“And these down here as well.” My thoughts had managed to switch over to total planning mode, so I hadn’t even noticed that my fingers lingered just above his waistline. I felt the vibration of his skin and looked up, alarmed that I might’ve done something wrong. He rotated around almost painstakingly and stared me dead in the eye.
I was ensnared in his gaze for what seemed like hours. My hand was motionless on his skin because, as he turned, my fingers had dragged across his waist to his abdomen. He didn’t seem to mind it; in fact, his eyes flickered with something I never would’ve imagined in my wildest dreams that I’d see in them—interest. It was the first time the thought occurred that maybe Jude felt some sort of attraction.
My heart hammered painfully in my chest. I was probably reading way too much into this. Maybe having anybody’s hands on him was arousing because he didn’t let anyone get near.
Finally, his lips parted and his gaze swung down to my fingers, which were still pressed to his skin. My cheeks caught on fire, and I yanked my hand away as if it’d been scorched.
“S…sorry.” I stepped away, figuring he was only tolerating me and was probably close to punching me in the fucking nuts. “I was in the zone and didn’t realize my hand was still there.”
“It’s alright,” he said in a low timbre that sent chills across my skin. Then he tipped his head to the drawing, as if to bring me back to my original question. “And…yes.”
“Yes what?” My head felt fuzzy. Mostly because he’d actually spoken to me. “You’re saying you want the tattoo exactly as I described?”
He angled his head in an affirmative response.
My brain was going haywire, and damn it to hell, I had to go and ruin it right then. “What does the tree mean?”
He bristled. Fuck, I’d been doing this so long, I didn’t even give a shit what clients’ tattoos meant anymore. Sure, people had their reasons, and normally they told you and it was all cool. It made the appointment move along more swiftly. But with Jude, I couldn’t help wondering why the hell he needed or wanted a big fucking ominous tree on his back.
“Shit, none of my business.” I didn’t want to wreck this. He was putting his faith in me, and given what I’d come to understand about Jude, that was one hell of a huge deal.
“I’ll be ready for our next appointment,” I said, finding my professional voice. “You can figure out the time with Emmy up front.”
He pulled his shirt over his head, effectively concealing his scars, and that had an immediate sobering effect. I carried the drawing back to the table, attempting to switch into work mode as he grabbed his backpack and moved to the door.
“Jude.” He twisted his head toward me. “Thanks for trusting me enough to do this.”
His eyes widened as if I’d just divulged all his secrets.
We were in a standoff again—eyes locked, breaths briefly suspended—the tension in the air, thick as a dust cloud, threatening to asphyxiate me.
Then he bowed his head and slid through the door.
Fuck. I collapsed in the chair, completely spent, as if I’d just worked a twelve-hour shift.
5
The next few days were busy with work and completing a drawing course to keep up with my tattoo license. Oliver, the owner of Raw Ink, was big on continuing education, and he didn’t give two shits if you hated school like I did. I’d gotten decent grades in high school, but probably only went on to get my associate’s degree in liberal arts to please my grandma.
After seeing Jude at the park, bar, and in my shop, I felt the need for a different headspace. So I changed routes and took the dogs to walk along the bay. I found the view calming and appealing. There was a kayak lift and some fishermen along the pier with their poles in the water.
As I sat on the bench, peering out at the water, I figured it was time to steer my attention elsewhere. Outside of quick hookups, I hadn’t dated much. Since the last guy left me his trophy of a dog, it was clear I wasn’t that great at choosing them lately. And I also realized that all this focused energy on a quiet skateboarder was unhealthy. He was like a mystery I wanted to untangle. But to what end? Who the fuck knew what his story was?
I felt like a seeker of lost causes, and I didn’t need that shit in my life. Besides, the forced silence was killing me. I got so twitchy after my encounters with Jude that I played extra hard. Dex liked that, of course, because it made me ready to hang out until two in the morning. By the end of the night, though, my thoughts would be so consumed with Jude that I’d have to head home and jack off to my fantasies of him. But it didn’t help my concentration for shit to come into the shop sleep-deprived.
Still, it was better than being hungover like Dex. I usually attempted to cut him off at midnight, and it worked most nights, especially if I reminded him he had a job to keep. But when it didn’t, at least I was there to offer him a ride.
I sat listening to the water lapping at the shore before I walked the dogs back home and hightailed it over to my shift at Raw Ink. I greeted Jessie at the front desk, and she changed screens on the computer to pull up my schedule. Bennett threw me a quick wave, heading out the door, probably eager to get home to his fiancée, Avery. I sighed, wondering if I’d ever be able to find that sort of devotion from anybody.
A deep loneliness had taken root inside me, but I covered it up with an active schedule. I knew if I stopped long enough to contemplate it, I would realize just how lost and forlorn I really was. Like a boat unmoored from the harbor, I floated along, seeking comfort from the damned wind. And I would never acknowledge it, but the monotony was wearing me down with each passing day.
Dex strode up front to grab a fresh sketchpad from the supply drawer and broke me out of my thoughts. “You heading up to Zach’s again tonight?”
“Maybe.” I’d avoided the Hog’s Den the past few nights in an effort to steer clear of Jude. And since I didn’t want to take up Smoothie King Jonathan on his offer to hook up, heading to all the straight bars with Dex was the only option I had left.
“Why, you need a sidekick?”
“Always,” he said.
“Two drinks maximum.” I stifled a yawn. Dex shrugged and walked away.
“You realize you’re not helping, right?” Jessie said.
“You think he wouldn’t just head up there alone? At least I can keep him down to two. And hey, I could try to talk to him and figure out why he’s been going overboard. It wasn’t always like this.”
“Do you actually talk or just goof off the entire time?”
“Whatever,” I scoffed.
As Jessie flipped the screen toward me, I was startled to see Jude on my schedule today. Instead of obsessing about it, I forced it from my thoughts like I had all week, and focused on the workday ahead. So when Jessie called back for my next appointment of the afternoon, I was amazed how many hours had already flown by.
When Jude suddenly appeared at the door, I didn’t have time to process it any longer. “Come in.”
He set down his backpack and approached with wariness in his eyes, either from the work that was about to be done or from seeing me again. For certain, there was some kind of tension between us, but where it stemmed from…I hadn’t been able to put my finger on. However, now was not the time or place.
I showed him his tattoo on a larger scale on the transfer paper. His eyes grew wide, and I wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not. It was a close likeness to what he had drawn, but I had taken the liberty to add my own flair in the minute details.
“Do you approve?” My stomach unexpectedly tensed while I awaited his opinion, though I’d never doubted my work before. If there was one thing I was confident about in my life, it was my skills as an artist.
“Amazing.” One word. That was all he’d allowed.
And those three syllables worked their way beneath my layers and burrowed deep inside my gut. Fuck. That was one hard-earned acknowledgment.
“Thanks, man,” I said, breaking away from his gaze. I fin
ished prepping the machine and set out the color. Black. It was intimidating but suited the tree perfectly. I noticed how many of his other tattoos were also colorless, but I ruthlessly clamped down on my curiosity.
“Let’s get started. After you take off your shirt, I’ll have you lie down here.” I tapped the padded table, which looked similar to what you’d find in a massage parlor. I preferred my clients to recline in this position for back tattoos. “I’m sure you already know the drill.”
When I didn’t hear any noise, I looked over my shoulder, and that action seemed to snap him out of some spell. He stepped forward and lifted his shirt over his head. I couldn’t help staring. I didn’t know how many more opportunities I’d have.
After he lay facedown on my table, I took notice of the fine lines and nuances of his body beyond the scars. How his shoulders and biceps flexed, and how his shorts hung low enough that I could practically envision the lower half of him naked.
I swallowed roughly. I could not allow my mind to wander to how it would feel to touch that round, tight ass. Working with a painful hard-on for the next hour would be sheer torture.
“You comfortable?” I asked. “You’ll need to keep your arms in that same position above your head.”
When he nodded, I took the transfer sheet and meticulously applied it to the middle of his back, making sure to press down all the corners and straight edges. Jude’s head was facedown, resting on his hands, and he let out a breath. When I was satisfied that the paper had aligned as well as I could manage, I slowly peeled it back to reveal the framework of the tattoo.
“Do you want me to grab the hand mirror so you can see what the outline looks like?”
When he shook his head, it gave me the confidence to move forward. He was putting his trust in me, so I needed to keep myself focused.
Next I fired up the tattoo machine. “I’m going to get started. Let me know if you need a break.”
He nodded, then turned his head so that his cheek rested on his arm. He stared at the wall behind me, and I got to work. He winced a couple of times at the beginning, but just like most of my customers, he became accustomed to the discomfort of the needle.
It’s hard to describe what getting a tattoo feels like. It depends on the individual and the placement on the body. But I knew from experience that the middle to lower back was one of the most painful places to receive a tattoo, because it was bonier and contained less fatty tissue. Again, it varied depending on the person. But Jude was taking it like a champ, and besides, it couldn’t have hurt worse than the brutality that had caused the scars in the first place.
If I were to speculate, the round spots looked like burn marks of some sort. Maybe from a cigarette. Before a shudder could quake through me, I sealed those thoughts away, along with the other tragedies I was so good at ignoring in my life, and got myself in the zone.
I was hyperaware of Jude, but soon enough the tension disappeared as I lost myself in the work. Normally I’d ask the client questions throughout the procedure to pass the time, but that would be an impossible feat with Jude.
When I next glanced at his face, I realized he’d been watching me work. That was nothing new. Customers needed to keep their eyes directed somewhere, but somehow knowing Jude had been observing me made my stomach plant firmly in my throat. When our eyes met, he didn’t even try to look away.
He merely studied my appearance, from my eyes down to my lips and back up again. I wondered if it was because I wasn’t wearing my beanie today. I wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen me without it, come to think of it.
I knew I wasn’t a bad-looking guy, and I’d been told by both women and men that I was attractive. I kept trim and fit and made sure to groom the scruff along my chin, which was normally a dark brown that matched my hair, but could turn copper in the summer. Plenty of guys liked the feel of the beard against their faces, and I kept it buzzed enough that it was never messy-looking.
“You still doing okay?” I asked in a hoarse voice, and he nodded. His gaze, which had momentarily traveled down to my hands, now snapped back to my eyes.
Goddamn, his scrutiny was messing with my head.
To keep my nerves from jangling, I asked another question, even though I knew he might not respond. “Where did you get all your other ink?”
Just as I suspected, he didn’t reply, so I added, “In England?”
He shook his head. “Haven’t lived there since I was a teenager.”
Holy fuck that accent did something to me. My heart was suddenly pounding like crazy.
“Ah, got it,” I said, trying to keep my composure. “So you’ve been in the States since then?”
He didn’t answer, only looked at me.
“You know, if we’re going to be in this room for several more appointments, it might help pass the time if we actually engaged in a conversation.”
Again with the stare. So I attempted to read his eyes. He wasn’t angry or annoyed…but maybe slightly amused? Entertained by my lame-ass endeavor of trying to get him to talk. And that kind of ticked me off.
Why in the hell had he decided to pick me of all people to do his fucking ink if he clearly preferred to just sit in silence? He knew I jabbered away every other time I’d run into him.
Before I could clamp down on that thought, irritation boiled deep in my gut. “Why is talking so damned hard for you?”
His eyebrows shot together. I’d gotten a reaction from him. Good.
His gaze soldered to mine, and I nearly lost myself in its intensity.
“Why is silence so bloody hard for you?”
I nearly swallowed my tongue. Not only had he been paying attention, but now he sounded annoyed. Well, that made two of us. So I decided to go for honesty instead of asking him to get the fuck off my table and walk the hell out. Besides, what did I have to lose?
“Silence gives me too much time to think. And there are some things I just don’t want to think about.”
Again with the gaping, except his eyes had softened.
I’d just shared something with him. Something freaking big. Shit, my chest was constricting, in a viselike grip. I was so rattled by this guy, it was as if he was unscrambling me piece by piece. And the fucker wasn’t even going to engage me.
I lifted the machine again and got to work. He continued staring at me. And right then I decided: Screw it. Screw him.
But then I heard his low voice, so I moved the needle away from his skin to listen properly. “Obviously, we both have stuff to hide.”
I shut my eyes at that revelation. When I reopened them, he’d changed positions to stare at the opposite wall, and it felt like the sun had shifted away from me. I felt cold, strangely emotional, and nearly desperate to have his attention again.
Which was all kinds of fucked up.
I finished my work with a huge lump in my throat. Even my lame back was feeling the burn from my muscles remaining so tense.
“That’s enough for today,” I said after the biggest span of torturous silence I’d had to endure in a long while, outside of a few nights of insomnia.
He sat up and began pulling on his shirt.
I refused to look at him, which I knew was childish, and focused all my attention and energy on clearing the supplies in front of me. “Do you need the usual instructions about removing the bandage after a couple of hours and keeping the area clean so it can heal?”
“Nah, I’m all sorted,” he said in a strong, clear voice. “Thanks for your time.”
6
I headed to Gram’s house first thing in the morning to clean out her gutters and install a new dead bolt on her front door. I was pretty handy and was glad to do it, especially if it meant keeping her safe.
When I returned home after my shift at Raw Ink, Chopper was impatient, walking in circles around me, nudging at my hands. Even a good scratch behind the ears didn’t help him settle. Ace, on the other hand, was curled up on his dog bed in my room, perfectly content. He was used to having a day or two
off from walking every now and again, but it was as if Chopper would die of restlessness if he didn’t burn off some energy.
So I clipped on his leash and walked him about a mile along the bay, all the way to the kayak launch dock. Dusk was fast approaching, and the sun was beginning to set, reflecting like a halo off the water. I was tired and hot, and the idea of taking off my shoes and wading in the shallow end seemed pretty enticing.
As Chopper tugged his leash past a row of colorful kayaks, I threw off my sneakers and trudged closer to the edge. Chopper stuck his nose in the water and lapped at the cool liquid. Some dogs were terrified of water, but I was going to bet that if I had a stick to throw, Chopper would charge right after it. Hell, it might tire him out further.
But then he’d be all wet and we’d be a complete mess. Besides, what if I was wrong? What if he couldn’t swim? I sank my toes in the steady flow as it ebbed near the shore and felt instant relief. I bent at the waist, cupped my hands to scoop up some water, and then rubbed it along my neck.
When I straightened, my gaze landed on a pair of all-too-familiar toned legs standing atop a board, and the owner—none other than Jude York—had a long paddle and was propelling himself to shore. Behind him on the board were a cooler and a pole.
Jude fished from a paddleboard? This guy never ceased to amaze me.
I decided to hightail it out of there before he floated closer to the coastline and spotted us. I was still a bit overwhelmed from our last encounter and didn’t feel like getting frustrated all over again.
“Let’s go,” I muttered so as not to call attention to myself. Of course, Chopper was reluctant to leave and began twisting around my legs and whining.
I knew the moment he spotted Jude because he lunged into the water, dragging me forward with him. I fell on my knees in the shallow end and scratched the shit out of my shin along the rocks on the bottom of the lake. Damn, that stung. I could already tell I was bleeding. I had no control over the leash anymore, so before it cut the blood supply to my wrist or broke it cleanly in half, I let it go. I’d just swim out to get Chopper if I had to.
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