Lustfilled Attraction: BWWM ✔️ (completed)

Chapter 2: Delays

Raya

The confirmation text from Jamal Hart glowed on my phone screen – 11am appointment confirmed – and I felt a fresh wave of irritation. Tapping my foot like a metronome gone wild, I leaned against my (currently defunct) car, hand on my hip, and dialed Desirable Ink.

"Desirable Ink, this is Jordan speaking, how can I help you?" A cheerful, almost aggressively bubbly voice chirped in my ear. It made me want to roll my eyes so hard they'd get stuck.

"Hi, um, I have an appointment scheduled for eleven this morning, Raya Montgomery, with Jamal Hart? I was hoping to push it back a little?" I bit my lip, trying to sound apologetic, which is a skill I haven't quite mastered.

My stupid, unreliable excuse for a car had decided to stage a dramatic breakdown just as I was leaving. Now I was stranded, waiting for a tow truck. Even if I ditched the car and grabbed a Lyft, I was already pushing it. It was 10:50 and the tattoo shop was a solid twenty-minute drive, assuming traffic wasn't feeling particularly vindictive today.

Silence. A long, awkward silence that made me question my sanity. Had she hung up? "Hello?" I prompted, already bracing myself for a confrontation.

"Yes, hi! So sorry, I had you on hold. What's your name again, and who was the appointment with?"

"Raya Montgomery, and it's with Jamal Hart," I repeated, my voice tighter this time. Down the road, I finally spotted the glorious sight of a tow truck lumbering towards me. Salvation, in the form of greasy equipment and a grumpy mechanic.

"Okay, one second." And then, the dreaded hold music. Elevator jazz that assaulted my eardrums with its cheerfulness.

Honestly, this whole day was a disaster. I'd woken up late because my alarm decided to take the day off, resulting in a frantic rush to throw on clothes that didn't smell too offensive, choke down some cereal, and perform the bare minimum of hygiene. And the cherry on top? No time for numbing cream. This was shaping up to be a truly exquisite torture session.

Finally, Jordan returned. "Okay, so I just spoke with Jamal. You're welcome to come a little later, but after an hour, there will be a fifty-dollar late fee."

Fifty dollars? Seriously? This was adding insult to injury. "Okay, that's fine," I grumbled, already mentally calculating how much ramen I'd be eating for the next month.

"Okay! Well, I'll be seeing you soon, Ms. Montgomery!" Before I could even manage a mumbled "Okay," she'd hung up.

"Rude," I muttered, staring at my phone. Some people just lacked basic courtesy.

The tow truck finally wheezed to a halt in front of me, a mechanical angel sent to... well, tow away my mechanical demon. The driver, a man whose uniform seemed permanently stained with grease, launched into a monotone explanation of payments, pickup times, and contact information. I signed papers, swallowed my pride, and watched as my poor Toyota was unceremoniously dragged away.

My Toyota. My darling Toyota. We had shared so many questionable gas station snacks and singalongs that weren't quite on key. I vowed to get her back on the road as soon as humanly possible, even if it meant selling a kidney.

With a dramatic sigh that would have impressed a Shakespearean actor, I opened the Lyft app and ordered a ride. Five minutes away, it promised.

As I waited, the reality of my financial situation crashed down on me. Between the tow, the repairs, and now this ridiculous late fee for the tattoo, I was going to be eating exclusively instant noodles for the foreseeable future. Getting my oil changed was already a significant blow to my budget.

I needed a job. Badly. Like, ramen-every-night-or-become-homeless badly.

"Fuck!" The word escaped my lips before I could stop it. I needed this tattoo, not just wanted it. And I'd be damned if I missed this appointment.

Short chapter. You're going to see a lot of these.