Enzo (Jinx Tattoos Book 1)

by Shyla Colt

  “Umm,” Noah hummed, clearly not buying what he was trying to sell. He had a sixth sense for bullshit that way.

  The bell chimed signaling a customer. Saved by the bell. Enzo walked over to greet his ten o’clock with thoughts of Aibhlinn dancing in his head. “Hey, Fiona, how are you today?” he greeted the thick girl with olive skin and dark wavy hair. Damn, I can’t even get away from Irish names today. He led her to the chair.

  “Good. I stopped breastfeeding Avalon about a month ago, so according to the doctor, we’re good to go,” she said, grinning.

  The proud first-time mother had been dying to get her baby’s footprints tatted on her back since she gave birth. He’d wanted to ensure it wouldn’t put her or her baby girl at risk, so they opted to wait until she finished breastfeeding. He took his craft seriously. It was about more than getting as many people in and out as fast as he could. He wanted his work to be a living piece of art they wore with pride. It should tell a story and be a conversation piece. He pushed himself to make each tattoo better than the one previous and completely customized to his canvas’ specs. “Right on. We still going with the original design?” he asked.

  “Yes. I’m in love with that one.”

  He smiled. He always suggested people sit on bigger designs before they came in to have them placed. “Good deal, let me pull it out of my file and get it onto transfer paper, and we’ll work on finding that perfect placement.” He patted her shoulder and moved back to the office to pull her manila folder. He’d done all the work for her husband, Mason, so when it was her turn for ink, they said coming to him was a no brainer. For that reason alone, he wanted to do her justice. He pulled the design and took a moment to refresh himself with the sketch. He turned the tiny footprints into the wings of a butterfly with Avalon’s name forming the body. Pleased, he began the preparation and focused his attention on the task at hand.

  The hum of the needle and the warmth of the canvas through his gloved hands put him in the white zone where nothing else mattered.

  Fiona was taking her ink like a champ, remaining still and staying Zen as she focused on the music coming out of the headphones she’d popped on just before he got started.

  He wiped down the tattoo and surveyed the color. Darkening a few more spots, he wiped it down once more. “We’re done, Fiona.”

  She lifted her head from the chair with a grin. “Can I see?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He shut down his gun, pushed away from her chair, and grabbed a hand mirror. “Here you go.”

  She stood, walked over to the full-length mirror, and turned this way and that, holding up the hand mirror. The teal colors contrasted well with her skin tone. It was a good-sized, solid first tattoo. “It’s amazing, Enzo,” she whispered.

  “You like it?”

  “I love i-it.” Her voice quavered. “It’s so her. You know, her middle name is Teal.”

  He smiled. “I did know that.” Seeing parents in love with their children did funny things to him. There was no greater gift you could give than unconditional love. The type that’ll have you out all hours of the night to bring home a wayward teen. The kind that had you working hard to provide, but making time to spend one-on-one. His parents showed him first hand that bond between parent and child was more than a fairytale. It was a slow, painful process, but eventually they’d come out on the other side. Thank God, they didn’t give up on my ass. Adoptions that late in life don’t happen every day. “Parenthood looks good on you and Mace.”

  “Thank you. I won’t say it’s not a lot of work, but that little girl is worth it.”

  He thought about what it would be like to procreate. To have a tiny part of you and someone you loved blended into a tiny being completely dependent on you for everything. He would never do shit half assed with a kid. It would be love, marriage, and then baby. He saw how fucked up things were when you did those things out of sequence. If he ever trusted a woman enough to want to have children, he would need the deep commitment of marriage. The very thought made him uncomfortable. That kind of vulnerability led to ruin. Therefore, he knew he would never be a father. Uncle is a second best, and that’s fine for me.

  “HOW WAS MOVIE NIGHT?” Silas asked as they sat at the Subway up the road from the shop. They’d chosen their usual booth in the back, which faced the front of the building so they could people watch.

  “Good. Drank too much, laughed my ass off, and passed out by eight, like I was an old man. Fun times.”

  Silas laughed.

  Heads turned. A small, dark-haired woman with a red dress stepped closer to her boyfriend.

  Enzo snickered. Sure, his brother had a gravelly voice, but he was harmless unless provoked. Not that anyone would believe that at first glance, given his six foot two, heavily muscled frame. He had a square jaw, and strong features that could easily paint him in the light of a hero or a villain. It’s a real bitch being shorter than my younger brother.

  “Aibhlinn get wasted, too? She’s a freaking riot when she’s had too much to drink,” Silas said with a chuckle.

  “Crazy ass is probably still passed out on the couch or in the guest room,” Enzo joked, shaking his head. He’d tucked a blanket around her prone body on the couch before he stumbled into the bed. She’d still been sleeping when he left the house at nine, and he let her. After the hellish hours she’d put in over the past few months, he knew she could use the sleep.

  “You love crazy chicks,” Silas said.

  “Yeah, in the sack. Because the next morning, they disappear like vampires.”

  “Jesus, brother. When are you going to let that shit go?” Silas asked.

  “Let what go, exactly?”

  “That anger. It’s what keeps you from committing to a woman.”

  Thank you, Dr. Phil. Enzo shoved his sandwich in his mouth to keep from delivering a terse retort. They had this argument a million times, and it never ended with either of them coming out on top. Silas was all about this accepting shit. He claimed to have made peace with his past. The truth was, Silas glazed over, and kept his history locked upright in a steel trap protected box.

  Enzo knew denial and avoidance when he saw it. One day, his brother was going to break and when he did, it would be bad. He exercised extreme control over everything. From the bills and paperwork of the shop to his schedule at work, and in the gym. His house was a pristine display of how well adjusted he was. He loved his siblings, but they were all different flavors of fucked up. They just happened to function within their crazy.

  They continued to eat in slightly strained silence.

  His phone chimed.

  Looking for some of your work to include in my upcoming show. ~ Colleen

  He smiled. Much like her daughter, Aibhlinn’s mother never stopped trying to get him to stretch his horizons. Over the years, she had moved from working full time as an art teacher, to working part time, and devoting herself to being in the studio. She’d created a local following for her paintings and sculptures that kept her busy. She always tried to get him and Ave to put their original pieces into her studio shows.

  I don’t have anything worth showing. ~ Enzo

  Bullshit. ~ Colleen

  He laughed.

  “What’s up?” Silas asked.

  “Ms. Leahy is after me for a piece for the show again.”

  “Dude, take her up on the offer. Last time your work sold well.”

  “Yeah. I might dig around and see what I have that I think is fit to show,” Enzo said.

  “You’re an amazing tattoo artist, Enz, but you have much more talent than that.”

  “Thanks, brother.”

  I’ll get back to you tonight once I look at my paintings at home. ~ Enzo

  You’d better. If not, I know where you live ;) ~ Colleen

  Amused, he couldn’t deny the fact that his spirits were lifted. Those Leahy women had a way of turning you inside out. What he craved was recognition. Something to prove to himself he was doing better than okay. After all t
he work he’d put in, he was ready to see results.

  Aibhlinn

  What did I say last night? Panic hit as she tried to recall the last few hours of her day with Enzo. Please tell me I didn’t make a fool of myself. They’d polished off a bottle of Scotch between them and moved on to beers. Which had her details fuzzy. Lose lips sink ships. She sucked down the black brew and tried to navigate through the cobwebs of her brain. Her body ached from a night on the couch after numerous hours parked at a drafting table over the past few weeks.

  Maybe Enzo was right, we’re getting old. The jolt of caffeine got her brain working and the night came back to her. She hadn’t revealed anything about her emotions, and toward the end, they’d both been silly and sleep deprived. Worth it. She smiled, vaguely recalling hearing Enzo leave earlier.

  She touched her forehead. Did he kiss me before he left? Butterflies flapped their tiny wings in her belly. What am I doing? Holding on to the scraps of affection and trying to turn them into grand gestures. They’d been locked in this non-romantic relationship for years, and they’d both gotten way too comfortable. His concerns about getting older weighed on her. In another month, she would turn thirty-five. It was time to ’fess up or move on. I’ll give it a month. This Christmas I’ll give myself happily ever after, or freedom for a fresh start.

  Satisfied with her plan, she pushed herself off the couch and walked to the kitchen. The green numbers on the microwave display read 12:00. I guess I needed the sleep. She poured herself a glass of water, drank it down, and moved to the guest room where she’d dumped her overnight bag the night before. A long, hot shower and she would be halfway toward human.

  She slowly navigated her way to his bathroom, blinking rapidly to clear the blur going on in her vision. Stiff-limbed and shuffling, she stopped outside the glass encasement feeling like a zombie. She adored his bathroom. It was the one room he’d completely gutted and re-did when he first moved in. He had a thing about showers.

  She often wondered about the events that made the basic act of showering difficult, but part of her didn’t want to know. The thought of Enzo so young and alone broke her heart. She loved the white on white, and the rainfall showerhead with six body sprays was on her ‘one day when I have my home’ list. Turning on the spray, she stripped down and stepped into the steamy water. Heaven.

  Dressed in a pair of low-slung jeans with a hole in the knee, a white button down, a black sweater, and an over-sized black and white scarf, she folded the blanket. She laid it across the back of the couch and grabbed her bag. She would love to linger, but she had a list a mile long to accomplish. She’d planned on finishing up a few paintings for her mother’s art show.

  Hitching the bag onto her shoulder, she left the house that felt just as much like home as her apartment. She stepped outside and frowned at the small blonde walking toward her.

  “Who are you?” the blonde snapped.

  Really? She’d seen the blonde hanging around the shop many times before. The little tart knew exactly who Aibhlinn was. “If you don’t know the answer to that, it shows how very unimportant you are. Do yourself a favor and avoid the extreme amount of embarrassment you’re about to cause.”

  She opened her collagen-enhanced lips and closed them fast. The mystery girl placed a hand on her boney hip and pursed her lips. “And you think you’re so special because ...”

  “Honey, I don’t have to think, I know. And so do you.”

  “Listen, you foreign bitch. You’re just another notch on his belt. We all want to land him. He’s a catch. Sitting out here playing bodyguard isn’t going to give you a leg up on the competition.”

  Was that how people saw Enzo? A walking wallet they hoped got addicted to their sex skills? The thought sickened her. Her stomach twirled. “You’re pathetic. If you want to live well, go out there and work for it, the same way everyone else does.”

  “Oh, don’t preach to me. Maybe if you ran on the treadmill more and your mouth less, you’d have him interested. He must really be hard up to lower his standards to you,” the blonde said with a sneer as she gave Aibhlinn an up and down glance.

  Aibhlinn scowled. “Silly little girl. You aren’t even in my league. I won’t lower myself by getting into a fight when I’ve already won. I don’t have to put out to get Enzo’s attention. I have it now, I had it years ago, and I’ll still have it when you’re nothing more than a blurry memory.” She closed and locked the door behind herself. “He’s not here for the record, but do please wait for him like a bitch eager to be petted by her master. Oh, wait ... You’re more like a stray, though, aren’t you, darling?” Aibhlinn said. She sashayed her way to her car without looking back.

  This is what Enzo wants. While I’m mooning over him, he’s dipping his wick in every girl who’ll spread her legs. Throwing the car into gear, she pulled out of the driveway, burning rubber as she roared up the street. The farther she got from the home, the more her emotions swelled. Her finger itched with the need to express herself. She’d never been one for words. Her tongue got tangled, and her thoughts raced too fast for her to put pen onto paper.

  She pulled into her parking space of her apartment and took a deep breath. The old building didn’t bring her any comfort, and the details she adored before barely registered. The ornate iron statue of the woman holding out a flower they’d turned into lights was a blur as she took the steps two in a time. She usually took time to admire the black, white, and grey marble slabs of stone they’d carved into stairs, and the handcrafted maple wood bannister. The wood felt smooth under her skin and the fresh smell of lemon used in the cleansing process of it met her nostrils like a silent welcome home. Even in her foul mood, her home charmed her.

  Entering her home, she dropped the bag at the door, hung her keys on the hook, and walked into the guest room where she stored her art supplies. She took the partially finished canvas and placed it in front of the large doors that lead out onto the balcony. The light that flooded in was amazing, and she adored the square glass trim that framed the dark wood panels. The detailed stained glass work featured green and red leaves on a vine that worked its way around the doors. She’d searched high and low before she found the perfect place for it.

  The canvas background was a grey landscape with tall trees. Their black leaves blotted out the cloudy storm. Inspired by her run-in, she picked up her palette then added red, black, and white. With her smock on and her vision clear, she began to add a woman in a red dress. When she mixed the red with black for the woman’s hair, she realized the woman was her. To represent her personal style, she added tennis shoes instead of high heels. A red umbrella formed over her head and she held the handle facing the dark form of a man who stood just outside the shelter of the umbrella. It was them ... in a nutshell. Caught in this lonely dance.

  They clung to one another, maybe because it was familiar and easy? There was a comfort forged over many years, situations, and revelations. He was her best friend. The one being she turned to when she was at her lowest and felt no one else could understand her. How long am I going to wait under the umbrella for him?

  The man was dense. If she wanted him to know how deep her feelings ran, she would have to be frank. The paintings. Excitement fueled her brush strokes as she put the finishing touches. This would be their story. What was and what could be—out there for all to see. She lost herself to her work as she poured all she had onto the canvas.

  SHE PAUSED OUTSIDE the small studio and admired the result of her mother’s hard work. Clover Gallery had been up and running for five years now. The tiny space was nestled between the boutiques and artsy shops. Painted black with a gold clover, and the name in gold Celtic style lettering on the front shop window, it had the feel of a pub from the outside. Leahys weren’t wallflowers. They went after the things they wanted.

  Her mother always told her, ‘it isn’t about how many times you failed, but that you continued to try until you succeeded or moved on to another dream’. She stepped inside and pause
d.

  A light brown haired man with a riot of curls and the beginnings of a beard stood at her mother’s desk in a white cable knit sweater and black slacks. “Hello, welcome to Clover.” His thick Irish accent took her by surprise.

  “Um ... hello.”

  “Ah, a fellow country man?” he asked, his brown orbs lighting up.

  She smiled, instantly charmed by his enthusiasm. “Aye, though I’m not sure if I can claim it, seeing as how it’s been so long since I lived there.”

  “Oh, once an Irish always an Irish. Whether you want to be or not.”

  She laughed.

  “What can I help you with today, Miss ...” He paused.

  “No miss, just Aibhlinn, and I was looking for my mum, Colleen.”

  “I should’ve known you were related, it seems looks run in the family,” he said slyly.

  She shook her head. “You’re a cheeky one.”

  “So I’ve been told. Your mum went out to grab lunch, but you’re more than welcome to wait here if you’d like.”

  “When did you join the staff? I haven’t seen you before.”

  “Oh, just a few weeks ago.”

  “And you know art?”

  “It’s me trade, so I’d hope so.”

  She arched an eyebrow. “Painter?”

  “Sculptor. Traditional means with clay, and new age with more unconventional materials. Which is really just a clever way of saying any bit of scraps I can get me hands on.”

  She giggled. “Do you have a name, mystery man?”

  “Oh, right rude, I’ve been.” He stuck out his hand. “Keir Gallagher.”