Inked

by Sarah Darlington

  “Did you draw that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool.”

  I thought her tattoo was better than cool. I mean, coming into the shop, my only criteria had been ‘sea turtle.’ So when she decided she didn’t like the one I’d picked, I was open to a different design. But then she started sketching, and I’d honestly never seen anything like it.

  None of the other pieces in the shop owner’s portfolio wall were even close to what she’d drawn. She had a unique style. It was all sharp lines and open edges, purposely meant to look like a sketch. Then she drew sails morphing from the turtle’s back. Something completely random. But it worked. It was, really, the coolest design. But her insecurity about it gave me the impression this woman didn’t have the slightest idea how talented she really was. Meat Head certainly didn’t get it.

  “All done,” she finally said.

  It had been a little over two hours. Her bodyguard took a breath. He stood up and stepped away. He didn’t go far. I could see his curly hair over the divider that separated Amanda’s station from the next.

  She peeled off her gloves. “Can I take a picture of it?”

  “No social media posts,” I reminded her.

  “I know. I won’t.”

  “Then I don’t mind.” If she wanted a picture of my ass, I wasn’t going to stop her. Nah, in all seriousness, I got the impression she was relatively new at this. Maybe this was her first design taken only from her imagination, and she felt proud of her artwork—and rightfully so. She took the picture on her phone. Then she flipped it around for me to see.

  I simply nodded. I loved it.

  “I’m going to bandage it up now. Don’t take the bandage off for twenty-four hours. I’ve got a paper with care instructions on it. You’ve got to follow them exactly. Otherwise you’re risking an infection.” Her pretty brown eyes flickered up to mine. I stood there next to her, so close to her, and I felt the heat between us again. I’d felt it in the hallway earlier. I’d kissed her because of that heat, and then immediately regretted it. For good reason, because it turned out she had a boyfriend. But mostly I regretted it because I wasn’t in any sort of state to go around kissing random girls.

  “You have to treat it like it’s a wound because it is a wound.” She touched her lips. It was so fucking fast, the slightest movement of her hand to those lush, pink lips. And something zapped through me. Was she still thinking about our kiss? Is that what that touch meant? Because now I sure as hell was.

  There was a pause in the conversation before she suddenly asked, “Do you like it?” There was so much vulnerability in her words. She hadn’t asked Meat Head if he liked it. Maybe she only was seeking out my approval because the ink was on my skin. But her question felt… like more than a question about the ink. It felt like she was trying to ask me something else.

  “I do.”

  “Okay. Good. That’s good.” She bent over. She touched her hand to my skin. With it she rubbed on another thin layer of petroleum jelly over my new ink. Her fingers were cold, they moved slow. Was it my imagination or did they linger? I found myself nearly quaking under her gentle touch. I had to force myself to think about how long and painfully boring tomorrow’s drive to Maine would be, about all the hours I’d spent dreading the inevitable, just to avoid going hard from her simple touch. After that, she covered the spot with a bandage and medical tape. She stood back up.

  Her cheeks were a little flushed.

  “All set. Meet me at the register.”

  She stepped away, allowing me a minute to get dressed, which consisted of just pulling up my pants over the bandage. I lingered for a minute, with my heart racing over this girl, a complete stranger. I studied her small space. Not much said it was hers. There was a mirror with an ornate frame. Some other framed art on the wall, lots of tattooing supplies, and one small picture on her work desk. Her and an older man. I assumed the man in the picture was her dad. They were standing on one of the piers in the area.

  I stepped away, up to the front of the shop. There I paid. It was all business and pleasantries. But I felt sick to my stomach now. I didn’t know why, I hardly knew a thing about this girl, but I didn’t want to leave her.

  Fuck.

  I didn’t know what to do.

  ~ CHAPTER 4 ~

  AMANDA

  He paid. The end.

  Then the bell chimed on the front door to Kill Devil Ink, and my mystery man disappeared outside into the rain. Gone forever. Bummer, too, because there was something about him, one of those ‘can’t-put-your-finger-on-it’ sort of things, that made him different. But I told myself that ‘difference’ I felt was based solely on his looks. Nothing more. He wasn’t special. Just handsome.

  He paid, he left, and that was the end of it.

  “What was that about?” Finn asked, interrupting my thoughts, drawing my eyes off the door. He leaned his muscular, tatted arms onto the counter, staring up at me like he genuinely cared. Finn did care. He was always looking out for me.

  “I don’t know. We kissed while you were gone. It just sort of happened.”

  “What?” His eyes narrowed. “He kissed you? Or you kissed him?”

  “Him—me. But it was reciprocated.”

  “So, why’d you use the code word?” ‘Babe,’ specifically, was our code word. The ‘I love you’ exchange was more of a confirmation that the word had been purposefully used.

  “I don’t know.” I avoided eye contact with Finn now, staring down at the receipt I’d received back from the turtle guy instead. Holy shit, he’d left me a tip double the amount of his tattoo. Wow. In four years, I’d never been given a tip like this. Most people gave around ten percent, not two hundred percent.

  I entered the number into the cash register.

  Well, silver-lining, I guess.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I muttered.

  “Yeah. Okay. I get it.”

  Did he get it? He stepped away, not asking anymore questions.

  For another half hour, Finn and I killed time. I cleaned my station, set up for a client I had scheduled tomorrow, and then hung around Finn’s station while he did the same.

  “Let’s close early,” he suggested. “No one else is coming.”

  I nodded. These weeknights in the off-season, when tourism in the Outer Banks was at its lowest, were always dull. We were just wasting time and electricity being here any longer.

  “I’m going to call John; tell him we’re closing early. Then I’ll call Julie to come get me.” Julie was Finn’s current girlfriend. He always had a new one, and they never lasted longer than a month. Julie was about the same as the rest of them: blonde, high-pitched voice, trying-too-hard. Her expiration date had to be coming soon.

  “I’ll get my stuff.” I went back to my station, double-checking everything one last time, when I noticed something on the ground. It was a gray, knit hat. I’d only had two clients tonight. I didn’t remember either one wearing a hat. I picked it up, running my fingers over the material. It looked homemade, and well loved. Did it belong to turtle guy? I put it in my purse. I don’t know why—we had a lost-and-found in the shop—but I took it anyway. Maybe I wanted to keep a piece of my mystery guy.

  It wasn’t long before Julie showed. She lay on her horn, honking to let Finn know she was here. “You go ahead,” I decided last second. “I think I’m going to stick around a little longer, try out some different sketches.” I shrugged. I could sketch at home, but something inside me urged me to stay.

  “You sure? I could stay a little longer too. Julie wouldn’t mind coming inside and hanging with us. She likes you.”

  I had to hide a smile. No way in hell did Julie want to come inside and hang out with me. I was fairly sure she despised me. “No, that’s okay. I’m good. Go on ahead. I’ll be fine.”

  “Okay. Turn the front lights off after I go. Don’t let anyone else in tonight. And don’t stay too late.”

  “I’m fine,” I repeat. “Have a good ni
ght.”

  Why do boys assume we are all damsels in distress? First turtle guy did it with his comments about Finn leaving me alone with a customer. Now it felt like Finn was doing something similar.

  Finn gave me a quick hug before he disappeared out the door and into the rain. I sat down at the counter. I started sketching an alternative version of the tattoo I already had planned for a customer coming in tomorrow. I used the same style I’d used with the turtle. Lots of open lines and shading. It was meant to look like someone had sketched it straight onto the skin. Maybe this new style I’d dreamed up—maybe I was on to something. Maybe it could be my trademark, almost like a signature. A lot of artists have signature styles. Maybe this could be mine.

  I’d only just begun when I heard a noise. The bell on the front door chimed. I’d forgotten to lock up after Finn left just minutes ago. I hadn’t turned off the front light either. “We’re closed...” I started to say. But I shut my mouth the moment I saw it was turtle tattoo guy. Back again.

  This man, stepping in through the front door... holy hell. I mean, this guy was the type of man who could have had long hair, short hair, beard, no beard, hell, a mustache, and he’d be just as insanely handsome no matter what he did to himself. I set my pencil down. He was classically handsome—strong jawline, pretty blue eyes, masculinity oozing out of his pores. But it was something else he had that made him different.

  Charisma.

  I finally put my finger on it. It was charisma. An almost permanent little smirk on his full lips. A confidence that shined in his bright blue eyes. A knowledge that he could probably get away with whatever the fuck he wanted, and it showed in that small smile. I didn’t really question why he was back. It wasn’t the hat. Something that worn and old—it wasn’t his. No, he was back to finish what he’d started with me. And he didn’t give a damn about Finn. Boundaries didn’t matter to him. He could have me, he knew that, and he was here for that one thing.

  ~ CHAPTER 5 ~

  NICK

  My hat. Fuck, my hat! I’d left the tattoo shop, gotten on the road, deciding I’d just start driving straight for Maine tonight—why wait another day?—when I realized I didn’t have my hat. Then I remembered that I’d had it in my hands when I’d first stepped into Kill Devil Ink. Somewhere in between first speaking with the girl named Amanda, showing her my ass, kissing her in the hallway, and leaving her with a couple hundred dollars from my bank account, I’d set it down somewhere. Hopefully my favorite hat was still there.

  I turned my car around and headed back.

  For the hat, not the girl.

  I pulled into the parking lot, lingered in my car for a minute, debating with myself. I mean, it was just a stupid hat. It wasn’t normal to be this attached to an inanimate object like a hat. But that hat was so much a part of me. I understood how crazy that made me, and yet, I still couldn’t walk away from the stupid hat I’d had over half my life.

  So I stepped out of my car into the dark, cold rain, wishing the hat were already on my head, ready to book it in and out of the shop, when I noticed the guy. What was his name? Meat Head. He raced through the rain, jogging toward a black Jeep waiting a few spots away from the door. Inside the Jeep, illuminated by the interior light, was a woman.

  Meat Head climbed inside.

  He kissed her.

  He dug his hands in her (not pink) hair, he pressed his body to her body, and for a good minute I thought he was about to start humping her. Gross. But they broke apart and the light faded out. After that, the Jeep pulled away, speeding, splashing me with a huge wave of water from a puddle.

  So he wasn’t Amanda’s boyfriend?

  Interesting.

  Very interesting.

  I might have been annoyed, soaking wet and all, but I wasn’t all that bothered by it. I went for the door instead. Amanda hadn’t left; I could see her through the front windows, sitting at the counter drawing. Her eyes were intent on her work. And I swear to God, it felt like I didn’t have full control over my feet.

  They moved toward her. They walked inside the building. The bell on the front door chimed with my arrival. Her eyes moved to mine, and I realized coming back might not have been the best decision. She had my hat; it sat on the counter by her fingertips. But I wasn’t looking at the hat. I was lost in her eyes. And a little trapped in the thick air that seemed to be surrounding us.

  “You’re soaking wet,” she muttered. “We have some towels in the back.” She swiveled in her chair, hopping up, hurrying away.

  I let out a breath, running my hands through my hair, scolding myself for being back here. My hat was still on the counter. Grab it. Run away. Leave before she returns. That was what my brain told me to do, but my feet didn’t do a damn thing to comply. Suddenly she was back, standing in front of me, handing me a dark purple towel.

  I took it. I wiped my face with it. But mostly I was waiting to see what would happen. Why I felt like I couldn’t move. Why I felt like the room was closing in around us. Why I had such an undeniable attraction to this woman, her pink hair, and the ink on her skin. It was annoying that I didn’t have it in me to just grab my hat and get the hell out of there, distance myself from her.

  “You overpaid for your tattoo,” she muttered, a hint of irritation in her voice. “Most people tip between ten or twenty. Or nothing. You tipped something like two hundred percent. Why?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “No, it does.”

  “I don’t know. I liked your work.”

  She moved her hands to her hips. She had the nicest body. A little thinner than some of the Maine women I’d grown up with. But the small curves she did have nearly gave me goosebumps. “You couldn’t have liked it that much.”

  “No, really, I like it that much.”

  “You’re full of shit.”

  “At least I’m not making up fake boyfriends.”

  Her eyes narrowed, further proving what I already assumed. Meat Head wasn’t really her boyfriend. I wasn’t sure what he was to her, probably only a friend, but I knew now that their weird ‘I love you’ exchange had been some kind of show—for me.

  “At least I don’t have a permanent turtle on my ass,” she shot back at me.

  She was playing with me, I realized. It got me to smile. She gave me a look like she dared me to say something else. Instantly, I let down my guard. You win, sweetheart. I knew the turtle in that place was silly. But I liked it. Something behind her eyes told me she liked it too. No... she loved it. Something told me—maybe it was the pounding in my own chest—if I wanted, I could have this girl. Right now. Right here. That idea made it impossible to keep a level head. It made my cock go hard, so fucking hard. She made my skin feel tight. She made my fingertips burn. She made me itch with a need I hadn’t felt in a while. She made me forget all the shit in my life.

  I kissed her.

  For the second time tonight, without control, I kissed this woman whom I barely knew.

  ~ CHAPTER 6 ~

  AMANDA

  Blame it on the rain. Come tomorrow, or maybe fifteen minutes from now when I came to my senses, that would be my excuse—the rain. The sound outside the windows, the smell it gave the air, and the way this man looked soaking wet. Blame it on the rain. His lips were on my lips again, which I did nothing to stop, and it was completely and totally, one hundred percent the rain’s fault.

  His wet shirt clung to his chest, to every line of his washboard abs, and it made me want to drop my mouth open and drool. He walked in, not bothered by anything at all. I don’t even know how it happened. But one second he was pushing my buttons, arguing with me, and the next he was pushing his lips against mine. That was how smooth this guy was. And dammit, if I didn’t fall for his charm in less than thirty seconds all over again.

  This time was different than our first kiss in the hallway. Maybe because I knew, and he knew, Finn wasn’t coming back. It felt dangerous, reckless, out of control, stupid. I didn’t do this sort of thing with clients.
Or any stranger, for that matter.

  Danger be damned though, because I ran my hands over his wet shirt, feeling the heat of his body underneath. I touched his strong neck. This guy oozed masculinity like he ate it for breakfast. I felt his skin there before I dug my fingers into his short hair.

  That was when he pulled back.

  He broke the kiss. For a moment, I thought I’d done something wrong. I thought he was about to leave again. My heart sank to the floor because of it. But that wasn’t what happened at all.

  “Tonight’s my last night in town. I’m leaving for good in the morning. Nothing’s going to change that. But...” He breathed out. His blue eyes lifted to mine. “But I wouldn’t mind spending my one last night with you.”

  I swallowed.

  “Amanda,” he said softly. “Spend the night with me.”

  I let out a choked, giddy little laugh. He knew my name. The way he asked... nothing had ever felt better. How was this happening? This freaking gorgeous, straight-laced, put-together man shows up out of nowhere, interested in me. Did I dream him up out of thin air? Did I draw him into existence like one of my tattoos? Any second now, I was going to wake up, and all of this will have been a dream.

  I stepped away from him. I went to the front door, locking it from the inside. I found the light switch which controlled the exterior front lights and the neon sign. I flipped it off. I flipped off the inside light, too. It dimmed everything. It signaled to him he could stay. And boy did he read that signal loud and clear. He tugged at his wet shirt, peeling it off over his head before letting it drop. It slapped the ground. Holy crap. He looked so good without a shirt. I barely got a chance to look before my Mystery Man returned to me, backing me against the counter where I’d been drawing before. He tugged my shirt off as well, dragging his fingers against my skin, leaving me in only the cotton bra I’d picked out this morning.