Page 49 of A Heart On A Sleeve

twenty-eight

Sam

Paper-Thin Costumes

I can see from the large glass windows that Olive is approaching.

We’re meeting after my last appointment of the day to go look for costumes, and she’s about ten minutes early.

There’s a woman splayed across my table, and right as I’m leaning over her and tattooing something on her chest, Olive pushes on the door handle and waltzes in, pageant smile firmly on her face.

I know she understands this is my job, but we’ve never really discussed the sometimes-awkward positions I end up in.

“Hey, babe. I’ll be done in just a few. Do you want to hang out here or wait in the back? Either is fine.”

“I’ll wait here,” she replies, taking a seat on a plush velvet couch in the front sitting area, eyeing a few books of my artwork on display in front of her.

I continue working for a few minutes, putting the final touches on, while Olive browses through one of the books.

I know from the cover it’s the one labeled Magical Musings , which is only a tiny bit ironic given her predicament.

Instead of focusing more of my attention on Olive, I wipe down my client, show her to the mirror, and then place a plastic wrap over her skin.

She seems happy, from what I can tell. Moving quickly, I clean my station and ring her up.

As the woman makes her way to exit, she side-eyes Olive, and my stomach flips.

It’s evident that my girl was an unwelcome guest to whatever agenda this client was hoping to push, and that puts me on edge because everything is already so up in the air between us.

“Hey.” I walk up and wrap my arms around Olive’s middle for a hug, an attempt at calming any nerves she may have over that interaction.

“Hi,” Olive says, smiling at me before reaching on her tiptoes to give me a peck.

A grin tilts my lips up. “Are you ready to become someone else with me?”

“Always. But actually, who are we going to be?” Olive asks as I let go of her and walk toward the back to grab my things. She follows behind me, I think hoping for an answer.

“I have no clue. I thought maybe Raggedy Anne and Andy, but then Bridg told me she thinks they are siblings, so that won’t work. Do you have any ideas?”

“Ariella and Howie won’t reveal their costumes, but Ari assured me we’d never think of it. Maybe something funny? Like salt and pepper or hot sauce and eggs?”

“Olive, I already told you I’m falling in love with you, and this does not change that, but neither of those things are funny,” I quip, grabbing her hand and leading her outside and into the cold.

I lock the door after turning the open sign off, and we head down the sidewalk toward the costume shop, Sally’s Specialties.

“Okay, fair. But sometimes the most obvious costumes are ironically funny. At least to me,” she justifies.

“You’re not wrong. Let’s see what we find.

We still have a few days if nothing seems right.

” I kiss her temple and then thread her fingers through mine.

I want to show her that no matter what, we will figure it out.

While Halloween costumes may not be the biggest challenge our relationship faces, they still demonstrate the ability to adapt to what we’re given and make it work.

The door chime rings, bringing me out of my head and into Sally’s Specialties.

This place has a distinct scent, like mildew or old books.

I have to assume it’s from decades-old costumes sitting abandoned on the shelves.

A friendly older woman with bubble-gum pink hair welcomes us.

“Take a look around. Fitting rooms are in the corner. If you need something you don’t see, I might have it in the back. ”

Olive and I nod and thank her before making our way to the first row of costumes.

There’s a wide variety of outfits, ranging from Morticia Addams to Barbie and Ken.

Nothing that feels like a perfect fit though.

Olive is running her fingers over a long green velvet dress from Shrek when I startle her from behind.

“How do I look?” I ask, laughing to myself.

I’d put on a long curly blonde wig that I think is supposed to be like David Lee Roth. It looks ridiculous with my dark brown beard. Olive can’t help the laugh that bursts out of her.

“I think maybe you weren’t meant to be a blond,” she says, still wheezing.

“Oh, come on. You know it’s doing things for you.

” I grin, then admit, “Okay, so I think we aren’t going to find something prepackaged that works for us.

Let’s go look at the racks back there and see if we can piece something together.

” Looking at three circular racks with mismatched merchandise, it seems like previous customers have come in and disassembled the prepackaged costumes, leaving behind bits and pieces.

“You lead the way. I’ll try anything at least once,” Olive says, winking at me like she’s up to no good. I know she’s teasing me, but she better be careful if she doesn’t want me to make a move in the fitting room.

We grab several items off the racks and pile our clothes into the dressing area.

My fingers are working to unbutton my shirt when Sally (or at least that’s the name on her badge) whips open the curtain and scolds us for sharing a room.

The pink-haired wonder doesn’t allow any funny business in her shop, or so she says.

I can’t help but notice the way her eyes linger a tad longer than necessary on my exposed abs.

It’s a little creepy if I’m being honest.

Olive grabs her pile of clothes and scurries into the room next door as I continue to mumble about being adults and not behaving inappropriately.

I can hear Olive giggle as I slide into my first outfit, a bad John Travolta in Boogie Nights with brown bell bottoms, a hippie vest, and a flower-print bandana.

Olive must have stepped out because I hear her say, “Sam, you ready?”

I pull back the drape closing my room, and I’m instantly transported to heaven. Olive is in an orange jumpsuit with pink flowers that’s so snug it’s like a second skin. “You look, uh, that’s hot as hell,” I mutter, appraising the outfit that leaves little to the imagination.

“I really wish I could say the same, but I’m thinking maybe seventies is not it.” She tries to keep her lips in a tight line but a smirk sneaks past them. I take three steps toward her and scoop her up, blowing raspberries on her neck.

“I said no funny business,” Sally shouts from outside the fitting area.

Reluctantly, I set Olive down, and we hustle back into our respective dressing rooms. After several nonstarters, I slip into a three-piece gray suit that’s supposed to make me look like that one guy from the TV show Schitt’s Creek .

“Sam, put on that suit and get out here,” Olive chirps as the idea of us being Moira and Johnny finally clicks into place in my brain.

Seconds later, I slide out of the dressing room and she appears in a black dress with a white ruffled shirt. She’s gorgeous in anything she puts on, even a ridiculous Halloween costume.

“What do you think? If I throw on some fake eyebrows and trim the beard, it could work,” I say.

“Yeah, it could work.” She shrugs, turning to go back and change out of her outfit.

I pause for a second, weighing my options about disappointing Sally. When I finally push the curtain aside and slip into Olive’s room, she’s pulling the zipper of the dress down. I place a hand on her back, taking over the task. “You shouldn’t be in here,” Olive whispers.

I ignore her and kiss her neck as she shushes me lightly. My hands dip into the dress, sliding it off her body, then I quickly unbutton the top, sending it trailing to the floor.

“You’re exquisite,” I say softly, pressing kisses across the back of her neck and down to the top of her shoulder.

She’s facing the mirror in nothing more than a black lace bra and panties. The sight of myself wrapped around her, those perfect lips of hers opened just slightly, makes my cock bounce behind the zipper of my pants.

“Shh, baby. You can’t make a sound,” I warn.

My fingers trace the changing emotions blazing across her exposed tattoo.

In some ways, I know I shouldn’t even look at it.

It’s not like I don’t know what her body needs and when it needs it at this point.

But also, it’s sorta nice knowing for sure, like having a visual reassurance that we’re on the same page.

I dip my hand down into her panties, sliding my fingers over her soaked center.

I swipe one finger over her clit while dipping another deep inside of her.

Olive’s breath hitches, and a low groan catches in my throat.

I lean into her further, my lips over the shell of her ear as I whisper, “Can you be silent, baby?”

Olive nods, but there’s a hesitation in her eyes.

Each time she notices me looking at her arm, her hesitation seems to deepen.

I lock eyes with her in the mirror, trying to reassure her that she is my focus, not the tattoo.

I pull my finger out from between her legs and push it into her mouth.

Olive sucks tenderly, licking it clean. I slide my hand back down her belly and work her clit between two fingers, rolling it and applying perfect pressure.

I suck on her neck and use my free hand to play with her nipples.

Olive arches back into me, closing her eyes briefly until the tension builds.

Her arm illuminates in flashes of fireworks and pops of colored confetti.

I don’t want to look, but it’s impossible to ignore.

I slip two fingers deep inside her, pumping in and out until her legs shake and she begins to cry out.

Quickly muffling the sound with my hand over her mouth, I kiss her cheek and remove my hands, stepping back so that I’m no longer touching her.

Olive mimics my move, stepping back and slumping against me.

She’s sated and breathing deeply from her orgasm.

“We, uh, we better get changed before she comes back,” I whisper, sliding my fingers still soaked from her into my own mouth. Olive flushes, her cheeks and chest turning a bright red.

She spins to face me. “What about you?” she asks.

“I’m good. I’ll just go change and meet you out there.” I would love to continue this and take her right here, right now. But I’m already pushing my luck with Sally, and honestly, watching Olive come is more beautiful than anything else in the world. I’ll never look at this store the same.

As I exit her dressing room, I can’t help sneaking another glance at her arm.

New additions have popped up as permanent fixtures: a pumpkin muffin that makes me hard each time I see it, and a beautiful cabin with a woody backdrop that feels like it could be my home.

Back in my own dressing room, I pull on my clothes quickly.

There’s a guilty feeling gnawing at my stomach.

I know that Olive has spent most of her life trying to be what everyone else wanted her to be (and failing, her words, not mine).

And based on the way she’s been covering up her tattoo more around me, I get the feeling she thinks I’m using her tattoo to do the same, to become what she wants me to be.

But it’s not that at all—sure it’s helpful, but it’s also fascinating.

There isn’t a doubt in mind that without it we’d be exactly where we are right now.

I slink out of the changing room and head toward the shop counter. Olive is already at the front, talking to the older woman about our costumes.

“Oh, I have the perfect eyebrows in the back,” she coos, walking toward me and pulling me back to where I came from.

The look on my face makes Olive giggle. I had no warning, just an old lady with pink hair leading me toward her back room.

I’m not sure what Olive signed me up for, but hopefully it’s innocent.

The only person in here I have eyes for is her.

Sally leads me into her office. She digs around in a desk, then hands me the bushiest pair of eyebrows I’ve ever seen.

“These will be perfect for your costume,” she says, turning and exiting just as quickly.

I follow, finally making my way to the front of the store.

Immediately, I can sense something is off.

Rather than saying anything, Olive hands me a flyer with one hand and I place my credit card on the counter for Sally with the other.

I can hear the way Olive swallows hard when I’m reading the paper.

Neither of us say a thing while we wait for our items to be packaged up.

Once we’re back on the sidewalk heading toward Olive’s cottage, I speak first. “So, Irina’s going to be at the Halloween Bash.” It’s not a question, just a simple statement.

“Looks like it,” Olive says, a deep breath whooshing out of her.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you need to find her. I mean, aside from the people you’ve deliberately told, no one knows about the tattoo. It’s not like it’s changed your life in any way other than physical appearance,” I mutter.

She stops walking. “Sam, it has changed my life, changed me. I don’t know what’s real or what’s this stupid curse, anymore.”

“No, you’re right. I’m sorry, that was insensitive.

Of course it has changed your life, I just meant that I care for you either way.

Going to see her is dangerous, look what happened before,” I defend.

I mean, yeah, it has changed her life in that she is marked with signs of, from what I can tell, our relationship, but is that really such a bad thing?

Does she not trust what we have together?

I don’t want to fight with her, but she won’t ever tell me exactly what she’s thinking.

I know she tries to keep her emotions close to her chest, to not become too much for me to handle.

But from my perspective, I want everything about her.

I want her funny sarcasm, her too-fancy-for-Mage wardrobe, her messed-up mother, her wild friends, all of it. The good, the bad, the ugly.