He looked amused at my attempts to not touch him, but I wasn't going to give this guy any ideas—or rather, any more ideas than he already had.
"I like it. I like the shield idea. I like all the different pieces and textures. I like having a word under the shield, maybe the Chinese word for strength?" He raised one eyebrow as if he wanted a cookie for guessing my nationality correctly.
I ignored his light flirtation. "Sounds good. Let me finalize the design."
"How long will the tattoo take?"
"Probably twenty hours."
His eyebrows shot into his forehead. "That's a long time."
"You don't want to rush a tattoo," Tucker said, appearing suddenly before us.
"And will you be doing the tattoo?" Dorsey asked me. "Because I think twenty hours of you touching me sounds like a pretty good way to pass the time."
A throat cleared and two heavy work boots entered my vision. My gaze ran along a dusty pair of blue jeans—nicely worn around the crotch—up past a tight fitting heather gray T-shirt to a thunderous pair of gem blue eyes.
"What are you doing here?" I gasped.
"I'm your next consult, baby."
7
FINN
At Winter’s glare, I knew my ham-fisted attempt at marking my territory hadn’t gone over well. It was definitely a case of speaking before thinking. When Adam had called me for lunch, I’d suggested the East Village. I’d figured it wouldn't take much effort to convince him to stop by Atra since Adam's numerous tattoos and piercings had to be at least partially responsible for Atra's existence. He wasn't dumb though and knew exactly what I was about when I-oh-so-casually suggested a walk from the sub shop down the street.
“Did you suddenly get over your fear of needles?” he asked.
“I used your name to make an appointment,” I replied easily.
"You could just ask her out."
"Already did," I said.
"Got shot down, huh?" His tone was less a question and more of this doesn't surprise me at all.
"You sound like you expected that."
He shrugged and before I could punch him added, "You've never had to ask any girl out."
"So?"
"You're rusty. Your game is rusty. All you've had to do in the past was show up, and now you have to work for it. Give me your pitch."
"My pitch?" After about five steps, I realized Adam had stopped walking. I turned back and raised my hands in a what's up gesture.
"Yeah, I'll critique it and help you craft a new one."
"And you've had so much practice?" I scoffed. Adam was a girl magnet. Set him in any public space and in ten minutes, he had the prettiest women pressed against him.
"I ask women out all the time. That my success rate is embarrassingly high is something you should appreciate rather than take for granted."
I thought about it for a minute and realized he was right. He did ask women out regularly, but he did it in such a smooth way that it seemed entirely uncalculated.
"I told her that we'd had a good night and we should try it again," I paraphrased.
He frowned. "That's it? No, ‘I can't stop thinking about you’ or ‘I've never wanted anyone like I want you.’”
I gaped at him. "You say these things to women in a bar that you want to hook up with?"
It was his turn to gape at me. “No, but this is Winter Donovan. You dated her sister all through high school. If you wanted a quick hook up, why are you going after her?"
"I want to spend time with her; I'm not asking her to marry me."
"There are plenty of women you can spend time with. Why the hardcore push for Winter?"
I didn't want to explore my feelings about Winter in the middle of the sidewalk, but Adam was looking at me like he wasn't moving until I answered his question. "Because I like her. She gets me. I understand her. And we had fucking awesome sex. You ever have that, man? Where you feel like the top of your head is coming off and the world shifted, and when you were put back together, everything felt different?"
He hesitated and then walked past me to the door of Atra.
"No response?" I called after him.
He turned, one hand on the glass door, and replied. "No. Never felt that way, but I want to."
Inside Atra, Motown music played loud enough that the tambourines accenting the back beats sounded like they were clanged next to your ear. The shop was surprisingly small and looked not unlike the barbershop where I got my hair cut. The floor was some kind of ceramic tile, and the long room was divided into what looked like four different stalls. Three were occupied with clients and artists. I couldn't see the last one, in part because my eyes were pinned on the two leather chairs situated closely in the back. A dark head was bent close to a blond one. Way too close.
I felt Adam's warning hand on my arm, but anger—maybe a little fear—drove me forward. I knew I hadn't chased after Winter when she first left. But in my defense, my old man had passed away and I was dealing with a lot of shit, not the least of which the night with Winter had blown my mind. We hadn't just screwed our way from one end of the trailer to the other, but we'd talked in between. She'd listened to me, and she'd offered me thoughtful replies.
She understood. I'd held her and her sister after their parents died. In fact, I remembered comforting Winter one time and growing a completely inappropriate boner with my arms full of sixteen-year-old sweetness.
With trooper man here, though, it made me realize I may have let it slide too long.
I ignored the two men and focused on Winter.
"What are you doing here?" she gasped.
I couldn't piss on her shoes, so I did the next best thing. "I'm your next consult, baby."
The tatted guy standing next to me wearing plastic gloves and holding a blue paper towel arched an eyebrow. "Thought Adam was coming in."
"Tucker, Finn's with me." Adam popped up, having my back like the boss best friend he was. "I brought him here to see the best for his virgin skin."
"So we're popping your cherry today." Tucker looked at me appraisingly, but I got the message. He had some protective feelings toward Winter which, as long as they were brotherly, didn't bother me at all.
"We'll see. I want to talk to the artist in residence and see what ideas she has."
We all looked down at her bent head. Her sketchbook had suddenly become intensely interesting.
Tucker toyed with a piercing at the corner of his lip and then came to a decision. "Dorsey, why don't you come up to the front, and Gig will get you on the schedule."
Dorsey rose reluctantly. "If you get hungry and want some company, my phone number is in your system."
"We're not allowed to use client information for our own personal use," Winter replied primly.
"Don't worry. You won't get in trouble. After all, I am the law." He looked straight at me when he said that, but I was done with him. I dropped into the chair he'd vacated and proceeded to shut out everyone but Winter. Ruefully, I knew I was paying for my earlier deeds and wondered for a split second whether I was a barking up an immovable and disinterested tree. But I didn't think so.
She fidgeted awkwardly with her sketchbook. One finger fretted at the edge of the paper. I took this as a good sign. A girl who was indifferent wouldn’t be avoiding me.
"When did you stop being afraid of needles?" She finally broke the silence.
"That would be never, which is why I'm still a virgin, as Adam likes to call it."
"Then why are you here?"
"You know why." I wanted to reach over and take the sketchbook away so she was forced to look at me.
"But why me?" she asked softly. It was an unintentional echo of Adam's earlier question.
I laid it out as honestly as I could. "Because you make me happy, and I think, if you give me a chance, I could make you happy too. Both of us need that. I think we need each other."
She looked up then. There was a lot of emotion in her dark brown eyes. Most of it I couldn't comprehend
, but the dark burn of need and want and hope shone through. "I'll think about it."
While I wanted a more concrete agreement, I didn't press her for more. "One of my crew members told me about a memorial tattoo."
"Oh, yes." She seemed surprised that I was here for a legitimate business purpose. "That's when you ink the ashes of a loved one into a tattoo."
"That's right. The grading subcontractor told me about it. He and his father have his grandfather's ashes tattooed into a gravestone on their upper arms." I rubbed the spot just below the shoulder. "It says ‘in memoriam’ and their last name."
"That's pretty cool. You want that?"
"No, I want you to design something."
"Can you tell me what ideas you have?"
"I will, but they're personal, and I'd rather share them with you outside of this place."
"You're relentless," she replied but couldn't completely hide her smile.
"It's true I haven't had to fight for a lot in my life. But that doesn't mean I don't know how."
She didn't answer immediately. I took the time to admire the graceful line of her neck, the sweet smell of her body wash or shampoo that reminded me of strawberry pie in the summer. I could wait indefinitely for her verbal answer because her body was already giving her away. The pulse at the side of her throat beat rapidly, and her breath quickened. The changes were minute and probably not obvious to anyone else, although our protracted silence did gain some attention.
"Is there a problem here?" Tucker was back and defending his territory.
"No problem. Just working out the finer details of my tattoo. A memorial design. My dad passed away over three months ago."
He looked skeptical but didn't want to call me out just in case I wasn't bullshitting. "Winter? Got any ideas?"
She flipped her notebook closed before everyone could see the blank sheet. "A few. Thanks for coming in, Mr. O'Malley. I'll email you when I have some preliminary sketches."
She stood and held out her hand. I took it and squeezed it, appreciating even that small bit of contact.
"I'll talk to you soon."
Outside Adam look shocked and awed. "Did you just use your dad's death as an excuse to get Winter to go out with you?"
"Maybe."
"That's amazing."
"I know."
"He'd be so proud."
"I know."
8
WINTER
Soon after Adam left, Tucker asked me to join him in the backroom. I agreed, but my stomach turned as he made the request, and I only felt more ill at ease when I sat.
"Bagel?" He pointed to the breakfast goodies he’d brought.
I shook my head. "Am I in trouble?"
"I don't know. Are you? How much money are you making on your freelance work?" He split open a bagel and slathered half a tub of cream cheese on top.
Designing tattoos wasn't my only job. I wouldn't be able to feed myself if it were. I did a whole host of freelance work, including logos, newsletter designs, and brochures. I even did T-shirt designs for a local indie shop. Mostly the T-shirts consisted of snappy sayings such as I'm not sure how many problems I have because math is one of them. The clientele was mostly teenagers.
"Enough," I answered truthfully. I could pay my bills. Admittedly, I wasn't getting ahead. I wouldn't be buying any new cars or going on vacation soon, but I could feed myself, cloth myself, and afford to put a roof over my head.
"You sure? Because I don't really see you as a Riskie's girl."
"I was filling in for my sister, and—wait, why am I not Riskie's material?" I felt offended even though I knew my body wasn’t worth paying to see. I was slender with not much upstairs and definitely a small ass.
"You're gorgeous, Winter, but not really stripper material. Besides," he paused to snicker, "you dance worse than Elaine on Seinfeld."
"Thanks. Thanks a lot."
As much as I would've liked to have proven him wrong, the fact was I did suck at dancing. I had about as much grace as a new toddler just figuring out how to walk. When we all went out clubbing, I manned the table to make sure no one horned in on our territory.
"You know you'd be earning twice as much if you inked your own designs."
I winced. This wasn't the first time Tucker had brought up the issue of apprenticeship. I always felt bad about turning him down because it was really an honor to be offered this. Apprenticeship always took a lot of time for the one who did the teaching.
"I think you could really take your designs to the next level if you had a tattoo gun in your hand and you began looking at the body as the starting point of your designs instead of the paper in a sketchbook."
His backhanded compliment kind of pissed me off. "I know you're trying to be complimentary, but it's coming off pretty insulting. If you don't like my artwork—which you've won awards with at tattoo conventions—why do you have me here?"
He took a big bite of his bagel and chewed slowly before responding. "Because I'm smarter than I sound." He gave me an apologetic grin. "Sorry. Your work is awesome. Now I'm not going to say anything more because I want to keep you here. You’ve helped put Atra on the map. I’m just offering an alternative. If you need anything from me, let me know."
"I love working here. I would never leave."
"Good to know. Now eat a bagel and then go make me more money."
"Yes, sir." I gave him a mock salute that earned me a puppy pat on my head, something Tucker knew very well I hated.
"Are you two done making out? I want a bagel," Gig whined at the door. Tucker threw it open and walked out, muttering something about lawsuits and sexual harassment.
"So which one of them are you going to go out with?" Gig asked, settling into the chair opposite of me. He pulled a bagel out of the bag and proceeded to shove nearly the entire thing into his mouth.
"Neither." Finn's steady pursuit might have been breaking down my walls, but that wasn't something I was admitting to Gig.
"Well, the trooper wanted me to give you this. Said he didn't want to be responsible for you breaking house rules." Gig placed a crumpled up piece of paper on the table. I picked it up and smoothed it out.
Tucker said he didn't care if you went out with me, but he was convinced you'd say no. Why don't we prove him wrong? I'll bring the wine, and you can bring the donuts.
"If it were me, I'd go with the hot cop because then you can break the law with no repercussions."
I folded the note and tucked it into my jeans. "I don't think it works that way."
"He could at least get you out of a speeding ticket or two. You never know until you try."
"My mom used to say that to get me to eat broccoli. I never liked it."
"Broccoli tastes like ass." Gig laughed. "And hot cop looks like he tastes like sweaty goodness."
"Sweaty?" That didn't sound much better than broccoli.
"Once you have sweaty cop in your bed, you'll know what I'm talking about." He waggled his eyebrows at me.
"Voice of experience?" I laughed.
"You know it."
The rest of the day sped by quickly. When I arrived home, Ivy was gone. I didn't call sweaty Hot Cop after he left, but I didn't throw the number away either. The guilt I felt about having slept with Finn made me reluctant to see him again. I had no defenses, and I knew if we were alone I would more than likely be stripping his clothes off. Even though Ivy had given me her blessing, I hadn't been forthcoming. I hadn't told her I’d slept with him and that I wanted to again. Maybe hot cop was exactly the remedy I needed to help me put my Finn crush away forever.
Until I had seen Finn two months ago, I actually thought my crush was a distant childhood memory. I was completely unprepared for the wave of emotion and the hot pulse of desire that pounded in my ears when he turned that heated blue stare toward me. Even worse was the way I felt after. For days after we'd had sex, I could still feel the imprint of his fingers digging into my hips, the rough scratch of his late night beard growth against my sen
sitive skin, and the wet drag of his tongue across what seemed like every inch of my body. I was sore in places I didn't realize had muscles and ached in places that had never ached before.
I could see myself becoming addicted to him and how he made me felt, and that…terrified me. Enough so, even though Hot Cop wasn't really my thing, I wondered if I should make him my thing. He certainly wasn't hard to look at.
I had my phone in my hand when the doorbell rang. I set my phone down and went to the door. "Who is it?" I asked and looked through the peephole.
Finn O'Malley waved his hand at me.
I wrenched open the door, looked down the hallway and then yanked him inside. "What are you doing here?"
"Picking you up for our date."
"I never agreed to this," I exclaimed. I had no idea where Ivy was.
"You didn't say no."
"What if Ivy were here?"
"So what if she was?" He shouldered past me and walked farther into the apartment, taking in the shabby surroundings. We had a few nice pieces of furniture I salvaged from our parents’ home, but the apartment complex itself was run down. Paint peeled off the walls, and the kitchen appliances looked like they were installed in the 80s.
A panicked urge to get him out of the apartment before my sister came home had me scurrying to gather my purse, wallet, and phone. I had everything packed and ready to go in less than a minute.
"Let's go. Where are you taking me?" I still had on my jeans and low V-neck Atra work top. Because I had the tiniest boobs known to western womankind, I could wear things split to my belly button and still not be obscene, so I tended to buy T-shirts that had very low necklines. I couldn't worry about that now, though, because I wanted Finn out of the apartment.
I pushed him out the door, and he let me. I thought of it as let because Finn was a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier. That worked great when he was lifting you around but not so great when you wanted him to move.
"I should feel bad that you're treating me like a dirty secret, but since it's getting you out of the house with me, I'll let it go this time," he called over his shoulder. His words were a joke, but his meaning was not. He didn't like the idea I wanted him out of the apartment before Ivy came home, but I was barely prepared to see him, let alone see the both of them together.
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