Fine Line (Inked Duet #1)

by Persephone Autumn

  I smile at the words I am sure he didn’t mean for me to hear. “Back atcha.”

  He faces me again with a soft smile on his lips. “It hasn’t been easy seeing her with Gavin, but I keep telling myself everything happens for a reason. Keep reminding myself she was never mine to keep. Not in the way I originally intended.”

  I continue working on his tattoo. “Sometimes, people come into our life to teach us something. Not necessarily like an actual teacher. In your case, maybe Cora taught you how to open your heart. How to love someone in a nonfamilial way. She may not be the person you’re meant to love, but she helped teach you what love feels like.”

  He sits quietly in the chair for a few minutes as I get closer to the center of the flower of life in the middle of his forearm.

  Did I say too much? Go too far?

  From what Cora told me, her “best friend”—aka Jonas—has crushed on her for years. Several years. Honestly, I lived vicariously through her. The fact she had one man pining over her while she was in love with another… color me jealous and envious and dark, dark green.

  Just as I start to apologize for stepping over the line, Jonas speaks up. “I never looked at it like that. Actually puts it in a whole new perspective.” He hums. “Not as if it concerns you, but I’ve been slowly working on letting her go. Not fully. She is my best friend, after all. But I’ve been trying to disconnect myself from her romantically. See her more like a sister or one of the guys. Know what I mean?”

  “I do,” I tell him. “But it’s easy to say ‘you are my friend.’ The difficult part is accepting it.”

  “Yeah. Weeks before the wedding—which I did not see you at, by the way—I repeatedly told myself she was never mine to have. That I needed to find a way to get over her. Move on.” I feel his eyes on me again. “I’m getting there,” he whispers.

  “I’m getting there.” What exactly does that mean?

  “You think?” I glance at him as I dip the needle into the ink cap.

  Eyes locked on mine, the corners of his mouth tip up the slightest bit. “Yes.”

  Dear God. Please forgive me. But I really want to sin with this man.

  I am the last person in the world anyone would consider to be religious. My history could sway the decision either way. But this man makes me want to drop to my knees, hold his gaze, and pray for him to let me make his life better.

  I may not be a miracle worker, but I could do many miraculous things to this man.

  “W-well that’s great,” I say with a little too much enthusiasm.

  In turn, he laughs. And since I don’t have the tattoo gun anywhere near his skin, he laughs harder than earlier. Deeper. Throatier. Louder. So loud, Penny and Rex—another artist in the shop—glance our way. Penny’s eyebrows waggle and I roll my eyes at her.

  When I sleep tonight, I will dream of his laugh and the way my insides swirl at the sound. The way my body sparks to life.

  “Glad you think so,” he teases. “Your turn.” I cock my head to the side and narrow my eyes. “Tell me about you,” he clarifies.

  “Ah. Tit for tat, huh?”

  He smirks and I realize the innuendo he has created from my words. “If that’s what you want to c-call it.” I love his slight stutter at the end. His jitters as we tease.

  “What would you like to know?” I prompt.

  He taps his chin with his free hand. “Boyfriend? Husband? Kids?”

  Keeping my face down as I work on him, I stop breathing for a minute.

  You can do this, Autumn. Baby steps.

  I smile at his arm, but, if he saw my face head-on, he would know the smile is forced. So, I keep my head down. “No boyfriend or husband. Most guys I’ve dated were grossly immature. Don’t get me wrong, I love silliness every once in a while. But some guys don’t know when to be serious.”

  “I hate how I’m automatically lumped into this category because of the extremity between my legs.” For a moment, I glance at his groin. No doubt he notices. Great. “But I get where you’re coming from. I know plenty of guys who act exactly how you’re describing them.”

  “Not trying to harp on the male species. Just noting the history I’ve had with them. Hasn’t really worked in my favor.”

  I sit up straighter as I wipe excess ink off his arm. When he remains silent for a minute, I meet his gaze. He just… looks at me. Looking at me like no one else has. As if trying to read more into what I say. Tapping into my brain and digging for unanswered questions. Answers I am not ready to divulge yet.

  “Sorry to hear. But you shouldn’t give up.”

  I cock a brow at him. “No?”

  He shakes his head. “Definitely not.”

  His words are laced with more. Emotions left unsaid. The sentiment weighs heavy and I blink rapidly to snap myself back to reality.

  Is he suggesting what I think he is? When he says I shouldn’t give up, is he inviting me to give him a shot? “Definitely not.” His answer repeats in my head over and over. Unsure how to process it, I change the subject.

  “What do you think?” He scrunches his brow. “Your ink? It’s done. Well, done for tonight. What do you think?”

  I grab a fresh paper towel and the alcohol blend I use to clean it up. Squirting some on the paper towel, I swipe the damp cloth over his skin and clean up the fresh tattoo.

  “Perfect,” he whispers.

  And for a moment, I wonder if he’s only referring to the tattoo. When I peek up, his eyes aren’t on his forearm. They are on me.

  The intensity of his stare sends a shock wave of heat across my flesh. Under the thin material of my bra, my nipples harden. At the apex of my thighs, dampness slicks my skin. I press my legs closer together and pray he doesn’t notice. Pray he doesn’t call me out. Because if he studies my reaction hard enough—pun intended—he will know exactly where my head is at.

  Why has it been so long? Why the hell have I denied myself for so many years? And why has it worked until now?

  “Thanks,” I whisper back.

  The answer to all three questions is simple. Because I have been waiting. For the right guy. For a guy like Jonas.

  Four

  Jonas

  I soak up every line and curve of Autumn’s profile as she cleans the new addition to my sleeve. Never thought I would say this about another woman, but damn, she is beautiful.

  Autumn has a classic beauty, not one born of facials and layers of makeup. A heart-shaped face with a slender button nose and full lips. Scarlet paints her lips while a thin black wingtip accentuates her eyes. The only additions I note. We may be surrounded by beaches, but her alabaster skin tells me it isn’t a place she frequents. A full sleeve of flowers and vines is inked on her right arm. And the style of her clothes and how she has her hair pinned… she reminds me of a modern-day pinup girl.

  My pinup girl.

  The errant thought catches me off guard, but I don’t dismiss it. Not yet.

  Autumn is a breath of fresh air. The fresh air I didn’t think would filter through my lungs ever again. A new breath of life. Invigorating.

  Beside me, she adheres a thin film to the new ink. Lifting her eyes to mine, I hold her swirly cognac gaze as she explains the new product. “Not sure if you’ve used this yet, but it’s called Saniderm.” I glance down at the clear film on my skin for a beat. When I shake my head, she continues. “It’s a new, breathable way to protect your tattoo while it heals.” She goes over the specifics and I get lost in the sound of her voice.

  How have I not seen her until now?

  The answer sits on the tip of my tongue. I won’t say it. Not even in my thoughts. Let’s just say I was otherwise distracted.

  Now, though… I see clearly. The curtains over my eyes have been shoved to the wayside. The light of a new day shines bright. Has me seeing the world I have ignored for years.

  When Autumn stops her spiel on tattoo care—which she knows I am obviously familiar with because of my previous tattoos—she stands and leads me back to t
he front desk. Call me a pig, but I eat up every inch of her as she walks in front of me. How can I not?

  “Hey, Penny,” she says, talking to the pink-haired woman behind the front desk. “Will you add Jonas on my schedule for next week. Wednesday or after.” Autumn leans on the counter, pops her hip out, and faces me. Someone rescue me from my depraved thoughts. “If that works for you.”

  I nod, not trusting my voice yet. After I swallow a couple times, I pray to not sound like a prepubescent boy. “Yeah.” Thank fuck. “Thursday might be easier, though.”

  “It’s a date,” she says as her face flushes rosy. She tucks both her lips in her mouth and clamps down before releasing them. “See you next week.”

  “Next week,” I reply.

  She scurries off to her booth and it’s fucking adorable how flustered Autumn is. Me too, I want to tell her. Because this is the first time I have felt so immediately enamored by a woman. Although I undoubtedly loved—still love—Cora, my heart never hummed with her. Never galloped. Nor did I forget to breathe around her.

  Maybe Autumn was right. Maybe Cora was a lesson. The lesson which taught me nonfamilial love.

  Cora was never mine to love. I know this now. She was just a star in the constellation leading me to where I belong. And the constellation shines brighter than any other star in the galaxy now.

  My constellation.

  Penny cashes me out and I hand her a tip to give Autumn. “I’ll make sure she gets it, sugar. What day works best for your next appointment?”

  Getting here tonight after the weekly family dinner was cutting it close. I would rather get here a little earlier, so I am not here until ten at night. Although I don’t need to be at the garage until eight each morning, I usually arrive between six and seven to help Dad catch up on invoices.

  “Is Thursday at six available?”

  Penny leans close to the computer monitor, rests her chin on her palm, and clicks the mouse a few times. Her eyes flick across the screen as she scrolls down. She pops her bubble gum once then looks up. “Six is all yours, sugar.” Her fingers run across the keyboard. “Probably another two-hour appointment.”

  I nod. “Thanks. See you next week.”

  She leans back in her chair, pops her gum, and gives me a spirited wave goodbye.

  As I reach the door to leave, I glance over my shoulder toward Autumn’s booth. She stands frozen in place, eyes on me, with a new wave of crimson on her cheeks at being caught ogling. A wide smile tugs at my cheeks as I raise a hand and wave her direction. She timidly lifts her hand and returns my smile with one of her own.

  I turn just in time to not smack into the door and make a fool out of myself.

  Walking out of the shop, I head for the Jeep, hop in, and crank it to life. I sit in the lamplit parking lot for a few minutes and stare at the steering wheel in a fog. Although nothing extraordinary happened over the last two hours, the most mysterious and alluring woman blipped on my radar.

  How the hell am I supposed to function for the next week? On a shitload of caffeine and daydreams, that is how.

  Daydreams of an exquisite, petite pinup woman named Autumn.

  * * *

  The alarm squawks on the bedside table. I roll over and slap the snooze bar as Spartan vaults onto the bed and licks my face.

  Swinging my arms in the air, I jerk my face left and right. “Spartan.” I laugh at his relentlessness. “Stop, stop, stop.” I cover my face with my hands and he starts licking my ear. “Argh! Okay, I’m up.”

  I wrap my arms around Spartan’s belly and wrestle him on the bed for a minute before I slip out of the covers and turn off the alarm clock. He jumps off the bed and bolts for the front door, barking. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I throw on a hoodie, sweatpants, and sneakers, then hook Spartan’s leash to his collar.

  Out the door, we wander in the dark around the neighborhood. Houses on the street only illuminated by porch lights. Most of the windows still dark as residents continue to sleep.

  Spartan sniffs and marks as many patches of grass, bushes, and signposts as possible. Cool air whips through my hair and, for the first time ever, it invigorates me. For years, I gravitated toward all things sunny and warm. Now, I discover a new appreciation for the opposite.

  The cool breeze reminds me of fresh starts and new beginnings. Something I am in desperate need of.

  “Spartan,” I call out. He glances back at me a second, but doesn’t stop tugging me forward. “I met someone.” Funny enough, he barks.

  I laugh. “You’d like her, buddy. Real pretty.” He stops, sniffs at something I can’t see on the sidewalk, and I run into him. “Whatcha got there?” But before I get close enough to see what caught his attention, he drags me forward again. “Anyway. She’s really pretty. Like the women in fashion magazines or something.” He barks again and I shush him. Last thing I need is for an angry neighbor to complain my dog woke them up at five in the morning.

  So, for the rest of our trip around the neighborhood, I stay quiet while Spartan takes me for a walk.

  Once we get back home, I jump in the shower. The instructions for this new tattoo cover say I shower normally with it on, just not to scrub it. Tattoo innovations—gotta love ‘em. Out of the shower, I scramble a couple eggs, fry up a few pieces of bacon, and butter some toast. In no time, breakfast fills my stomach.

  I secure Spartan in his crate, turn on the radio to our favorite rock station, and head out the door.

  It’s no surprise Dad is already at the garage when I arrive. Parking my motorcycle behind the building, I stroll into the office and greet him with a thermos of coffee.

  “Morning, Dad.”

  He pops his head up, checks the time on the clock over the door, and smiles at me. “Up early today?”

  I set the thermos in front of him and grab his mug from the small dish rack and hand it to him. When Dad bought this garage in 1980, he cleaned it up and changed a few things around before opening. Dad had worked in several mechanic and body shops prior to owning Thompson’s Garage. He knew the ins and outs of daily activity. Knew what made a shop dysfunctional and what made it flow with ease. Taking bits and pieces of all the things he loved, he set up this garage.

  Thompson’s Garage and Body Specialists has four bays total. One bay is used for bodywork, unless we have no bodywork to work on. Each bay is only separated by the occasional pillar and larger machines. Along the back wall of the garage is section after section of chrome and black industrial automotive cabinetry. Every tool we possibly need inside. And if we don’t have it, Dad orders it.

  He also added a small kitchen dinette and a couch and small table in the office space of the garage. One thing he said bugged him at most shops he worked at was how they didn’t have simple necessities—a sink for dishes, a fridge, and a small table for lunch (and breakfast for the early birds). Or a place to sleep on exhausting days. Dad made sure Thompson’s had all of those, plus some counter space and a few cabinets.

  Our garage was voted top family-owned mechanic of the Bay Area ten times. And we take pride in our work.

  “Nah. Just moved faster than usual.” I laugh and he joins in. “Best night of sleep in a while, I guess.”

  He fills his mug with coffee as I grab the creamer from the fridge and sugar on the counter. Setting it down, I pour my own mugful. We both add cream and sugar, and sit in silence a moment as we take the first few sips. Something Dad and I have in common is our morning routine. Maybe it’s because I am the only son and I wanted to be just like him growing up. Or I could chalk it up to the fact we both wake up crazy early Monday to Friday and share the same job.

  “What changed?” he asks after sufficiently caffeinated. I furrow my brow. “What happened after dinner last night? Said you slept better.”

  I smile and bring the mug to my lips. He studies me when I don’t answer and shakes his head, following it up with a smile that matches my own.

  Dad and I, for as long as I can remember, share a secret language. A
s a child, I dubbed it the Boys Only Club. That’s how I kept my older sister away. Jillian was a baby during the age of Boys Only, so I never worried about her. Over the years, it evolved and I learned Dad and I just shared the same mindset. He is simply an older version of me.

  I lift my arm and show him the new addition to my sleeve. “Went to the tattoo shop last night.”

  “Son, tattoos don’t make you smile.” He points at me as he shakes his head. “Not like an idiot, anyway.”

  Slapping a hand to my chest, I gape at him. “You wound me.”

  “Dumbass.” He laughs.

  I finish off my mug and set it down. “Met someone. A woman,” I clarify. “She works at the tattoo shop.”

  “And?” Dad drawls out the one-word question.

  “And I don’t know. Couldn’t stop looking at her. Or thinking about her. We talked the two hours I was there. Not sure, but I don’t think the feelings are one-sided.”

  He nods, drinks the last of his coffee, and looks me square in the eyes. “Well, it’s nice to see you smile again.” Rising from his chair, he goes to the sink and washes out his mug before setting it in the rack. “Time to get to work.”

  And just like that, the conversation ends. Another great thing about the relationship Dad and I share is how we don’t need all the nitty-gritty details. If either of us wants to disclose something, we will.

  One day, I hope to have more to share with him.

  Five

  Autumn

  “Leaving the mall now.”

  I pin the phone between my shoulder and ear as I fumble through my purse for the keys. “Find anything good?” Penny asks on the other end. In the background, I hear my favorite sound ever. Little girl giggles.

  “Show you when I get home. Just need to stop and pick up a few more ingredients for the lasagna. Anything else we need?”

  I unlock the door, slide into the car, and toss my bags on the passenger seat. Cranking the ignition, I pull the phone away when the engine lags and rumbles rougher than usual. I shrug as the roar settles in its typical hum.