Wood’s voice was borderline melodious. His rich bass almost had Trent hypnotized. Wood was tugging one side of his pants lower, showing off those gorgeous flowers that Trent knew very well. He’d been landscaping since he was a teenager because he’d always appreciated the beauty that a flower could bring to almost anything.

Trent was damn near gnawing on his bottom lip as he waited for Wood to push his pants down just a smidge lower and he’d be able to see—

“Evening!” Bishop yelled as he came through the door without so much as a tap first.

Trent jerked violently and hurried to turn back to the stove. “Fuck,” he gritted out as he fanned the smoke and flipped his charred sausage.

“Uh-oh,” Wood mumbled for only him to hear. “Our dinner’s burning.”

Wood

Now that was the most fun Wood’d had in a while. Trent’s reaction to his outdated flirting was priceless. Not to mention it mended some of his shattered ego as Trent practically drooled over his chest.

“Trent, what are you burning in here?” Bishop asked, hanging his coat on the hook.

“Nothing,” Trent said, not bothering to make eye contact with anyone.

“Doesn’t smell that way.”

“I happen to prefer a little char on my meat,” Trent muttered. “Thank you.”

“Since when?” Bishop laughed and waved at Wood on his way to the bathroom.

“Still smells good to me,” Wood said close to Trent’s ear.

“What are you doing?” Trent whispered.

“Anything you want me to do.”

Wood gave Trent some room to breathe right before Bishop came out and joined them. What the hell was he doing? That was a damn good question. Wood took mercy on his roommate and went to put on a shirt before it was time to eat.

“I just thought I’d stop by and make sure you guys hadn’t killed each other.” Bishop dropped down in the dining chair, glancing between them. “How’s it going?”

“Peachy,” Trent answered first.

“Roses,” Wood agreed.

Bishop laughed. “Whatever damage y’all do in here, you’re responsible.”

They ate their sausage like hot dogs, wrapped in a single slice of bread with mustard and ketchup, and plain potato chips. The conversation was mostly dominated by Bishop as he desperately tried to discuss subjects they could all engage in, but Trent sat rigid in his chair with his mouth sealed tight, appearing lost in his own thoughts.

“Wood. Did you finish the sketch for me?” Bishop asked.

“Sure did.” Wood wiped his hands on his pants and reached for his sketch pad. “Take a look.”

“Hell yeah.” Bishop smiled as he scanned the drawing of a tattoo he wanted Wood to do for him. “This represents Eddie perfectly. Oh man, Wood. The camellias are perfect. What’d you say they mean in the art world?”

“Means ‘you’re the flame of my heart.’” Wood made sure not to glance at Trent though he could feel his roommate’s sharp eyes on the side of his face.

“He’s gonna go crazy.” Bishop beamed, still focused on the pad. “When do you think you can do it? Did you get your equipment yet?”

“Not yet,” Wood said somberly. “I’ll let you know when I do.”

“You’re getting a tattoo?” Trent asked abruptly.

“Yeah.” Bishop frowned. “I told you I always wanted one, T, but I didn’t wanna get it in prison for shit’s sake. I wanted something good, done by a professional. And it doesn’t get any better than this man right here.”

Trent eyes went to Bishop’s hand gripping Wood’s shoulder. “No, I didn’t know that.”

“Seriously. Have you seen his ink?”

“You can say that.”

“What about his drawings?”

“Oh those are none of my damn business.” Trent smirked and Wood tossed him a subtle wink that made his cheeks flush red.

“You should take a look. He’s the best, Trent,” Bishop praised.

Wood could appreciate what Bishop was doing, but he didn’t need his friend to make him sound good. If Trent couldn’t see him for him, then he wouldn’t bother. Trent didn’t need to know that Wood had once had a promising future; he’d once had a shop that’d stayed overbooked for months… before he blew it. He wasn’t that man anymore, and he didn’t need Trent wondering where that guy went.

“Well, Wood’s signature is his flowers, so I’m getting one to represent the love of my life.” Bishop cocked his head, his expression suddenly curious. “Is that a problem?”