Freeform (2 page)

Tucker

“And where in the world has Tucker Frost been this time?” Nancy Peterson, my nurse, questions as she grabs her gloves.

I turn my tan arm over to expose the vein. “On the coast of Hilo.”

“And where exactly is that?”

“Hawaii.”

Beautiful place. Beautiful memories.

“Doing what this time? Making sea shell necklaces?”

“Actually, I had this beautiful native chick named Moana who made one for me.”

“Uh-huh,” Nancy hums at the same time she preps the needle. “Was this before or after you made love next to the ocean.”

A crooked smile helplessly crawls onto my face. “After.”

It was bound to happen. New city. New art work. New woman to be my inspiration in and out of the sheets. Can't think of a better way to live life, can you?

“What new tattoo did you come home with this time?”

“Stingray on the back of my calf.”

“What are you gonna do when your body runs out of blank canvas?”

“Ask to tattoo yours?” I wink.

Nancy sticks me with the needle and gives me a sarcastic look.

It was a joke. She didn't have to stab me! Come on, I was kidding. Chill out. I'd never actually bang my nurse even if she is hot for an older woman. I've got boundaries and borders I won't cross.

Once she's finished with drawing the sample, she asks, “So where are you off to next? Paris? Rome? Africa? Somewhere else tropical again?”

“Haven't decided yet.”

Which is unusual for me. I typically have a general direction I want to go or want to avoid. Something's been off lately. My favorite types of activities to go explore have hit an unusual lull all at once. Almost like Fate doesn't want me anywhere outside of this damn city.

“That's not like you....by the time you swing in here, you've typically already decided what souvenir to bring me back.”

“And thanks for reminding me.” Once the cotton ball and Band-Aid are in place, I wiggle a small vial out of my pocket. “Healing sand. I'm told you sleep with it under your pillow when you're ill and it cures numerous ailments. Worked for me when I caught a bad stomach bug.”

She puts my sample of blood away properly, removes her gloves, washes her hands and takes it. “Thanks, Tucker.”

See. I'm thoughtful despite what you may have heard about me already. Have you heard anything about me yet? Besides how my body is a unique work of art on its own?

“Of course. And for now, I'm stickin' around town. Probably no more than a week. You know I hate to leave before you've given me a completely clean bill of health.”

Taking care of myself is one of the only non-free floating things I do. Doesn't matter if it's a cough, too many sneezes, or a stomach rumble too long or hard. I always do something about it. Natural cures and remedies first, anything that lasts longer than three days, I take my ass to a doctor. Despite my disgust for the money in my bank account, I think it's a wise use of my inheritance from my father's life insurance. He hated doctors, but if he would've gone to one then maybe his death could've been prevented. Maybe they would've caught the heart irregularities. Maybe he'd still be around. Maybe I wouldn't be back in town humoring my mother by meeting her attempt to replace him. Hell, if he were still alive there's a high chance I would've never left.

“Well you know the drill. Takes about a week. However, lab has been ahead of schedule lately. You might get lucky.” Her tired, obviously overworked, pale face tries to brighten. “Try to enjoy your time home, Tucker.”

I give her a playful chuckle and grab my shoulder bag from by my feet. “Home is where the art is, Nancy. So technically, I'm always home.”

“Heart. Home is where the
heart
is.”

“Can't spell heart without art.”

With another wink, I saunter out of the lab area and make my way for the parking lot where my aunt has sent a car to pick me up.

No. I haven't had my own car in years. It's not that hard to get around. In some cities I walk or take the bus. In others I'm driven around by whatever locals I'm hanging out with. On the rare occasion, if I'm in town long enough, Aunt Brandi lets me borrow a car, but the last time I did, I signed it over to a grad student who needed it more than me before I bailed town. What! It was just a car!

On the other side of the sliding glass doors, I adjust my bag and give the parking lot a scan for a limo.

Assume it's a limo. Aunt Brandi loves limos more than she would ever love a luxury car. Just one more way her and my mother differ. My mother is a sports car snob. She's a snob about a lot of things. 

“Tucker?” A voice says from the right.

I turn my head the direction of the sound to see a gorgeous woman with her hand resting on an open door.

We haven't met before. I never forget a face. Especially not one like hers. Hell...now that I'm staring I don't think there's anything about her I could forget. Wow. Is it extra hot out here? Did the temperature go up already? 

“Are you Tucker Frost?”

I give her a crooked smirk. “Are you Laka? My goddess of love and beauty?”

The brown skinned angel's face immediately flushes. Her mouth starts moving though no words immediately follow. It takes longer than I expect, but she eventually announces, “I-I-I-I'm here for you.”

All of a sudden there's a sharp twist in the pit of my stomach.

Whoa...what is that?

“No, I mean I'm here to ride you.” Panic paints itself in her eyes as her mouth bobs, tripping over words she's not speaking. “Shit. No.” She waves her arms in the process of trying to explain and ends up bumping her elbow. “Ou...I meant....I'm here to give you a ride to your condo. Your aunt sent me.”

My eyes drink in her exposed shapely legs underneath the tight black skirt she's wearing.

Yet, I liked her idea of her riding me better than her giving me a ride. At least she doesn't look like the mini spin off versions of my aunt, I usually meet. To say constant clones of my aunt aren't obnoxious would be a lie. I'm not a fan of doing that despite how harsh the truth may be.

The female quickly regains her composure and begins to walk towards me at the same time I do her. “I'm June Bailey. I'm your aunt's assistant. I-” is all that finishes coming out of her mouth before she trips over the edge of the sidewalk.

In one swift motion, I help catch her before she can completely hit the ground.

Knocked plenty of women off their feet, but not quite like this.

Once she's steady again, she politely says, “Thanks. My feet are always working against me.”

“You're like a June bug.”

“Excuse me?”

“They're a little clumsy on the ground. Always in the air.”

She gives me a displeased look. “Why do I feel like I was just insulted?”

With a simple shrug, I reply, “Not real sure. I love June bugs. They taste delicious.”

Her face morphs from irritation to horror. “You've eaten them?!”

“Yeah. You roast 'em over coal, give 'em a little salt, and they taste just like popcorn.”

Why are you gagging? Have you ever had a roasted June Bug? Precisely. Don't judge. You don't know. You might actually like it. I crave them every once in a while when I'm watching a movie.

“Okay...” June backs up slowly, disgust still dancing on her face. “That's weird.”

“Just because something is unusual to you doesn't make it weird.”

“That's actually
the
definition of
weird
.”

Her sassy comeback makes me smile wider. “Fair enough. I guess I just meant Fate will lead you to some really amazing things if you let her.”

June lifts her eyebrows. “Her? You think Fate is a her?”

“Of course. She's sexy, mysterious, loving, and a bitch at times for unknown reasons to anyone besides herself. But at the end of it all, I like to believe she has a beautiful cosmic intention that will always provide the best for everyone.”

Think whatever you want. That's one of the best parts of life. We're all entitled to interpret what we're dealt in different ways. Not only is every culture different, but even the individuals within it view the bigger picture of life in various ways. You should take the time to defend yourself less and listen more. Some stories are worth hearing...I've painted many of them.

She gives me a slow nod. “Why don't we get going? Do you need me to take your bag?”

I clutch it closer to me. “I've got it.”

Can honestly say that's one downside to traveling that I've learned. Never let anyone else handle your luggage. Was robbed twice before. That lesson from Fate stuck.

The two of us slide into her black sedan and she announces, “It is my job from now until your mother's reception to assist you in any way you might need.”

After buckling my seat belt, I give June's frame another examination. From her legs to her ample chest, she packs curves and smooth edges like a priceless stone found in the river. The one that's even more stunning when wet.

In every single way.

She continues while backing out of the parking lot, “Groceries. Entertainment. Errands. You name it. Basically, I am here to serve you.”

The sexual image shifts the bag in my lap.

She's making this hard. Well, that too. But I meant her word choice.

“I'm capable of doing things myself, you know. I'm not some pathetic rich prick who can't manage to tie his own shoes.”

We pull up to the stop light and she gives me a hard look, her light brown eyes struggling to look stern rather than intrigued. “According to my boss, you're a huge flight risk.”

“Sometimes it's flight. More often it's by bus or train.”

Not really picky, but trains and buses typically have more fascinating people on them. One day I'll have to show you some of the sketches of the people I've met.

“Exactly. And it's my job to make sure you stay in town.”

“For my mother's reception.”

Which I will not be going to despite the fact my aunt has already convinced herself that I will.

“Precisely.”

“So, no car for you. Or scooter. Or bicycle. Or roller blades.”

Does it look like she's going over a checklist in her head or is it just me?

“Or a skateboard.”

“I got it, June Bug. Nothing with wheels.”

“You need something, any time, day or night, all you have to do is call and I'll be there.”

Helplessly, I add sexual undertone to my question, “Anything I need?”

June's bottom lip slips between her teeth.

Bet I could show that lip a thing or two.

All of sudden someone honks their horn behind us and she jumps banging her arm on the door. “Ou...”

“You really are like a June bug.”

She quietly mumbles, “Not sure I like the nickname.”