Scintillation (Stars Align Book 3)

by Kate Stacy

  “Problem is...I have no idea what I want.”

  He slides closer, slipping my phone from my fingertips. “What would you do without me, my pretty?”

  Sighing dramatically, I rest the back of my hand on my forehead and let my head fall back. “Simply perish.”

  “Damn right. Now, I have something in mind I think you’ll love.”

  Watching his fingers fly across the screen, my eyes widen when he turns it toward me.

  “Wow, that’s beautiful.”

  We spend hours snuggled together on the couch, Derrick showing me beautiful, brilliant tattoo designs. At the end of the night, I still don’t know exactly what I want, but I do know that I want something designed solely for me.

  After copious amounts of coffee and a greasy breakfast to battle our wine hangovers, Derrick and I make our way to Three Kings.

  No tattoos today. But I do want to talk to one of the artists and see if they can help me with the design for my tattoo. I’m hoping someone can take the few details I give them and work some magic. I love and appreciate the artistry that goes into tattooing, but I can’t draw to save my life.

  A bell rings as Derrick opens the door to the shop and we hear a low growl coming from somewhere in the building. My eyes widen and Derrick giggles, holding the door and allowing me to go in first.

  “Age before beauty,” he says as I step past him.

  I turn back, giving him a mock glare. “Bitch.”

  His hand meets my ass in a firm slap, “Don’t sass me.”

  I open my mouth to let him have it, but a guy pops around the corner and snags my attention.

  Where in the hell has this guy been hiding?

  I can’t help but take him in from head to toe.

  Tall and fit. Covered in tattoos and piercings.

  He’s smokin’ hot.

  Not as hot as Adam.

  Ugh. That stupid little voice in my head loves to remind me about him.

  It doesn’t matter that Adam is gorgeous. It’s never going to happen.

  Not when he looks at me like he hates me.

  I’m saved from my thoughts straying too far when I feel Derrick’s fingertips beneath my jaw. He gently applies pressure to close my mouth, leaning down to whisper, “You’re drooling, my pretty.”

  He grunts when I whack him in his stomach, hissing at him to shut up.

  Hot guy grins, obviously amused.

  “Welcome to Three Kings,” he says as he saunters toward us, arm outstretched to shake my hand. “I’m Cannon, what can I do for you today?”

  Smiling, I shake his hand. “Hi. I wanted to talk to someone about a tattoo design. I’m not exactly sure how all this works.”

  “First time?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  He smirks, a glint of something I can’t decipher in his eyes. “Nah. Let’s sit and talk about how we can pop that cherry.”

  Behind me, I hear Derrick suck in a breath.

  A blush heats my cheeks and I almost trip over my own two feet as he leads me to a leather sofa to the side of the front desk.

  We all take a seat, Derrick on my left and Cannon on my right. He’s close, almost too close. I can feel the heat from his thigh against mine. I don’t move away. Instead—deciding that it’s nice to have someone flirt with me—I look him in the eyes and smile. It’s been too long since someone’s been interested in me and there’s not a damn thing wrong with soaking up a little of someone’s attention.

  Though he remains silent, I can sense Derrick beside me, hanging onto every action, every word.

  “Before we get started, I gotta ask...are you Madalyn or Presley?”

  My head jerks back, brows dipping low.

  “Oh, shit.” He laughs, placing his hand on my thigh. “My bad. I didn’t realize how fucking creepy that would sound. I’m friends with Ryan, so I’ve met your sister.”

  I release the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and a small chuckle slips out along with it.

  “Presley.”

  “Well, Presley,” he says, leaning in close. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet—”

  “Cannon!”

  The deep voice startles me and I flinch, pulling away from Cannon. Searching out the voice, my breath catches when my gaze locks on a set of eyes burning with anger.

  Adam.

  “In my office. Now.” Fury punctuates every syllable.

  Cannon excuses himself, confusion written plain as day on his face.

  Derrick and I watch silently as the two men disappear down the hallway.

  A door slams, breaking the silence.

  Harsh, angry voices follow, but it’s impossible to understand what they’re saying.

  “Ooooooh. Somebody’s in trouble,” Derrick singsongs.

  “I don’t understand why he’s so mad,” I whisper, eyes never leaving the hallway entrance.

  I’m not sure why I whisper, there’s absolutely no chance of them overhearing me.

  Derrick clicks his tongue.

  “Not yet, my pretty, but you will.”

  TWELVE

  Adam

  More than two decades of friendship and I can’t remember a time I’ve ever wanted to lay my friend the fuck out.

  But here we are.

  Guess there really is a first time for everything.

  Hearing Cannon flirt with pretty girls is nothing new, especially lately. As long as he doesn’t get completely inappropriate with clients, I normally let him do his thing. Something about this particular girl didn’t sit right with me. Her voice sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t hear her well enough to place it. Then...she said her name.

  A fire lit inside me and I didn’t stop to think.

  I flew out of my office to shut that shit down.

  Cannon might need a distraction after everything he’s been through. No doubt, he was dealt a shitty hand. But I’ll be damned if Presley is that distraction. He can fuck with any other girl he wants.

  Not her.

  Stomping back to my office—Cannon at my heels—I try to convince myself that I intervened for the right reason. Knowing Cannon isn’t in the headspace for anything serious, I worry she’ll get hurt and I don’t want her brother coming after my friend.

  That’s all it is. Nothing more.

  Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.

  Cannon slams the door shut behind us and whips around to face me. “What the fuck was that, Adam?”

  “Not her,” I force out through gritted teeth. “You can fuck with any girl you want, any other girl that walks into this shop. Not her. Presley is off limits.”

  “Why the hell not? She’s fuck hot, bro. You can’t blame me—”

  The vicious growl reverberating through my chest cuts him off.

  “Ah.” He says, looking smug as hell. Leaning back against the door, he crosses his arms over his chest. “I get it now. You’re jealous. You claiming that?”

  “I’m. Not. Jealous.” I take a step back, roughing my hand through my hair. “I’m not into her like that, but she’s not someone you can fuck with, Cannon.”

  Nodding, he licks his lips. “You’re lying through your fucking teeth, brother. But I hear you. Now...can I get back out there and do my damn job?”

  “Nope,” I say, looking him dead in the eye. “No one inks her but me. I’ll take care of her.”

  Chuckling, he opens the door, shaking his head and mumbling under his breath as he walks out, “Yeah, I’m sure you’ll take real good care of her.”

  Taking a deep breath, I steel myself and follow him through the door.

  Rounding the corner, my eyes lock on Presley and I beeline toward my target. It’s impossible to miss how fucking incredible she looks. She’s not wearing anything out of the ordinary, some yoga pants and a fitted hoodie, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting to peel both from her body and pin her to the goddamn couch.

  “Presley, come with me. Your f
riend can wait here.”

  “I…” Her eyes widen, flitting to her friend and back to me. “I...um...can’t Cannon help me?”

  My jaw ticks, teeth grinding.

  That urge to hit Cannon comes back with a fucking vengeance.

  “No. My shop. If you want ink, you’ll have to deal with me.”

  Half of me hopes she’ll get pissed and walk the fuck out. Being the spoiled princess that she is, it’s exactly what I expect her to do. The thought of another tattooist marking her flawless skin makes me want to break something, but I push that shit down and wait.

  She fidgets under my stare for a moment before something flashes in her eyes and her back straightens.

  Then, she surprises the fuck out of me.

  “Okay.”

  I turn and head for my room, not waiting to see if she follows. I know she’s behind me. I can fucking feel her there.

  Holding the door open, I allow her to go in first, eyes automatically drawn to the sway of her juicy ass as she passes.

  Inhaling sharply, I lift my eyes from her rear and will my dick to stay calm.

  God fucking bless whoever created yoga pants.

  Closing the door behind us, I ignore the fact that we’re completely alone and put on my professional mask. “What are you looking for?”

  She doesn’t answer right away, and when I turn to look at her, her shoulders are slumped, her eyes locked to the floor.

  “Presley?”

  She breathes deeply, squeezing her eyes shut. Something about her reaction doesn’t sit well with me. It doesn’t seem right, doesn’t fit with the Presley I’ve experienced.

  I try a different tactic.

  “Princess. Give me your eyes.”

  Flashing open and locking on mine, her eyes are glistening, filled with unshed tears.

  “That’s better. Tell me why you’re here.”

  Her chest rises and falls, her mouth opening to obey my command. The words that come out...they’re nothing like what I expected.

  “I have scars,” she says quietly. “I want to cover them. They’re ugly and I want to turn them into something beautiful.”

  Oh, Princess.

  Doesn’t she know that nothing about her could ever be ugly?

  This is the most interaction she and I have ever had and I’m starting to wonder if I wasn’t entirely wrong about her.

  Taking her arm, I lead her to the chair. She sits and I drop down onto my stool.

  Scars are my specialty. I’ve done a lot of work for people who want to permanently cover reminders of the past. It’s a delicate process, often very emotional for the client, sometimes emotional for me. No matter how I may or may not feel about Presley, I have to treat her like any other client right now, to make her feel at ease.

  “Inking over scars can be tricky, most can be covered as long as the artist knows what they’re doing. Lucky for you...I do.” I say it with a touch of teasing, for which I’m rewarded with a small smile. “Can I see?” I ask gently.

  Fidgeting with the zipper of her hoodie, she hesitates. Glancing back toward the door, she closes her eyes and sighs.

  Silent and still, I wait.

  Slowly unzipping the hoodie, she removes it fully and places it behind her. Beneath the hoodie she wears a tight, white tank top and a set of those long, fingerless gloves that go all the way up to her elbows. I’ve seen her in them before, never thinking much of it. I don’t think much of it now either, until she grips the fabric covering her left arm and lowers it at an agonizingly slow pace.

  Her eyes remain locked on her arm as she reveals a series of scars spanning the entire length of her forearm.

  Neat. Straight. Raised.

  Emotion rises within me. I force it back down.

  “Is that it?” I ask calmly.

  Presley shakes her head, refusing to meet my eyes. Her lips press together firmly, and I know she doesn’t want to say another word.

  Wanting to make this easier on her, I lean toward her and slowly reach out to take her right arm. My professional mask slips when I gently wrap my hand around her forearm, still covered with fabric, and ask, “Here?”

  Another head shake.

  Releasing her arm, I move my hand to the top of her thigh. “Here?”

  She nods, a tear slipping free from beneath her lashes.

  “Both?”

  Another nod.

  “Okay. Anywhere else?”

  She shakes her head and I slowly exhale.

  These scars. They’re not what I expected when I brought her into this room.

  They’re proof that everything I ever thought about Presley was wrong.

  I was so fucking wrong.

  And this job?

  It just became extremely fucking personal.

  I don’t need to ask how she got the scars. I recognized them for what they were the minute the first was uncovered. It’s not the first time I’ve seen them. No, the first time was when I was fourteen and had to clean up fresh wounds on the arm of my own mother.

  I force the memory away, not wanting to take my attention from Presley.

  Reaching out, I trace Presley’s jaw with a knuckle and use it to lift her face to mine.

  Her brilliant green eyes meet mine and something inside me comes to life.

  “We’ll get them covered for you, yeah?”

  Relief shines in her eyes and she smiles.

  “Good girl. Now, tell me what you have in mind.”

  She opens up to me, finally. Speaking more words than I’ve ever heard her say, she explains passionately about wanting something entirely feminine. Lace. Roses. Jewels. Small pops of color, but mostly black ink. She’s going to need multiple tattoos to cover all her scars, but we decide to start with her forearm.

  Watching the light in her eyes as she talks about possible designs puts a smile on my face and causes an unfamiliar sensation to stir the pit of my stomach.

  “I can see exactly what I want in my head, but can’t draw to save my life, which is why I came here hoping someone could help.”

  “Trust me?”

  “With this, absolutely.”

  The qualifier stings a bit, but I don’t blame her at all. Not with the way I’ve treated her.

  “Let me draw up a couple designs for you. Come back in a couple days and you can see what I come up with. We’ll go from there.”

  “I can do that.”

  Moments later, she’s gone.

  I’m left alone in the silence, trying to pinpoint the moment when everything changed.

  THIRTEEN

  Presley

  Opening the door to Three Kings, I’m taken aback by the sound of silence.

  No annoying bell. No rap music. No telltale buzzing of tattoo machines.

  Letting the door close behind me, I take a couple steps into the shop and look around. The clean and simple design of the shop is something I failed to notice during my first visit. It’s nothing like I expected it to be.

  Dark gray, hardwood floors. Black leather furniture. Colorful frames and canvases lining the white walls. The focal point of the room is the Three Kings logo displayed prominently behind the reception desk. A pop of white on the dark stone wall.

  Running my fingertips across the smooth marble surface of the desk, I lean to peek down the hallway.

  I’ve not seen or heard any sign of Adam, so I call out, wondering where he’s waiting.

  “Come on back!”

  I move in the direction of his voice, finding him in the same room he brought me into the other day when I was here.

  Stopping at the door, I watch him as he focuses on the sketchbook on his lap. I’m captivated by the way his hand moves across the page. Nibbling my bottom lip, I find myself curious of what holds his attention so fully.

  As if he feels my eyes on him, his head lifts and his gaze lands on me. He says nothing and I squirm under the intensity of his stare.

  After
what feels like an eternity, he blinks, snapping us both from our fascination.

  He moves first, reaching over to the counter on his right, he grabs another sketchbook and holds it out to me.

  “Tell me what you think.”

  Taking it from his grip, I lower my eyes to the hand-drawn image on the page and a gasp leaves my lips.

  “Like it?”

  Tears spring to my eyes as they lift to his. I look back down at the design.

  “It’s stunning,” I say, voice full of the awe I feel.

  Adam murmurs something under his breath, but I don’t hear it, nor do I ask him to repeat himself. I’m lost in the unbelievable tattoo he’s drawn for me.

  It’s beautiful and feminine, full of intricate details.

  White roses and lace, drawn flawlessly by the man in front of me.

  “It’s perfect, Adam. Thank you.”

  I look up once again to find him watching me with a concentrated expression I can’t quite comprehend.

  Clearing his throat, he reaches out to take the drawing back from me.

  Excited and full of hope, I convey my eagerness to get started.

  “Thing is...we’re fully booked for the next few weeks…”

  I can’t help the way my body deflates with his words. I was hoping to start sooner rather than later, but I guess I have no choice. I open my mouth to tell him it’s no big deal, but he cuts me off before I can get a word out.

  “I can’t get you on the schedule until then, but I have to stick around here for a while. If you want...we can get started today. It’s an intricate design, so it’ll take two sessions. I can do the first session today and schedule you a few weeks out to finish.”

  For several long seconds...I’m speechless.

  He’s offering to work after hours for me. Why?

  Deciding the reason doesn’t matter, I strip out of my hoodie without thought.

  “Let’s do this,” I say, my smile adding a touch of excitement to my tone.

  A couple hours later, I’m still excited, but it’s more subdued.

  I was nervous when he first touched the needle to my skin, but the more he inked, the more relaxed I became. After about an hour and a half, Adam decided to take a break, giving us both a few minutes to move around a bit.