She's Got It Bad

by Sarah Mayberry

  “I trust you,” he said.

  She snorted. “There’s your first mistake. Never trust anyone, Liam. You should know that by now.”

  She pulled on fresh gloves, poured ink and prepped his belly with alcohol before applying the spirit transfer to his skin. Clear purple lines were left behind when she peeled off the transfer.

  She smoothed Vaseline over the top to keep his skin lubricated while she worked. Then she reached for her tattoo gun.

  Her hand was shaking. Her hands never shook when she worked. Ever. She could feel Liam watching her. She met his eyes.

  “Now’s the time to back out,” she said.

  “I trust you,” he said again.

  She shook her head and pressed the foot pedal to turn the machine on. Then she placed a hand on his warm, firm belly and held his skin taut while she pressed the needle into his body.

  He didn’t tense or flinch like some people. He simply lay there, utterly relaxed, watching her. He waited until she had completed the initial outline before speaking again.

  “What can we talk about, then?” he asked. “Tell me what’s not out of bounds.”

  She kept her eyes on her work. She was acutely aware of him, more so than she’d ever been with any other client. The warm soapy smell of him, the muscles beneath his skin, the occasional brush of his pubic hair against her forearm as she shifted around.

  “The weather. Football. The state of the economy. Pick a topic,” she said.

  “What about your work? Can we talk about that?”

  She shrugged and kept working.

  “Are you any good?” he asked.

  “Fine time to ask me that,” she scoffed. She lifted the needle from his skin as his belly flexed with laughter.

  “I already know you’re good. You never did anything by halves,” he said. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

  She used some paper towel to wipe ink away and took a moment to scan the design. It was coming along well.

  “You think I have an ego problem?” she asked. “You think I need some positive reinforcement, is that it?”

  She glanced up at him and got caught for a moment in his deep brown eyes.

  “I don’t think your ego is the problem, but something is.”

  She smiled as she sat back and stretched out her lower back.

  “There’s Dudley Do-Right. I was wondering when he’d rear his ugly head. Give it up, Liam. I don’t need to be fixed.”

  “You’re not happy,” he said.

  Her hand clenched around the tattoo machine.

  “And you are?”

  He shrugged. “This isn’t about me.”

  “I see. You can dish it but you can’t take it.”

  “Sorry to interrupt the love-in,” Jake said from the doorway. She looked up to see him standing with his jacket in hand. “I’ve locked up the front. See you tomorrow. On time, okay?”

  She rolled her eyes. He waved to Liam, then he was gone.

  Leaving them alone.

  Instantly the tension that had been humming quietly between them took on new life.

  “I’m just going to change needles. You need to use the bathroom or anything?”

  “I’m good.”

  She watched out of the corner of her eye as he shifted his hips. She flushed hot as a memory hit her from last night—the bone-jarring strength of him as he thrust into her, over and over.

  She dropped the needle pack she’d just opened and swore.

  “Problem?”

  “No,” she said.

  She grabbed another sterile needle pack and loaded up a five mag to shade his tattoo. She sprayed him down with alcohol again, put on fresh gloves and met his eyes for the first time in five minutes.

  “Ready to go again?”

  “Whenever you are.”

  For the next hour she brought Liam’s tattoo to life, using various shades of black to shadow and enhance the design. He remained silent throughout, but she was aware of him watching her, studying her face, her hands, her body.

  Finally she sat back and wiped his tattoo one last time.

  “Done.”

  “Can I look?”

  She passed him a hand mirror and he inspected the tattoo.

  “Yeah.” He nodded approvingly. “Like you said, the blackwork really makes it pop.”

  Warmth filled her cheeks. Great, now she was flattered that he liked her work. Next she’d be whittling his name in a tree trunk.

  “Okay, care and feeding of your new tattoo,” she said in a brisk, no-nonsense voice. “I’m going to put some antibiotic cream on it and bandage it, and I want you to keep it covered for tonight, then soak the bandage off tomorrow morning.”

  She filled him in on the rest of the instructions for taking care of himself and handed over a leaflet that covered everything she’d said.

  “Got it?”

  “You’re very thorough. Think I just got slapped on the ass and sent home last time I had ink done.”

  She shrugged. Like he’d said, she didn’t do things by half measures.

  She reached for the antibiotic cream and squeezed some onto her fingertips. He flinched and grabbed her wrist when she applied it to his skin.

  “That’s cold,” he said.

  “Poor baby,” she said, mostly because she was suddenly very aware that the tattoo was finished and he was still half undressed and she was wholly turned-on.

  She’d admitted it to herself last night, hadn’t she? Sex with Liam had felt like a beginning, not an ending.

  She twisted her wrist in his grasp and he let go, sinking slowly back onto the chair. She smoothed the lotion onto his hot, hard belly, her movements slower than they strictly needed to be. He felt good.

  She slid a look his way. He was watching her hand, his jaw doing the same tense thing that it had last night when she’d put her hand down her panties.

  When she glanced back at his body, a significant bulge had developed in the crotch of his jeans.

  She squeezed her thighs together, anticipating what was going to happen next.

  She hadn’t wanted to see him again. She didn’t want to talk to him about old times or new times or anything to do with herself and her life. But she wanted him inside her again so much that a needful ache had started to throb between her thighs.

  There were so many things she would never have in her life—a family, a husband, a home full of laughter and love. She figured she deserved whatever brief moments of satisfaction or pleasure she could grab along the way.

  She reached for the self-adhesive bandage that she’d cut to size earlier and stuck it to his skin, smoothing the edges with her fingers. Only when he was protected did she allow her hand to slide into the gaping fly of his jeans and onto his erection. She’d barely wrapped her fingers around him before his hand was on her wrist again.

  She smiled slightly. “Haven’t we played this game before? I can tell you who’ll win.”

  She tried to stroke him but he pulled her hand free of his jeans.

  “No,” he said.

  She couldn’t understand why he was being coy. He wanted it, she wanted it. Even she could do the math.

  “You’ve got to be kidding. You come here, you lie there for two hours with my face practically in your crotch, and now you’re not going to follow through?”

  “I’m not going to sleep with you, Zoe. Last night was a mistake. I didn’t come here today looking for sex. I want to be your friend.”

  She stared at him, then pointed a finger at his still-bulging groin.

  “Bullshit.”

  He shrugged, unabashed. “Yeah, I’m hard for you. You’re hot. Last night was hot. But that’s not why I’m here. I want you to trust me again. I want you to talk to me.”

  His words were so confronting, so terrifying that she jerked back in her seat.

  “I knew I shouldn’t have said yes to the tattoo,” she said.

  She stood and started gathering up the discarded paper towel and used ink cups.
She heard him dressing behind her, and a wave of old, old humiliation swept over her. It was just like before.

  She’d thrown herself at him and he’d pushed her away.

  She closed her eyes as she remembered last night, how she’d had to strip and touch herself before she had provoked him into taking action.

  Liam didn’t want her.

  He’d never really wanted her the way she wanted him.

  But she’d always known that, hadn’t she? She’d known it the moment she woke up the day after her ill-fated vigil to find that he’d gone in the night without so much as a goodbye and good luck, let alone an explanation.

  He didn’t want her. And she’d been so heartbroken over him that she’d thrown herself away and ruined her life in the process.

  Suddenly all the fear and pain and regret and self-hate rose up inside her. She clenched her hands and closed her eyes and thumped her fists down onto her work surface.

  “Get out! Get out of here before I call the goddamn cops,” she said.

  LIAM STARED at Zoe’s tense back. Her head was bowed, her fists pressed into the counter in front of her. She looked like she was ready to either explode or fall apart.

  “Zoe,” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

  She shuddered as though she couldn’t stand to have him touch her, and he slid his hand free.

  “I want you out of here and I never want to see you again, all right?” she said.

  She still hadn’t turned around. He couldn’t see her face and he was almost glad he couldn’t.

  “Tell me what’s going on, Zoe,” he said.

  “Why should I tell you anything? You gave up the right to be my friend, to talk to me, to know me, when you pissed off in the middle of the night without even saying goodbye.”

  He hated this. She was quivering with emotion she was wound so tight. He wanted to take her in his arms and soothe her. He wanted to kiss her, calm her. Do whatever it took to take away the raw hurt in her voice and the tense defensiveness in her body.

  “You were fifteen years old, Zoe. And I was bad news. I did it for your own good,” he said.

  She swore.

  “I want you out of here,” she said again. “Just go.”

  He stared at her back for a long moment, then finally reached for his coat.

  “What do I owe you for the tattoo?” he asked.

  She gave a sharp, empty laugh that sounded dangerously close to tears. He didn’t know what else to do or say, so he exited to the front of the parlor and left three hundred dollars on the counter, all the cash he had on him. He unbolted the door and crossed to his car, waiting until he saw Zoe lock the front and turn off the lights before he drove away.

  Never in his life had he felt so helpless. Even watching his mother die had been less painful than this. Then he’d known there was nothing he could do. With Zoe his gut told him he could help her, or that he at least had to try, but he had no clue where to start. The only interaction she seemed prepared to tolerate with him was sex, and he refused to go there again with her. He had nothing to offer her, not long-term. He’d only wind up hurting her more than he already had.

  He couldn’t face the thought of going home. Instead, he went to the workshop and got stuck into his in-tray.

  Vinnie had left the forms for the biker build-off comp on his desk and he filled them out and wrote a check to cover the entry fee. He tried to concentrate on the work insurance policies his admin manager had asked him to review, but his mind kept reverting to thoughts of Zoe.

  There was no way he could leave things the way they were.

  He tossed the insurance paperwork to one side and drew his computer keyboard toward himself.

  First he tried the white pages, but there were more than fifty listings for T. Ford in Melbourne.

  He flicked to a new screen. He was no computer guru, but he knew how to do a Google search.

  He typed in Tom’s name, along with Melbourne, Australia. He trawled through three pages before he found a hit that looked interesting—a listing for Tom Ford, accountant, talking at a recent small-business conference. Tom had always been good at math, and his father had been an accountant.

  It was easy work to find the Web site for the Melbourne firm Tom worked for, then a contact number for Tom himself. Liam checked the time. It was after eight. No doubt Tom would have gone home for the evening, but at least if he had voice mail, Liam would know if he was onto the right Tom Ford or not.

  To his surprise, someone picked up on the second ring.

  “I told you I’d be home by nine. Quit bugging me or I’ll never get this done,” Tom said, light amusement in his tone.

  “Tom, it’s Liam Masters calling. I’m not sure if you remember—”

  “Damn. Liam. My God. Of course I remember you.” Tom sounded stunned but not unhappy to hear from him.

  Liam’s shoulders dropped as he let go of an unspoken fear: that Tom would still be angry with him after all these years.

  “I’ve thought about you a lot, wondered where you wound up,” Tom said.

  “Me, too,” Liam said.

  “Wow. This is a real blast from the past,” Tom said. “I don’t suppose you want to catch up? I mean, is that why you’re calling?”

  Liam stood and stared out through the safety-glass window of his office into the workshop.

  “I did want to talk to you, actually. About Zoe,” he said.

  “Right.” Liam didn’t miss the wariness in the other man’s tone.

  “I ran into her the other day,” Liam said.

  Tom gave a hard laugh. “Yeah? Where was that, at the tattoo parlor or one of the thrash clubs?”

  He sounded resigned and sad.

  Liam decided to take a punt. “What are you doing now? Can I come talk to you?” he asked.

  Tom hesitated for a beat. “Sure. Let me call home and tell Jane I’ll be later than I expected.”

  “You’re married?”

  “Yep. Three kids and a dog, too. How about you?”

  “None of the above.”

  Tom gave him his work address and told him the best place to find parking.

  “Call me from the street when you get here and I’ll buzz you in.”

  Liam drove into the city and along St. Kilda Road, his gut churning all the way. He was nervous about seeing Tom. There had been a handful of people in Liam’s life who stood out as good, decent people, and Tom was one of them. So were his parents and his sister. And Liam had repaid them by falling in love with Zoe and almost taking her innocence, then bailing on them in the middle of the night with little or no explanation.

  Tom’s firm had offices in a modern metal and glass tower. The foyer was marble, the elevator chrome and plush carpet. Tom was waiting for him when the doors opened on the twentieth floor.

  They shook hands, each taking stock of the other. Tom’s hair was darker than the sandy brown Liam remembered, and he’d bulked up from the skinny seventeen-year-old he’d once been.

  There were lines around his eyes and mouth, and his dress sense had improved. He looked good.

  Happy, healthy, prosperous.

  “Man, look at you. You’re huge,” Tom said, eyeing Liam’s shoulders.

  “Working with metal will do that,” Liam said.

  Tom led him to a nicely furnished corner office. Built-ins filled with serious-looking books lined one wall, while the other wall was given over to a series of bright, attention-grabbing paintings, stylized streetscapes of Melbourne in vibrant colors. Tom gestured him toward the couch and took an armchair opposite him.

  “Can I get you a drink? There’s beer, some wine.”

  “I’m good, thanks,” Liam said.

  Tom smoothed his hands down the thighs of his suit pants then took a deep breath.

  “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, so I’m just going to say it. I’m sorry I hit you that night. I was way out of line, and I want you to know that I regretted it the moment I went inside.

 
Even more when I woke up the next morning and you were gone and I realized you were serious about leaving because of Zoe,” Tom said.

  Liam shifted in his chair. “You did the right thing,” he said.

  “No, I didn’t. You were family, man. I let you down. It used to kill me, thinking about what happened to you.”

  There was a question in Tom’s eyes. Liam leaned forward so he could ease a business card from his back pocket. He handed it over.

  “Stop giving yourself a hard time. I did okay,” he said. “Got about thirty people working for me now. Last year’s turnover was around ten mill.”

  Tom stared at the card, an incredulous smile on his face.

  “No way. My boss bought one of your custom choppers last year. I should have put the pieces together. Masters Mechanics. No wonder Jane tells me I’m hopeless all the time.”

  “You look like you’re doing pretty well yourself,” Liam said.

  Tom shrugged. “Just your ordinary everyday wage slave. I keep talking about going out on my own, but I don’t know if I want the hassle. Life’s pretty good at the moment. I get to spend plenty of time with the kids. It’s not so bad.”

  They both nodded and an awkward silence fell, the unspoken issue of Zoe sitting between them now that they’d addressed their own history.

  “How was she?” Tom asked. “You didn’t say on the phone where you saw her.”

  Liam wasn’t about to tell him about the painting. There were some things a brother didn’t need to know.

  “I walked into the tattoo parlor, and there she was,” he said. It was a version of the truth, after all. “She wasn’t very pleased to see me.”

  “She took your leaving hard. Really hard.”

  Liam leaned forward, hands clasped loosely together, elbows on his thighs.

  “Tell me what happened,” he said.

  Tom scrubbed his face with his hands and leaned back in his chair.

  “Things kind of fell apart for us all after you left. Zoe had some trouble at school. Mom and Dad got divorced. Everything changed.”

  Liam stared at the other man. “There’s more,” he said.

  Tom nodded. “But it’s Zoe’s business, not mine. She…had some bad luck. And it changed everything for her. Made her angry. Mom and Dad were stressed-out over it, they started fighting, blaming each other. When they got divorced, I think Zoe saw it as just one more thing she’d screwed up. She ran away from home when she was seventeen. Same age as you, actually.”