by T Gephart
“Did Dallas send you?” I folded my arms across my chest as I watched for a reaction.
This had him written all over it. He probably fucked this poor girl and like the others, she’d gotten attached. Not sure why they didn’t see him for the crotch hound that he was. Instead they worshiped the ground he walked on. Until the one day when they suddenly woke up and had a freaking revelation. Then it usually turned ugly.
And if I were a betting man I’d assume that my good friend with questionable morals had seen doe-eyed Eve and figured he might as well use it to his benefit. To illustrate his point that we needed another artist, sending me the least suitable candidate and hoping it would prompt a reaction. More creative than I gave him credit for, and had she dressed more appropriately—the fancy dress a dead giveaway—he might have had me. Although Lord knows what a woman like her was doing with him, she was waaaaay out of his league.
“Dallas?” She scrunched her brows in confusion. “I don’t know Dallas.”
Well, she was convincing, I’d give her that. Her eyes didn’t cut away and there was no glancing at the floor. And when I mentioned his name there wasn’t the usual pinking of the cheeks that came from a girl who had been there.
“Okay then.” I decided I’d play along, curious to see if she was an award winning actress or something else. And as my two o’clock had walked—albeit assisted by the woman in front of me—it meant I had a couple of hours free. “So you’re an artist, huh?” I gave her a warm smile to give her the illusion I was buying it. “Did you bring your sketch books? Some photos of your past work.”
“No. I didn’t think of that.” She grimaced. “Shit.”
The word, while unexpected, looked incredibly natural coming from those pink perky lips. She might not look like someone who cussed, but I had feeling she probably wasn’t as prim and proper as she appeared. I’d be lying if the thought didn’t excite me a little.
“Should I have brought them?” Her whiskey eyes flashed slightly in panic. “I thought we would just talk first, get to know each other.”
Dallas hadn’t come out of his room at all. Which was usual when he worked with his headphones on. He also didn’t have a great sense of time. So it was plausible if he’d been in on it, he’d forgotten, had his head buried and missed her arrival. Still, his lack of appearance was a head scratcher.
And fuck me, but I still hadn’t worked her out.
“Yeah, we can do that if you like, I’m happy to chat.” Talking to a beautiful woman was never a hardship even if it turned out to be bullshit. “I just wanted to get a feel for your style.” Or the lack of it. “But that’s cool, we can get to the show and tell a little later.” Or not, because I wasn’t sure how much longer this was going to play out.
“I didn’t even think to bring it.” Her hand tapped her head adorably as she shook it, genuinely apologetic. “My mind has been a little scrambled the last few days. I’m really sorry, I should have been more organized.”
There was something that flashed through her eyes—hurt, regret, maybe sadness? The smile slipped a little too and I got the feeling she didn’t like disappointing people. Weird considering I was a nobody to her.
“I can go get it,” she offered when I didn’t answer right away.
Great, now I felt bad.
As a rule of thumb I didn’t like to be an asshole, especially when it hadn’t been warranted. And other than wasting my time—Matt had been paid, but I hadn’t—Eve really hadn’t done anything wrong.
“No, you don’t need to do that.”
I wasn’t ecstatic she’d paid off a customer but he’d been the dumbass who took the cash. He could have argued, but he didn’t. Probably thinking he’d hit the lottery being paid to bail by a beautiful woman.
And had he stayed like he was supposed to, he probably would have passed out in my chair like she’d suggested.
So, apart from being stunning, she was also pretty perceptive, which was weird considering her taste in men. That was assuming I was right about her and Dallas, which at this point still seemed likely. I seriously doubted the tattoo fairy dropped her on my doorstep, as much as I would have loved that scenario.
“I do have one.” She cut her eyes to mine, like she was trying to convince me she wasn’t lying.
“Like I said, no problem. We’ll get to it later.” I tried to reassure her with a smile as I pointed to the back of the shop. “Why don’t we go back to my room where we can talk more comfortably?”
“Sure, that sounds great.” She nodded, big enthusiastic smile following.
And that smile was contagious, one of my own making an appearance as I extended my arm and directed her down the hall. My mood improved for a few different reasons.
For one, Dallas was going to be annoyed as fuck when his dumbass trick backfired.
And now that I had remembered my manners, I was curious as fuck about this woman.
Not to mention, I also had an unexpected itch to see if she knew what to do with a machine in her hand, the thought alone was sexy as hell. Not going to lie, if she was in fact the real deal, I’d be very surprised and very much aroused.
The view was pretty spectacular as I followed her down the hall, her heels echoing off the floor as we walked to my room.
It was hard not to notice those legs and just how freaking awesome her ass was. The dress she wore clung to every curve of her body like an advertisement for all the best parts. And no matter how much I told my eyes not to look, they ignored me and stayed exactly where they wanted.
Get it together, dipshit.
My head was not in the game as I followed the soft sway of her hips.
I could not go there.
Besides, whatever her reason for being here was, I didn’t take Dallas’s hand-me-downs. So asking her out on date wasn’t going to be an option. And that, my friends, was a crying fucking shame.
She stopped short when she got to the open door of my room, waiting for me to nod and give her the okay before she stepped through. It seemed both of us were now using our manners. And didn’t that just make her even more attractive.
My room wasn’t huge, but had two very distinct parts. Having it set up that way made it easier to operate.
The first section, and by far the largest, was where I did most of my work. It had a massive hydraulic chair that could tilt into a bed so I could tattoo whatever part I needed at varying angles comfortably. Right beside it, my various machines were already set up, covered and ready to go. As were the little pots of color on the workbench assembled along the wall. After all, I had been expecting to get some ink in skin today so I’d already taken care of the prep.
But her long sexy legs waltzed right past all of that to where I had my drafting desk, stopping once she got there and surveying the paper covering most of it.
“Wow, is this what you’ve been working on?” She picked up the stencil of the Koi that had been destined for Matt’s forearm. “In the traditional Japanese style too.” She looked at the colored sketch beside it. “It’s very beautiful.”
“Thanks.” I closed the door behind me, not sure why the sudden need to have this conversation in private. Maybe it was to make it last a little longer, which didn’t make sense considering it was all probably a joke.
She didn’t pay any attention or concern to the closed door, her thoughts apparently on the sketch.
Ironically, she seemed to genuinely admire the work, which I didn’t expect. And just like any guy, I didn’t mind my ego stroked every once in a while.
“It was for Matt. You know, the guy you paid two hundred dollars to.” I couldn’t help reminding her of how she’d got back here in the first place.
“Really? He was going to get Koi?” She grimaced. “I would have pegged him more a I heart Mom kind of guy. Or I don’t know.” She tapped her chin deep in thought. “Maybe a tribal band or something. Huh, I guess you just never can tell.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Her measure on Matt had been dead on.
He’d originally come in looking for some abstract, heavily saturated tribal pattern on his arm and it wasn’t until he saw some of my color stuff that he’d considered a Koi.
“Yeah, you never can tell.” I chuckled, the tension easing out of the room a little. “Sit down, Eve.” My head tipped to the stool behind her while I rolled over another.
She lowered her ass onto the stool as her eyes roamed restlessly across the walls where pictures of some of my previous work hung. She paused over each piece, like she was cataloguing it before realizing we were sitting in silence and looked back at me.
Funnily enough, I had my own distraction so the silence wasn’t awkward, and I’d have happily sat there a little longer just looking if she needed a minute or two.
“So this is probably weird, right?” She eyed me cautiously, and if I had to guess I would say she was starting to lose her nerve. “Honestly, I’d like to say this is out of character for me, but I’d be lying. When I want something bad enough, I just go out and get it.”
Not what I was expecting her to say, her statement confusing me a little. Was she genuinely looking for a job, or was the thing she wanted bad enough the moron a door down from me?
“Yeah, I’ll admit.” My hand rubbed the back of my neck. “I get artists who stop by from time to time, but they aren’t so . . .” Beautiful. Is what I wanted to say. “Structured.” Is what I went with.
“Oh, I know I look that way, but I am not uptight at all.” She waved her hand casually in an effort to convince me. “I’m not. I’m as loose as they come.”
Uh-hm. A cough made its way up my throat and I bit my lip trying to not to smirk at her choice of words.
“I don’t mean like that,” she mused sarcastically, my effort failing as she realized what she’d said. “Relaxed. I’m as relaxed as they come,” she amended, her eyes not showing any embarrassment.
“Well that’s good, it’s important to be relaxed,” I used her word, “especially when you’re working. Emotion translates into the piece so you need to think about what you’re trying to say. You want the art to show the mood, if you’re holding back, it shows.”
No idea why I felt the need to spill that, but I did. Maybe because I didn’t get the opportunity to talk about it enough and seriously, what did I have to lose. Or maybe I was more like Dallas than I thought, easily getting distracted by a sexy woman.
“That’s why your work is so beautiful.” Those whiskey eyes looked at me with such hope.
“Thanks, but I thought we were going to be talking about you.” I grinned. And as much as I enjoyed the admiration, I’d rather hear about the mystery that was Eve.
“Yeah, I know. Well, what can I say. I’ve been drawing in one way or another . . .” She paused, taking a deep breath, her perfect tits heaving up and down as I tried unsuccessfully not to notice. “For as long as I can remember. Art has been my life. I don’t know anything else. And yeah, I get it.” She laughed, her hands jazzing either side of her. “People see me—the outside anyway—and assume that I will cry or something if I chip a nail. But seriously, that’s not me, I’m not that precious.”
Maybe I had been completely wrong about her.
After all, I was no stranger to assumptions. In the past, people had seen me and my tattoos and expected me to either start a fight or steal their car. Not sure why ink equaled felon, but it was bullshit. I paid my taxes, was a business owner and the only fights I generally started were with the copy machine when it ate my transfer paper.
But I guess I’d made a similar assumption about her, only in reverse. Assuming that because of the way she looked, she couldn’t be one of us.
Guess I was more of a judgmental asshole than I thought. Even after I’d told myself not to be.
“So, what do you like to draw?” It came out of my mouth as I continued to curse myself out. “What things do you most gravitate to?”
“That’s just it.” She shrugged, a small laugh bubbling up her throat. “I love portraits, as much as I love flowers. Abstracts, as much as that Botticelli you did. There isn’t a style that I feel most comfortable with, and as long as my hand keeps moving, I’m happy.” She laughed again, louder this time. “I know, I sound ridiculous, and I probably am but I can’t think of anything else I’d want to do. Conventional jobs? They just aren’t for me.”
Her words struck a nerve, stirring the same sentiment up in me. I’d been inking my own skin with black markers for as long as I could remember. And while other kids played with blocks, I was happier scribbling on paper. There wasn’t a chance I’d walk away from my shop and do something else. Fuck, I couldn’t even imagine another scenario.
“Okay, here’s a radical idea.” More like insane but hey, it was a crazy afternoon so what the hell. Plus, this would solve the mystery about whether this was Dallas’s handy work or if this girl was for real. “Why don’t you show me something.”
Without giving it much more thought, I rose off my stool and walked to the chair. She watched me curiously as I turned and settled in, letting my arms hang loose on the armrest. “You feel confident doing the Koi on my forearm?”
I figured she could squeeze it in on the left inner side and the stencil was already done. It would be a good test in shading, and we’d be able to see how clean her line work was. Like a job interview on steroids, and it had been a while since I’d added anything new to my arm, so why not now. If she choked and screwed up the outline, I’d stop her before she got to the color. And if shit looked too jacked up, Dallas was pretty decent at a cover up. I mean, how terrible could it be? She said she’d been doing this for a while so she had to have the basics down. She sure sounded like she knew what she was doing; the passion was definitely there.
“What?” Her eyes got wide as she looked at me in the chair. “What are you talking about? I can’t tattoo you.”
I got that she was nervous. First time I’d tattooed my boss I’d had to take a shot of tequila just to even out. But lucky for her I wasn’t a mean son of a bitch like Big Gus.
“Sure you can. I assure you, I can handle it,” I laughed. The buzz of the needle was almost a turn on. “Grab the stencil and roll on over.”
She looked at the transfer paper and then back to me, obviously giving it some consideration as she looked at the bench where everything was set up and ready to go.
“You really think it’s a good idea?” She reached over and grabbed the paper and rolled over toward me. “I’m nervous, what if my hand shakes?”
“Yeah, that isn’t cool.” I laughed, slightly worried my bright idea wasn’t as good as I first thought. “Center yourself, take a few deep breaths and then start. Get the outline done. You can go slow but be confident, and if at anytime you’re not feeling it, we can stop.”
Her eyes shot up to me and I had a fairly good clue I knew what she was thinking.
And yeah, it was sort of like sex.
You had to put a lot of trust in the person on the other side, and respect needed to go both ways in case someone needed to tap out.
“Gloves are behind you.” I tipped my chin to the stack of boxes, not sure if I had any in small.
“Okay,” she said more to herself as she took a deep breath. “Okay.” She spun around and grabbed a pair of nitrile gloves. “I can do this.”
I’ll be honest, her pep talk wasn’t making me feel warm and fuzzy with confidence. If she was saying that out loud, who knows what she wasn’t saying.
This was probably not one of my best ideas, stupidly getting caught up in the moment.
“Maybe—” I didn’t get to finish the sentence, saved by a knock at my door.
“Yo, sorry to interrupt—” It seemed Dallas also wasn’t able to finish his sentence as he looked at Eve and then back to me. “What the fuck?” He reared back in surprise.
“Hi, I’m Eve.” She waved her gloved hand, her attempt at a smile making her face tight.
Well then.
I guess he hadn’t sent her.
Ev
e
I HAD NO IDEA WHAT I WAS thinking.
Never in my life had I even contemplated drawing on someone let alone permanently etching something into their skin. It was insanity. And I blamed my current state of mind.
Kitty had said Josh Logan was gorgeous.
Her description was tall, athletic and covered in exquisite wearable art.
With jet-black hair that was cropped short except for the top which he wore longer and combed back. Sort of like Elvis, but a thousand times hotter, and without the retro clothes.
So, I had been mentally prepared for a decent looking guy. But I had just shipped off all of Oliver’s stuff and scruffy guys with tattoos weren’t really my thing. Besides, I was here for a purpose, and that was not to get a date. I was a professional and this was New York, and gorgeous men were everywhere. It’s not like I was a bag of hormones incapable of using her head.
Yet all it took was a single freaking smile.
How it was even possible was beyond me, but Kitty severely understated.
Josh Logan was well over six-foot and built like a South American soccer player. You know the kind—hot, toned, and looked fabulous in their underwear on the side of a building. Sadly, Josh was wearing clothes—a fantastic pair of jeans and a black fitted T-shirt that hugged his arms and chest so lovingly it needed a standing ovation.
And those eyes? Wowzas. Perfect cerulean blue.
Tattoo Jesus was freaking HOT.
And another thing, his tattoos were insane. Each perfectly toned arm was covered in intricate designs that went all the way up into his sleeves where they were tragically hidden by his T-shirt. Then the color reappeared, snaking up his neckline. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to lick his skin or hang it on a wall. Oh, that sounded bad. Yeah. Hanging it on the wall sounded creepy. Licking. Licking was better.
I had been a locked vault. Kept it together and pretended he wasn’t the hottest man I’d seen. I’d even managed to carry on a conversation, completely hiding the fact my panties had disintegrated the minute he’d walked into the room. That, my friends, was where the real talent was.