For being a week into her apprenticeship, she's doing fucking amazing.
Most people don't touch a gun for months. They don't start tattooing clients for a year or so. And then there's a year of doing shitty simple stuff for free before they're anywhere near good enough to charge.
I find something that will be easy for her to do. Well, easier. "Then a five point-star."
She drops to her knees. Her jaw drops. Her eyes go wide.
She isn't here to suck me off.
But the thought burns into my brain.
God, that smart mouth of hers…
What is it about the way she looks at me?
It's fucking irresistible.
She presses her lips together. "Did you draw it out?"
"You need me to draw a five-point star?"
"Some people are specific."
"No. Go ahead. Make a stencil."
"I will." Her voice wavers. "I'm going to do it."
"Good."
She rises to her feet. Presses her gloved hands together. "Are you really—"
"Yeah?"
Her knees bump mine as she moves closer. It's not a sexual thing. She's examining me the way Ryan does. Picking apart my intentions. Looking for meaning.
"I hate to disappoint, but there's no secret to my psyche." I tap my head. "This is empty."
She shakes her head.
"It's not."
"Beer and boobs."
Fuck, she really does warm my heart. "If only I had the wit for that kind of poetry."
"Uh-huh." She takes a step backward. Turns on her heels. Moves to the office with shaky steps.
She's terrified, but she's putting up a good front.
I do the odds in my head—two to three. She's working up all the confidence she can, but she isn't there yet.
She isn't going through with it.
Which means…
Tomorrow is gonna be a hell of a lot more fun.
A few minutes later, she returns with the stencil. "Should I tape it to your leg?"
"Should you?"
"No. I should clean you up first."
"You wore your gloves to do a bunch of shit."
"Okay, I'll change my gloves."
"Tape the stencil first. Let's see it."
"Okay."
"Gloves off."
"Fine." She peels the gloves off and tosses them on the tray. Picks up the medical tape.
Slowly, she drops to her knees. Bends.
Her fingers brush my leg as she presses the stencil to my skin.
She pulls tape over the top.
Then the bottom.
Her fingers curl into my skin. "Is that how you want it?"
Fuck yeah. "You have to shave it first."
"There's no hair in this spot. Look."
She's right. Clever.
I chuckle. "All right. Wash up again then grab the gun."
She tears the stencil off, ripping out a handful of leg hairs.
"Fuck. Careful with that thing."
"Sorry." She pushes herself to her feet and sets the stencil on the tray. "I have to clean you up first."
"Do it."
She raises a brow. Taps her toes into the ground. Confusion flares in her eyes. She has no idea what to make of me. "Is this a dare?"
"No. It's an order." I am her boss. I'm responsible for teaching her. A quarter responsible, but that's still a fucking lot.
"Shouldn't I get some experience."
"How else are you gonna get it?"
"Grapefruits."
"You've never?"
"Never."
Fuck, maybe this is a dare. I should have her do a hundred bananas before I let her anywhere near skin. But I've come this far. I'm not backing down now. "I'm your teacher. If I don't trust you to do me, how can I ask anyone to trust you?"
Her eyes fix on mine.
"Yeah?"
"You're being reasonable."
No. I'm being stubborn. And impulsive. But I guess, for me, that's reasonable. "I'm always reasonable."
"Uh-huh." She moves to the sink. Washes up. Returns with fresh gloves and an I can do anything look on her face.
"Pick up the gun."
She does.
"You know how to turn it on?"
"Yeah."
"Do it."
She yelps as it buzzes against her hand.
"New pad of ink behind you."
"You sanitized the needle?"
"Yeah."
She turns it off. Swallows hard. "I have to clean you up."
I motion to the rubbing alcohol on the tray.
"Right." She stares at the plain package. Slowly, she brings her gaze to me.
She searches my eyes for an excuse to get out of this. "You, um, you won't be able to go in open water for three weeks."
"And?"
"Won't that get in the way of your swimming?"
"Yeah." Damn, that's creative. "I'll live."
"When did you last hit the pool?"
"Last week."
"The beach?"
"It's been a while."
"It's still September. Still nice. I can't take you away from the beach."
"You can."
She shakes her head. "You should say goodbye to it."
My smile spreads over my cheeks. She's right where I want her. "All right. We'll wait until I say goodbye to the beach."
"Good."
"If you come with me."
She bites her lip.
"Two choices. You tattoo a star on my ankle. Or you show up at my apartment in a bikini first thing tomorrow."
"I don't wear a bikini."
"You want to go commando under your wet suit, I won't stop you."
"No, I—" She clears her throat.
"You want to skinny dip? My parents are in town, but I'm sure I can get them out of the house."
"I'm not getting naked at your parents' house."
"You're the one opposed to bikinis."
"You have heard of one-pieces?"
"Like the anime?"
"No." Her laugh breaks up the tension in her jaw. "But you… you watch anime?"
"Sometimes."
"That… seems wrong."
"Why? What about me says I don't watch anime?"
"Everything. You look like the quarterback who sleeps with the cheerleader."
I motion to the tattoo on my forearm.
"All right. The bad boy who steals the cheerleader from the quarterback."
"That might have happened."
"I remember. He was devastated. Then you dumped her and she was devastated when he wouldn't take her back."
"Nobody wants to be second choice."
"What anime do you watch?"
"Chloe, do the ink or put the gun down. Two choices."
"I'm not wearing a bikini."
"You are getting in the water."
"You aren't—"
"Yeah, I am. And if you want to work here, you're gonna listen to me."
"But you—"
"Call me a dick face all you want. Tell me you hate my guts. Insult my sexual prowess. I don't care. We both know the truth about the latter."
She bites her lip.
"Your choice, Chloe. The board or the gun. What's it gonna be?"
Chapter Nine
Dean
At eight on the dot, Chloe knocks on my door.
It's easy to tell it's her. Her knocks are heavy. Like the door did her some wrong.
No. It's not the door. It's me.
I did her wrong.
Because I'm pushing her now? Because of high school? Because she straight up hates my guts?
I'm not sure.
But I do know one thing:
Nobody can talk Chloe into something she doesn't want to do.
If she's here, it's because some part of her wants to be here.
I pull the door open with a smile. "Hey."
"Hey." She taps her black sandals together. It's bizarre, Chloe in her don't fuck with me black outfit
"You have other shoes."
"I do."
"I wasn't sure."
"You wore Vans every day this week. Why is that less interesting than my combat boots?"
"The high hit eighty every day."
"It's thirty below zero in the shop. What is your electricity bill to keep the air-conditioning that high?"
I chuckle. "A lot."
"Our customers are taking off their clothes. Aren't they cold?"
"You ever go to a tattoo shop without AC?"
"Yeah."
"You ever go back?"
She shakes her head.
"Bet it smelled like old combat boots."
"Yeah, but not mine. My boots smell like flowers."
"Fifty bucks says otherwise."
"Sure. We'll check Monday." She offers her hand to shake. Deal?
I love a bet. Even one where I have absolutely no chance of winning. I take her hand. "Deal."
She shakes. Pulls her hand to her side. Slides it into the pocket of her skinny jeans. They're black. As is her tank top. And the halter straps under it.
There's something on her forearm. Something that wasn't there yesterday.
Meat is Murder in all black.
Fuck, that's commitment to getting her way. "That isn't—"
"Sharpie." She holds it up. "Why? Does it suit me?"
"Yeah."
"I feel like that's an insult."
It isn't. She has principles. I have my own, but they don't ask me to sacrifice anything. They don't put me at odds with the majority of the people I meet. They're nothing like hers.
She looks up at me with a curious stare. Looking for a deeper meaning.
There isn't one.
That's what everyone thinks.
I'm the fucking court jester.
The easily placated idiot.
I know my role. Most of the time, I savor it. Keeping shit light is easier. Safer. Infinitely more comfortable.
I pull the door open. "You want a drink?"
"It's a little early for that."
"Caffeine."
Her gaze moves over the blue couch, the bookshelf overflowing with DVDs and video games, the bare walls. "What do you have?"
"I keep coffee here for Ryan."
"For Ryan, huh?"
I can't help but laugh. "Ryan is one of the people who drinks it."
"Uh-huh."
"I have tea too."
Her eyes perk. Her tongue slides over her lips. She shakes it off. Shifts back to neutral. "You drink tea?"
"Something wrong with that?"
"No, it's just…"
"I can't watch anime. I can't drink tea. Anything else Chloe Lee insists I can't do?"
"Be serious for more than three minutes at a time."
She might be right about that.
She steps inside. Presses the door closed behind her. So, it's just the two of us in my six hundred square foot apartment.
Fuck, usually this place feels plenty big.
But knowing I can't touch her?
"What tea do you have?"
"Everything."
"Really?"
"Really."
"Golden Needle?"
"Yeah." No. But she's bluffing. I can bluff back. I'm not a Philistine. I know tea. Even if I'm lacking that particular rare tea.
"Gyokuro."
"Of course."
"Of course?"
I nod.
Incredulity spreads over her expression. "Of course, you have a rare tea that most people have never heard of?"
I nod.
"You're so full of shit."
I shrug. Maybe I am, maybe I'm not.
"Show me."
I pull the door open wider. "You don't need an excuse to come in."
"You already invited me inside." Her shoulder brushes my chest as she steps inside. Then it's her ass against my hip.
Her fingers curl into her jeans.
It's doing something to her, touching me.
Fuck, it's doing something to me.
I want to tear off those tight jeans and dive between her legs.
I want her groaning my name like I'm the center of her universe.
Like I'm the only thing she needs.
Her sandals pad the carpet. They squeak against the kitchen's beige tile.
She looks around the room curiously. "This is so… not you." Her shoulders rise to her ears as she stares up at the high cabinets.
She's way too short for this kitchen.
She looks adorable. Like a kid trying to sneak a cookie from the jar on top of the fridge.
"Tea's in the drawer on the right of the fridge."
She turns so her back is facing me. But I can still tell she's frowning. It's in her posture.
Then it's not.
She reaches for the drawer. Just taps the bottom.
She does it on her tiptoes. Still barely makes it.
"You need some help?" I offer.
"No, I've got it." She hoists herself onto the counter. Settles on her knees. Her tank top pulls up her lower back as she opens the cabinet. "I knew it."
"That I'd appreciate the view?"
She clears her throat. "You don't have Golden Needle."
"Do you even want Golden Needle?"
"No, but I—"
"You don't have to prove you're smarter than me. I concede that point."
"I just—"
"What do you want to drink?"
"Earl Grey."
Of course.
She grabs the tin of tea. Climbs down from the counter. Her lips curl into a frown as she takes in my expression. "You're a know it all."
"How's that?"
"Your smirk. It's not attractive."
"Thanks, Mom. I guess it is true you attract more flies with honey than vinegar."
She groans. "I just…" She grabs the electric kettle. Fills it with water and turns it on. "Did you invite me out to torture me?"
"Yeah." That's a part of it. A huge part.
"Why is it you love pushing my buttons?"
"'Cause it's fun."
"Is that your entire life, doing what's fun?"
Kinda, yeah. I try to keep it that way. Even when it starts to feel empty.
Those phases hit. But I always push past them. Get to the other side. To where the empty feeling is gone and it's just fun again.
I move into the kitchen. Grab cups from the cabinet behind her. Turn and hand them to her.
It's weird, having her here.
Not like with other women. There's always a purpose to that. An I'm not gonna send you home hungry after last night.
I'm in character.
But this?
This is domestic.
Like my parents sitting to their Sunday afternoon coffees.
And that—
Fuck that.
"Thanks." She sets them on the counter.
"Sure thing."
She turns back to the counter. Watches the water steam. Pours it into the mugs, one at a time. "You have honey?"
"Yeah. Stay there." I reach for the high cabinet, but I'm too far away. I move closer. Until my crotch brushes her ass. And her back brushes my chest.
Fuck, she's tiny. Her head is barely at my shoulders.
My arm brushes her side as I reach for the honey.
I set it on the counter. Step backward. But releasing her does nothing to send blood back to my brain. "Spoons are in the drawer in front of you."
"Thanks." Her ass brushes my crotch as she bends to pull it open. She grabs two spoons. "How do you like it?"
I drop into something comfortable. Teasing her. "Rough."
Her breath catches in her throat, but her sigh isn't one of desire. It's irritation. "Are you actively trying to get a rise out of me?"
"Maybe."
"You weren't…" She squeezes honey onto the spoon and stirs. "Why is it I can't tell when you're fucking with me?"
"Faith in me, I guess."
"No."
"That's the thing, Dean. You're not. You're an okay guy sometimes."
"I'll take your word for it."
She turns to me. Stares up into my eyes. She must find something, because she nods knowingly. "How do you take your tea?"
"Hot and sweet."
"Same way you take your women?" she deadpans.
"That's a good one. I'll have to add it to my repertoire."
"It's really not."
It's really not. But it's cute that she's trying. She's mocking me, yeah, but she's stooping to my level to do it.
"How sweet?" she asks.
"Enough to taste it." I place my body behind hers. Revel in the way her breath catches in her throat.
She wants me. She's not good at hiding it.
I want her.
It should be easy. Simple.
But it's not.
This, teaching her, is important. It matters. I'm not fucking it up.
"Tell me when." She squeezes honey onto a spoon. The amber liquid spirals over the silver.
"When."
She slides the spoon into the tea. Stirs. "Here." Her ass brushes against me as she turns. There's no space between us. We're right there.
Inches from touching, kissing, fucking on that countertop.
She hands the mug to me.
I step backward. Release her.
But her expression isn't relief. It's like all the heat is leaving her body. Back to Icy Chloe.
The kitchen table is close. I take a seat. Motion come here.
She stays put. "Shouldn't we head out?"
"You make this tea just to toss it?"
She nods fair enough. Takes a long sip. Lets out a soft moan. "This is good."
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know." Her dark eyes find mine. "Your walls are bare."
Yeah, they are. They've been that way for a while. "And?"
"Why?" She moves into the main room. "You can't see any of the white in my bedroom. It's wall-to-wall art."
"Your art?"
"One wall. The rest is other artists. Magazine tear outs. Posters."
"Anyone hot?"
"No." She laughs. "Movie posters."
"Fight Club?"
Her brow scrunches with confusion. "Why Fight Club?"
"It just suits you."
"I thought maybe it was shirtless Brad Pitt."
"Can't object to that."
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"You're not going to start bragging about how you resemble Mr. Pitt?"
"In his dreams he's even close to as hot as I am."
"Uh-huh."
I nod. "Why? You see a resemblance?"
"A little." She takes a long sip of her tea. Lets out a soft sigh. With her next sip, she moves closer. She crosses the distance between us until she's standing in front of the table. "My posters are all old movies. Classics. The ones I used to watch with my mom."
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