Solitude (Artistic Pricks Ink #3)

by Cat Mason

  It leaves me wondering…

  What would she think of me if she knew all my secrets?

  Chapter Seven

  Shelby

  “Mornin’,” Luke says when I drop my bag under my desk beside the front counter.

  After dropping Mitch off at his truck, I rushed home and showered. By the time I ate and got dressed, I had just enough time to get to work without being late. It’s not that Luke would mind if I was running behind, but it doesn’t fly with me at all. I don’t do late or half-assed. There are times to slack off and have a good time and times where that isn’t tolerated. I take my responsibilities very seriously and running API is a top priority.

  “Yep, for hours now.” Dropping into my chair, I power up my computer.

  “Looks like you had a rough one.” Luke scratches his chin before leaning on the counter beside me. “Everything okay?”

  “Just peachy.”

  The bells above the door jingle and we both look over to see Mitch walk in and head straight for his station. His eyes meet mine briefly, but he says nothing. Instead, he flips on his light box, turning his back to us as he sits.

  Back to normal broody ass Mitch I see…

  “She had an unexpected booty call last night,” Ki says, flopping down in the seat beside me.

  “For fuck’s sake,” I gasp, spinning in my chair to face her. “It was not a booty call.” I can’t even look over in Mitch’s direction, but I know he is eavesdropping now. I can feel his eyes on me.

  I don’t even know where to begin analyzing the last few hours with Mitch, especially not with Kionna. Is it weird for me to say that I want to help him even though we pretty much hate each other?

  I drove across town fully expecting to rake his ass over hot coals, while reminding him that he is a grown ass man, as soon as I got him in my car last night. Then, do it again this morning so he would remember it without the vodka haze. Every time Luke turns around, he or one of the boys is handling Mitch because he goes off the rails.

  But, I couldn’t do it. The look on his face was a pretty good indicator that he was handling the guilt trip well enough on his own. Watching that all play out was heartbreaking. And then, he asked me to stay. Jesus, it was everything I had in me not to just hug him and cry right along with him.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  The last thing I planned on doing was staying in his bed all night beside him. I don’t even do that with the guys I have sex with. This was different. Even when I woke up and got the quilt from the edge of the bed, and he was still asleep, I couldn’t make myself leave. Like a fucking creeper, I lie there for who knows how long and watched him sleep. He looked so relaxed, it was like he was a completely different person.

  A person I want to know.

  I took in his features in the dim light. The way his long, black lashes fanned out over the tanned skin of his cheeks. I even caught myself itching to run my fingers through his black hair while thinking about how it’s nothing like the shorter cut he had when I first started at the shop. Hell, I spent a lot more time than I’ll ever admit staring at his mouth and jaw, studying every movement while he breathed.

  Shelby, get a grip, woman. This is Mitch we’re talking about here.

  “So, did you talk to Luke about our idea?” I ask, turning the conversation away from me and how I spent my night.

  “I did,” she shrugs, crossing one long leg over the other.

  “And?” I ask, my fingers typing away as I put together next week’s schedule and plug in appointments from the planner as I go.

  “I said that we’d talk about it,” Luke interrupts, his blonde shaggy hair flopping down into his face as he stares down at me from the counter. “It’s a lot of risk and a lot of undertaking to start a business. You have to be sure there’s a market for what you’re selling.”

  “Oh please,” I huff. “You’re going to talk to me about business figures?” Pushing to my feet, I flip to the page in my notepad, setting it in front of him and tap it with my black finger nail. “I handle all the figures for Pricks, I know what I’m doing. Trust me, Luke, I’d never back Kionna up on something I didn’t have one hundred and ten percent faith in being huge.”

  “I know that.” Luke stares down at the pad for a minute, then meets my eyes. “Okay,” he nods, blowing out a breath. “You give me a floatable business plan and I’ll take a look.”

  Biting back the urge to grin like an idiot, I smile and nod. The door opens and in steps a woman who looks oddly familiar. Smiling over at Mitch, she waves at him as she makes her way over to the counter.

  “Welcome to Artistic Pricks Ink. I’m Shelby, what can I help ya with?” I ask the tall brunette while trying my damnedest to figure out how I know her.

  “I have an appointment. With Mitch,” she replies. I can see Mitch heading our way out of the corner of my eye, but my focus is on the woman. “You sure look a lot better than the last time I saw you, Shelby.”

  “I’m sorry,” I start, thinking I heard her wrong.

  “This is Ember,” Mitch says, leaning against the counter. “She was your nurse at the hospital when; well, you know.” Turning his gaze to her, he winks. “The best one anyway.”

  Oh for fuck’s sake.

  “Come on, I’m all set up and ready for ya.” Taking her arm, Mitch leads Ember over to his station and I resist the urge to cough the word manwhore.

  Grabbing the appointment book, I flip to today’s date, then look at Mitch’s name and shake my head. “Mitch, there’s nothing here but the name Ember blocking out ninety minutes. I need a price, list of materials, and the release she signed,” I say, pushing to my feet. “You can’t even turn on your gun until I have those and you know it.”

  Mitch says something to Ember before she sits back in the chair. Turning to face me, he eats up the distance and grabs my arm, steering me down the hallway away from everyone.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I ask, yanking my arm free. “Stop manhandling me, jackass. I’m just trying to keep Luke from reaming your ass over your laxed protocol.” Slapping him in the chest with the planner, I glare up at him. “We do things a certain way for a reason. Haven’t we had this conversation enough times?”

  Leaning in, Mitch grabs the book and tosses it to the floor. “The release is on the table beside my light box.” Bracing his arms above my head on the wall, he cages me in. Even though he isn’t touching me, I feel that same shock I felt last night. Meeting my eyes, he presses his lips into a hard line. His jaw ticks and his throat works as he swallows before opening his mouth again. “As for price, I’ve got this. Ember and I have an arrangement.”

  My eyes widen in shock. “You’re a pig,” I snap. “Luke would kill you if he knew you were trading ink for pussy. You really have no concern for this place, or any of us that work here, do you? It’s all about you getting what you want.”

  Now it’s Mitch’s eyes that widen in shock. He stares down at me and it almost looks like he waging a war inside his own head. He opens and closes his mouth so many times that he almost looks like a fish out of water.

  Without a word, he pushes off the wall and walks away from me, leaving me completely dumbstruck. Where the hell is the smart ass comment? Where are the insults and banter that we toss around without batting an eye?

  Shaking it off, I take a breath, grab the book from the floor, and head back up the hallway. “Looks like we’re gonna need to stock up on Midol,” I say to Ki when I sit back down in my chair. Glancing up, I see Mitch waving the now signed piece of paper like a victory flag. It makes me want to shove it down his throat. The smug bastard. “Maybe one of us should go to the pharmacy and pick him up a monthly punctuation survival kit.”

  “A what?” Ki asks with a laugh.

  “A monthly punctuation survival kit,” I repeat. “The word period just isn’t enough to describe the horrific things that happen to a woman’s body during that time. It’s all too clear that a
man coined that term. Sure, it ends your good time for a few days a month, so it can’t be a comma or anything like that.”

  “Okaaaaay,” she says, dragging out the word, dramatically. “I feel as if I am about to get schooled with one of the Shelbyisms.”

  Leaning back in the chair, I prop my feet up on the desk and crack my knuckles. “I like to view our monthly curse as more of an exclamation point. Because the first sentence out of a woman’s mouth when she gets hers ends in one.”

  Ki studies me for a minute before cocking her head to the side. “I will probably regret this later, but please explain.”

  “Women have different reactions every month to their punctuation,” I begin. “You’ve got the ‘oh fuck, not now’ response, the ‘dammit, I’m not pregnant,’ and who hasn’t said ‘thank God, I’m not pregnant’… The list goes on and on, but no matter what is said, when you find out your monthly vaginal atom bomb has detonated, it always ends in an exclamation point.”

  “I worry about you,” Ki giggles, shaking her head. “How about we don’t talk about punctuation, or the possibility of Mitch having a vagina, and you tell me about Carl?” she asks, waggling her brows at me. “I really wanna know about the guy you ran out on girls’ night to jump into bed with.”

  Mitch clears his throat loudly, no doubt eavesdropping on our conversation. Forcing myself not to look at him, I roll my eyes at Ki. “Great sex rarely happens in a bed,” I argue, slapping her arm. “Trust me, the story just isn’t worth tellin’.”

  “Ooooooh,” she replies with a little laugh. “One of those, huh?”

  Just as I start to say something else, Mitch cranks the stereo, blasting Drowning Pool before settling down in his chair to start working on Ember. Ki shakes her head. Pushing from the chair, she grins and mouths something about checking on Luke before disappearing down the hallway.

  Great, looks like I can’t even go hide in the office now.

  I make a mental note to clean the desk in the office with bleach. And possibly the chair and couch, since I’m betting what Luke needs doesn’t involve a can of soda or a sandwich. The buzzing of the gun mixes with the stereo and that Ember chick whining to Mitch about how much it hurts. For the sake of my sanity, and since we aren’t legally allowed to gag customers, I put my headphones in and begin working on paperwork, hoping that Shinedown can drown out the chaos around me so I can focus.

  ***

  After hours of paperwork and having to handle deliveries, not to mention ordering a huge spread of apology flowers to be sent to Mitch’s mother, I finally get everything done and completely organized. Until tomorrow, that is. Once these guys come in here looking for shit, they’ll fuck it all up and I’ll have to do it all over again.

  Gotta love the hamster wheel of repetition.

  “Luke’s gone, Mitch is wherever it is Mitch goes, and I’m outta here.”

  Grabbing my bag from the front, I shove the notepad of figures for our little business venture inside and give the shop a once over. Skinner is hard at work on the outline for a kick ass sleeve design a guy dropped off earlier, while Charlie sits at the edge of the counter with his feet up on my desk, eyes glued to his phone.

  “Excuse me, do I go into your station and put my feet up?” I ask, spinning the chair so that his sneakers bounce off the floor.

  “Yes, you do,” he replies, scratching his dark beard. “As soon as I’m not lookin’.”

  “Exactly. So treat me with the same respect and wait to be a complete asshole until I leave, alright lumber-chuck?” I tease, taking in the flannel shirt that makes him look more like he’s about to go chop down a forest instead work the shop for the night.

  “Funny stuff, Madame Pricktator,” he deadpans, making me laugh.

  “You’re a barrel of laughs, Chuckle.” Winking at him, I pat his arm. “Good to know that Ki’s joke is getting around. I’ll see ya later,” I say, then head down the hallway toward the alley where my car is parked.

  I stop by the store on my way home, since I am off tomorrow, to grab groceries and some beer. I pull in to gas up my car, then scowl down at the light on my dash when I see that somebody has already filled the tank for me.

  Mitch.

  Ever since I was shot, it seems like he has taken liberties with my life. For weeks he did my grocery shopping, even though Leah and Kionna were delivering more meals everyday than I could possibly eat. When I said something, he argued that the bags were too heavy for me and to shut up. Hell, he even took my keys for weeks and played chauffeur because he had some moronic idea that driving was unnecessary stress on my injuries. Now he has been servicing my car and, apparently, is keeping the tank full as well.

  He’s been nice, and I appreciate it, but he just doesn’t understand that it makes me feel weak.

  I’m far from fragile and can’t stand being treated like I am easily broken. I’m not. Growing up, girls are always held to completely different standards than boys. It’s bullshit. Lack of penis doesn’t define us females as the weaker sex. The biggest, strongest man in the world can be reduced to a puddle of tears and vomit with one well-placed kick to the cock.

  Not that I’d do that without a damn good reason. I prefer to spend my time appreciating a nice hard cock, not destroying its ability to function properly.

  Once I get home, I unload all the groceries and get the beer chilling in the fridge. After I shower and change clothes, I start slicing up steak and veggies to fry for dinner. Sure I could make myself up and go out but, tonight, I’m content to stay home and lounge in front of the television and get lost in the latest Channing Tatum movie.

  What more does a girl really need?

  While eating and enjoying the allotted minutes of on-screen nakedness that only he can provide, I get a text message from Devon saying how much he enjoyed himself the other night on our date and asking when he can see me again.

  I’m so happy you enjoyed yourself, sweetie, but that’s a big negative there on that second date.

  Devon is sweet and he was cute. I couldn’t place it at dinner, but something was just off about him. I overlooked it at first with because I hadn’t been laid since before I was shot and really wanted to be impaled on the giant bulge he was constantly adjusting during dinner, while openly gawking at my tits. It was a judgment call. Sadly, even with a cock longer than my arm, the moment can be ruined with one word.

  My much needed orgasm was lost to the void the moment he buried his face in my neck and started moaning the word ‘mommy’.

  Once I knew that there was no way Ms. O was making an appearance, I did what any woman would do when she is ready for the man fucking her to hit the pavement so she can sleep. I faked it. Clenching and moaning at all the right times, I stroked his ego like he was going off to war while secretly shaking my head in disbelief at the absolute waste of snake. When God above carves you out with a long, thick, perfectly curved penis and you still can still manage to fuck it all up, while balls deep, you’ve got serious problems.

  Someone call cock repo STAT!

  Shaking my head, I ignore the message and start working on the business plan to get Luke on board with our idea. The lack of massive funds needed for startup costs is a huge plus in itself. Sure, starting a business is scary as hell, but he knows all about that. We already have so many things out of the way. We have a location right on the Vegas strip with massive foot traffic, the headlining dancer to draw people in, and more than enough bored housewives and kinky women to fill the place to capacity.

  My phone rings just as I finish listing the startup costs and a projection of possible earnings to show Luke once us girls have agreed on the terms. “Hello, this is Shelby with Artistic Pricks Ink,” I say, flipping the page over in my notepad, just in case it is for the shop while hoping it isn’t Devon.

  Seriously, it’s not him that’s the problem… Okay, it is, but it’s just that he isn’t the him I’m looking for. He isn’t him and I don’t want to have to spell th
at out crayon style for him.

  That’s makes perfect sense, right?

  “Is this Shelby Winston?” the raspy female voice asks.

  “Yes, what can I do for you?” I ask, relieved that this isn’t the call where we have the ‘I’m sorry, I have to move to Guam and can’t be your girlfriend’ speech.

  “My name is Officer Emily Nixon, do you know a Mitchell Taylor? We found your name and number listed as an emergency contact in his phone.”

  “Yes, I do. Is something wrong?” I ask, suddenly horrified of the answer. Thoughts of him in the hospital, after drinking and driving, hit me like a slap to the face. Then my thoughts go where I can’t handle. I feel like a damn kid again, helpless and just waiting for the words I don’t want to hear to come through the phone. My hands are shaking and I don’t even know how I could possibly tell Luke or Mitch’s mother that something has happened to him. “Is h-he o-kkay?” I stutter.

  My breath lodges in my chest and the seconds feel like hours. I want to scream into the phone and demand answers. Yes, Mitch is an ass, but all the guys at the shop mean something to me. Yes, even Mitch.

  “Oh yes,” she replies, and if I weren’t already sitting, I’d collapse. “He was picked up outside a bar trying to break into a truck.”

  “He what?” I ask in disbelief, clutching my chest.

  “Upon further investigation, he appears to have been trying to break into his own truck,” she explains further. “Though, we couldn’t, in good judgment, allow him to drive in his current state or send him off alone to fend for himself. Another officer has him detained until we could contact someone. Even though we could hold him for public intoxication, I really don’t see that as helping the situation any.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, knowing that she is right. All that would do is cause more issues, not just with Mitch and the law, but for Luke as well. “Where are you holding him? I can leave right now.”