Inked on Paper

by Nicole Edwards

  “Kitchen,” Alan muttered.

  I nodded. “Any luck on the job hunting front?”

  Alan’s eyes dropped to the floor. “It’s a tough market out there.”

  Right. For a man who’d been working at a car wash when my mother took him in, I found it hard to believe that there weren’t other car washes in the area looking for good help. Then again, good was probably not a word I’d use to describe Alan Kapersky. Lazy, yes.

  Standing there, not knowing what else to say, I tried to pretend it wasn’t awkward. “I’m gonna go talk to her.” I nodded toward the kitchen.

  “Yeah.”

  Luckily, Alan chose not to follow me when I started down the short hall that led past the stairs and to the kitchen and the main living room at the back of the house.

  I found my mother at the counter, tossing Styrofoam food containers into the trash.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  Deborah jumped, shoving one of the boxes down before dropping the lid on the trash can. Apparently she was attempting to make me believe she’d cooked. I knew better.

  “Hey,” she said, smiling, her light blue eyes sparkling in the overhead lights.

  In my mother’s defense, she might’ve been fifty-five, had always had an interest in younger men, but she looked at least a decade younger than her age. She had a very strict routine when it came to her vanity, too. She was always dieting, went for a mani/pedi every two weeks without fail, and her naturally dark hair was lightened and cut in the same, short, 1990s-Rachel, layered style she’d always had.

  And she acted far younger than her age, as well.

  Not that it’d been easy growing up with her dating men who were much closer to my age than hers—drastically so, once I’d turned twenty-two—but my sister and I had lived through it and come out the other side without a mark—mostly—so I considered us lucky.

  “I’m glad you could make it,” she said. “How’s the book coming along? Almost finished?”

  They were the same questions she asked every time I came over. If I were to ask her how many books I’d published, she wouldn’t know. And though I’d mentioned the movie at least a dozen times, I doubted she knew the name of that, either. But that was the way my mother was. She was fiercely self-centered, always had been and likely always would be.

  I still loved her unconditionally.

  “Workin’ on it,” I told her, knowing she wasn’t paying much attention anyway. “Where’s Paige?” I peered around as though my sister and my niece might possibly jump out and surprise me, salvaging the evening.

  “Abby had a counseling appointment,” she muttered, evidently not happy about that.

  Lucky them.

  Although my mother cared mostly about herself, I had to give her credit for raising me and my sister. She’d been mostly a single mom until I was six, when she’d married husband number three, though according to her tales, she’d dated since the day I was born.

  I honestly hadn’t had a bad childhood. We’d moved around a lot, sure, but other than changing schools every few years because of my mother’s most recent marriage (and subsequent divorce), it hadn’t been terrible. I probably had her to thank for the fact that I was a loner. I preferred to keep to myself, didn’t have a lot of close friends, mainly because I’d never been in one place long enough to make any.

  “What’s for dinner?” I asked when the tension in the brightly lit room became too much to bear.

  “I made chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes,” she said with a grin.

  By made, she meant she’d either stopped to pick it up at the local diner or they now delivered. The Styrofoam container of mashed potatoes still sitting on the counter was a dead giveaway.

  “Fantastic. I’m starving.”

  After helping my mother carry the plates to the table, I took a seat when she motioned me toward a chair. She disappeared from the room—I assume to summon Alan to dinner—and returned a minute later, a frown on her face. I don’t think she’d meant for me to see that, so I pretended not to notice.

  “Abby said you took her to a movie a couple of weeks ago,” Deborah prompted.

  “Yeah.”

  “Does she seem okay to you?”

  I picked up my fork. “Yeah. Why? Something wrong?”

  My mother shook her head. “I’m just worried about her. Seems like she’s gotten over this rather quickly.”

  I wasn’t sure a year could be considered quick by any means, not to mention Abby was still going to weekly counseling sessions, but I wasn’t going to argue with my mother. “We had a good time,” I told her.

  Nodding, my mother scooped mashed potatoes onto her plate, her gaze sliding down the hall momentarily, then returning to me.

  Alan’s chair was noticeably empty, and I briefly wondered if there was trouble in paradise.

  “How’s work?” I asked her when she forced a smile.

  “Oh, you know.” My mother waved the question off.

  I put my fork down, watching her closely. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “Nothing,” she said instantly, a forced smile tilting her overly glossed mouth.

  The last time my mother had said that, I’d ended up paying her rent for three months.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Presley

  The weather had taken a nice turn, warming up considerably, so I’d opted to take my bike to work. After parking my 1999 Harley-Davidson XLH Sportster 883 Custom motorcycle—the one my father and I had restored together before he died—in my spot behind Different by Design, I made my way inside the building.

  It was after seven, which, for a Thursday, wasn’t very busy. There were only three people downstairs, including Gil and the two women currently flirting it up with him.

  “Hey!” Gil called out, not looking up from the arm he was presently tattooing.

  “Hey.”

  I offered the two women sitting with him a half-ass attempt at a smile as I went for the appointment book on the front counter to see who would be coming in later.

  “You got an appointment tonight?” Gil asked.

  “Yeah.” That was the only reason I was there. One of my regulars had come up with a design that he wanted me to do, something that had required me to pretty much trace the image, rather than add my own touch to it, so I’d conceded to his pleading.

  I’d spent a few hours that morning drawing, but that had fizzled out shortly after I finished reading Jake’s book, refusing to pick up another in order to force him from my mind. And since I only seemed to be inspired when I saw him, I was beginning to fear that my muse was directly related to him.

  And that pissed me off.

  Not at him, of course. I had no reason to be mad at him, but I knew I couldn’t depend on someone like that. It irked the shit out of me that despite my best effort, I’d gotten my hopes up, too.

  Moving over to my station, I started getting things set up for my appointment. I already had the design on the transfer paper, and I knew the colors I would be using, so it didn’t take long. Once I was ready, I went upstairs to check on Shawn.

  “Hey, Presley.” Shawn made his way over and threw his arms around me as he always did.

  “What’s up?” I hugged him, then took a step back and studied his face, trying to decipher whether or not he had anything new pierced. The guy was already sporting three nose piercings, plus one in his septum, several in his lips—two above, two below—as well as his tongue, his eyebrows, and various other body parts I had no interest in seeing.

  As far as I could tell, the only thing he’d done was increase the size of the plugs in his ears, but that wasn’t unusual.

  “Not much. You?”

  Dropping down into one of the rolling chairs, I leaned back and looked around. “Still stuck,” I told him.

  I’d shared my frustrations with Shawn about not being able to draw in an attempt to get his opinion. Although he was more into piercing than anything, I knew Shawn had drawn most of the tattoos on his
body himself. He was good, and there was no doubt he could feel my pain.

  Not that it had helped, but I liked Shawn. We were close, having worked together for two years. I’d even tattooed him once.

  “What’ve you drawn lately?” he asked, hopping up onto the counter and staring down at me.

  “Nothin’ much.” It wasn’t a total lie. Other than the fictional woman from Jake’s book, I hadn’t done much. I’d started to sketch a man, but when I’d realized it was Jake I was drawing, and not the character in the book, I’d abruptly given that one up.

  “Don’t sweat it, kiddo.”

  I loved that he called me that, considering I was two years older than he was.

  “I’m trying not to,” I assured him, sighing heavily. “How’s Angela?”

  Shawn smiled, all the piercings in his face pulling with the movement. “She’s good.”

  “And Frankie?”

  “Perfect.” Shawn nodded toward a picture frame sitting on the counter behind me.

  I spun around to look, grinning when I saw the small bundle wrapped in blue.

  Shawn and Angela had been together for a year and a half, and they were now the proud parents of a two-month-old little boy. Although their relationship could be considered somewhat volatile at times—during the year and a half they’d been together, they’d probably broken up at least a dozen times—I knew they loved each other. They were just very passionate, somewhat immature people.

  “Oh, hey,” Shawn said, causing me to spin back around to face him. “What’s goin’ on with Blaze and Blue?”

  I waited for him to explain, because I had no idea what could possibly be going on with them. I’d told Blaze to keep her hands off, but this was Blaze—she forged her own path and rarely took commands from anyone.

  “He’s following her around like a lost puppy,” Shawn said with a smirk. “It’s quite nauseating.”

  I frowned. I hoped like hell Blaze hadn’t slept with him. That was the last thing I needed.

  The bell above the front door jangled, and Shawn leaned back to peer over the railing just as Gil hollered at me.

  “Looks like you’re up,” Shawn said with a smile.

  Sighing, I got to my feet and offered him a small wave before making my way downstairs.

  “Presley!” Ricky Cardeno’s deep voice echoed in the small shop as soon as he saw me coming down the stairs.

  I couldn’t help but smile back at him. He was one of my favorites. He reminded me a lot of my dad, who I missed more than anything. At sixty-one, Ricky had full-body art, with very little room left for anything else, yet he still insisted on making things fit. It had taken a little creativity on my part, and I kept telling him he needed to retire from his day job as an executive sales rep for one of the leading tech companies so I could have a go at his arms. Because of his job, he’d kept his arms blank, but promised the day he retired, he’d give me first dibs on them.

  “You ready?” I asked when he set me back on my feet after giving me a huge bear hug.

  “Always.”

  Grateful for the next couple of hours when I could ignore all my personal issues, I motioned for Ricky to take a seat.

  And got to work.

  Two and a half hours later, a little longer than I’d anticipated, Ricky’s tattoo was finished. At his insistence, we’d started filling in the empty space between his various backpieces. After this one, he didn’t have room for much more, and I told him as much as I wiped ointment over it.

  “I know,” he said, turning his head to the side. “But then you’ll just have to start filling it in with small stuff.”

  “I can do that. Hearts, butterflies, roses. You name it, it’s yours.”

  Ricky chortled. “Not a chance, Presley. I know you. You’d rather do skulls than butterflies any day.”

  It was true, I would.

  I took a step back so he could get up. “All done.”

  When he was on his feet, I grabbed my hand mirror and handed it to him so he could check it out for himself. He spun around and admired the colorful ink with a smile, which always made me feel good.

  “You’re pretty good for a girl, you know that?”

  I could only take that as a compliment considering Ricky wouldn’t allow anyone else to tattoo him these days.

  “I try.”

  After placing the plastic wrap over the ink to protect it, tossing my latex gloves, taking his payment, and telling him good-bye, I stood at the front counter and checked the appointment book for tomorrow, wondering if I would bother to come in since it was Friday. There wasn’t much on the calendar, which meant the others would likely be free to pitch in for the walk-ins.

  The bell jangled above the front door, and I looked up, my breath doing a strange stutter in my chest when I recognized the man gracing the doorway of my tattoo shop.

  “Chapter One,” I whispered, shocked.

  “Hey.” He looked as though he was hesitant to come inside.

  Forcing myself to relax and remember that it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing that he’d shown up, I was surprised by how quickly a smile formed on my lips. “Never thought I’d see you in here.”

  And that was the truth. I might’ve fantasized about Jacob Wild a few times, but I still had a hard time seeing him as a tattoo man. Had either of us bothered to get undressed last night, perhaps I would know one way or another if I was right or not.

  “No?” He winked as he approached. “And why’s that?”

  I shrugged, fighting the urge to look over to see if Gil was watching us.

  The absolute last thing I needed was to supply Gil with any ammunition to give me a hard time. He was ruthless about it, which was one of the many reasons I did my best not to let him know when I was interested in someone.

  Not that I was interested in Jacob Wild.

  Much.

  Chapter Thirty

  Jake

  For the second time since I’d seen her in the coffee shop two weeks ago, Presley Abrams didn’t have a hood covering her head, which meant I got the pleasure of seeing her in an entirely different light. Since the bar had been dimly lit last night, and afterward we’d been otherwise occupied, I hadn’t gotten the full impact.

  Now, I had.

  And she was even more beautiful than I’d originally thought. Her shoulder-length coral-pink hair was a culmination of short layers, framing her face and resting on her shoulders. She was small but not fragile. It was evident she could hold her own. Still, she brought out a baser instinct in me, something primal and possessive. And I fucking loved the feeling. It made me think of Justin—my lead character in Forbidden—and the way he felt about Jill.

  Since she was wearing a snug black T-shirt, I also got a better look at the tattoos that snaked down her slender arms, though I did my best not to stare at them since she was looking at me as though I were the Ghost of Christmas Past.

  I was still intrigued to know why she’d never thought she’d see me in here. I wasn’t sure whether she meant this particular establishment, or any tattoo shop at all.

  “You assume I don’t have any tattoos?” I asked, coming to stand on the other side of the small counter.

  “I never assume anything.”

  I could see it in her eyes, she had made that assumption, but it didn’t bother me. I knew how most people perceived me. I’d seen plenty of articles that referred to me as the pretty boy author; some critics who didn’t like my work said I’d make a better living as a male model. Needless to say, I didn’t have anything to prove to anyone, so I didn’t bother.

  But for some reason, I wished she’d seen all of me last night so there wouldn’t be any doubts.

  “Is that why you’re here?” she asked. “For a tattoo?”

  “I’m tossing the idea around a little,” I told her.

  Honestly, I hadn’t given much thought to what I wanted yet, but yes, I intended to get another tattoo. Just not tonight.

  Tonight, I had purposely stopped in to see if she w
as there. I had needed to see her, to make sure she wasn’t pissed at me. To find a way to fix this thing between us.

  And seeing her now… I was once again inspired, but not necessarily to write.

  “Well, I’m sure Gil could fit you in,” she said, glancing over her shoulder at the guy I remembered from the impromptu orgy a couple of weeks ago, currently working on a brunette who had a bad case of the giggles.

  Leaning down, I lowered my voice. “And what if I wanted you to do it?”

  Her gray eyes sparkled, turning darker as they widened.

  “Well, I’d say that you better have a design on you ’cause I’m fresh out of ideas.”

  “Back to tic-tac-toe?” I asked, understanding what she meant.

  The very corners of her glossy pink lips curled up. It wasn’t much of a smile, but I’d take it.

  “Maybe.”

  I nodded. Looked as though we were both looking for our inspiration.

  “Would you like to get a drink with me?” I asked, after gazing around to ensure no one was standing behind me. The instant it looked as though she was going to say no, I added, “Or coffee, dinner, dessert … anything.”

  Her smile widened and I couldn’t look away.

  “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

  I lowered my voice so only she could hear. “Actually, I’ve thought of little else but you.”

  She seemed surprised by that and the sharp intake of breath made my body harden. I instantly remembered what she sounded like when she came.

  Luckily, she pulled me from my erotic thought before I could let my imagination get away from me.

  “Fine. Then I’ll take a milkshake.”

  I laughed. Couldn’t help myself. It was thirty-seven degrees outside and she wanted a milkshake.

  Her smile didn’t falter.

  She was serious.

  I could live with that.

  “I’ll drive,” I told her, not wanting to give her a chance to say otherwise.

  “Or we could walk.”

  It wasn’t as though I was in any position to argue, so I nodded in agreement. “Or we could walk,” I echoed.