Caught in Flames

by Lexy Timms

  Pixie said, “Ouch.” She giggled. “Sounds like the perfect day.”

  Hawk rolled his eyes. “Yeah, you know me so well, Pix.” He turned back to the gorgeous blue eyes across from him and explained, “I don’t dislike most Hollywood types, but that kid...” He shook his head.

  Joy’s eyes met his and stayed there. “Do you get a lot of Hollywood types?”

  Crap. Was she an actress or in the business? “Some,” he said cautiously. Had he sounded too annoyed by all A-listed Hollywood people?

  “I see.” She looked away and stared at the people inside the restaurant.

  He couldn’t figure her out so he asked, “I know what Pixie does, but what about you?”

  “Oh. I’m an architect. I...” She licked her lips; a tantalizing flash of her pink tongue showed against the darker pink flesh of her mouth for a moment and then she continued, “I want to revitalize lower-income neighborhoods without causing anymore disturbance in the already-unfair and unbalanced rental and housing markets.” She shrugged and smiled, almost apologetically. “I know how that must sound...”

  “Logical?”

  “Impossible.” She sighed and picked at the edges of her napkin. “It’s a mess, and everyone knows why, but they all keep overlooking the simplest solutions. The issue is that with the housing boom and bust a lot of people in higher-income neighborhoods find themselves having to move. They pick the next-best neighborhoods, naturally.”

  He set his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand, clearly intrigued. “Go on, please.”

  “They move into neighborhoods with lower prices, for them, but those prices get driven up higher because of their arrival, and the people in the neighborhoods that they moved into, as a consequence, find themselves priced out. They move and now they’re all moving and continuing that cycle in other neighborhoods.”

  “And nobody wins. Except maybe the landlords and developers.” Hawk was beyond impressed. “So what’s your plan?”

  “Revitalization at low cost; restoring civic pride and keeping people in their own neighborhoods. The issue is that if we revitalize, then those neighborhoods become more attractive to those priced out elsewhere, so what I’d like to see is the ability for more people to actually buy instead of just renting. To do that, there needs to be revitalization, to make those homes attractive to the people in them to purchase them, and to feel like staying in a neighborhood that they have been working to get out of is really the place they want to be.”

  “It also gives them an anchor in their neighborhoods. It’s hard to price-out owners.” Hawk shook his head and straightened when he saw the waiter coming with trays in his hand.

  Their food arrived and as they dug in, Pixie said, “She’s been working on this since college. It used to drive her professors crazy. She has these plans to create green space with recycled materials like tires and plastic bottles and stuff.”

  Even more impressed, Hawk stared at the smart, beautiful woman across from him. “You really care about this.”

  She gave him a shy smile. “I do. I just don’t have a lot of logistical answers. The truth is that the revitalization needs the cooperation of the neighborhood. The people have to be willing to buy in. For many that means working on credit issues and saving money at a time when things are already stretched really thin. But it can be done, and the only way to really fuel their wanting to buy in is to give them something to buy into.”

  Hawk bit into a tender chunk of steak. “How do you plan to do that?”

  She looked sheepish. “Buy a few houses and renovate. Fund green space out of my pocket, give the neighborhood an idea of what it could be like with revitalization. Make it something they want to fight for. I can’t repair credit or income issues, but there are plenty of lenders willing to work with them. The rest is up to them.”

  He gawked at her then said, “Holy shit, you really do believe in this.”

  She nodded. Her smile got wider. “Go big or go home, right?”

  He grinned. “That’s how I’ve always looked at it.”

  She started to eat, and he watched her while chatting with Pixie about mutual friends. Joy ate slowly, obviously enjoying the food, but with a notable self-consciousness too. He could guess what that stemmed from.

  The conversation eased into other channels, and long before he wanted it to be, dinner was over.

  “Thanks for the invite, Pix,” Hawk said and smiled at his little buddy before giving her a big hug. “I had a good time.” He turned to Joy and tried not to stare to hard into her pretty blue eyes. “It was nice meeting you as well.” He held out his hand, and when her soft, warm fingers curled around his palm, he had to mentally tell himself not to pull her into a tight hug or try to kiss her. He was sure it was written all over his face.

  “Good-night, Hawk.” Her voice, soft and husky, seemed to carry a hint of something as she said his name. He couldn’t quite figure out what.

  He nodded and pointed at Pix. “You keep an eye on that new tattoo. Let me know if there’re any problems or something you don’t like.”

  She playfully punched him in his hard abs. “You know it’s perfect. It always is.”

  After smiling and standing there a little too long, he reluctantly turned and headed to his bike. He nodded once more as he passed the two beautiful ladies and headed home. The bike tooled along the highway and he smiled at the sensation of the powerful engine below and the wind in his hair.

  Joy stayed in his thoughts as he pulled up in front of his modest house. He’d grown up in a rough neighborhood, so he knew exactly what she was talking about.

  When houses and rent became too high in the more desirable areas, people with more money did move in, and brought their money with them. Families with less money didn’t just get priced-out; their kids had to handle a sudden influx of kids used to more who were bitter and angry at their sudden shifting into a new place. They formed their own cliques, and their clothes and money set them up as little princes and princesses, and they knew it.

  He opened the gate and drove through it. The house was simple, a small 1950 post-and-beam place, with large windows that looked out over the miniscule yard and infinity pool. His home was filled with character, along with his art and other things he’d bought over the years. It was his, just like the shop. He’d gotten them through hard work and struggle.

  He headed into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of wine, then opened it and poured himself a generous amount. His eyes wandered over the quartz counters and stainless steel appliances and, as he always did, he found himself comparing the house to the small, rundown home he’d lived in as a child.

  He had hardwood on his floors, and the torn linoleum of his youth was now gone. The grimy windows and stained walls groaning under a heavy freight of whatever paint was cheaper had been replaced by the clean, white expanses of walls thicker than any he’d known as a kid.

  Hawk knew part of his public reputation came from his having been raised in such a tough neighborhood, and that while that added to his street cred, it also hindered him too. He wanted success, but he wanted it his way. He wasn’t running from his past, but he wasn’t willing to stay where he had been either.

  Most of the guys he’d gone to high school with had washed up and out, ending up on drugs or working at jobs they hated. There were a few exceptions, most notably John, who’d taken their football-playing in junior high and high school into a good college program, where he’d gotten his degree in business.

  He was as good with accounting as he had been as a defensive player and was now Hawk’s financial manager; and he was the one person Hawk could always count on not to bullshit him about how the shop was doing. And now it was doing spectacularly. He’d saved his money religiously in order to open it, and he’d done that so he wouldn’t have to take out loans he might not be able to pay back.

  In the end, the lean years of interning and working hard had paid off, and he was proud of all that he accomplished. He had every
thing he wanted.

  Except a woman to share it all with.

  Which just took him right back to Joy. Again.

  Confession of a Tattooist - Ch 4

  “He likes you.” Pixie’s words cut through the silence that had built in the car.

  Joy, navigating past a thick clump of traffic, didn’t turn her head as she said, “What?”

  “Hawk.” There was amusement in Pixie’s voice. “He likes you. I can tell.”

  Joy’s belly fluttered but she said, “I liked him too. He seems like a nice guy. Not quite what I pictured a tattoo artist to be like.”

  Pixie crowed with rich laughter. “Nice? Hawk? No. But he’s a good man anyway. And when I say he liked you I meant he liked you as a woman. Not just as a person.”

  Heat crept into Joy’s face. “No, he didn’t.”

  “He does.”

  Choosing her words carefully, Joy said, “Well, I’m sure he isn’t interested in me, and even if he was I wouldn’t want to step on your toes.”

  “Crap. You really need to get out more!” Pixie played with her short blue hair. “There’s nothing between me and Hawk, and you would know that if you were around people more instead of hiding away in the apartment, sketching up designs for your utopia and your rich clients’ McMansions.”

  “Hey now, those rich clients are going to pay for Utopia.” Joy grinned and then turned her thoughts back to Hawk, her smile disappearing. “I’m sure you’re wrong, Pixie. Guys don’t like girls like me, and you know it.” A world of hurt lay beneath her voice.

  Pixie obviously heard it too. “Joy, not every guy is an ass. Not every guy wants a toothpick-thin woman, either.”

  “Yeah? Let me know when you have to navigate the world as me, and we’ll discuss that.”

  “Ouch. Are you telling me to check my privilege?”

  Joy bit her lips. “I’m saying you’ve never been my size, so you don’t understand.”

  “That would be a yes then. You’re right. I am thin, and naturally so. I’ve never had to handle rude jerks who think me unworthy because I can’t fit into a size two.” Pixie put a warm hand on her arm. “I won’t pretend I know what’s like to have that happen, and since I have seen it happen to you I get that it hurts you. But you are not fat. Or obese. Or overweight. None of that. You get that, right?”

  Joy shrugged. She didn’t feel overweight, or obese. She just felt... big. She towered over Pixie.

  “I also get that you’re not just dealing with a stupid idealized beauty standard, but dealing with guys who want you because they imagine one day you’ll come away with some of those millions and give it to them. Or help them with their careers.”

  Joy swallowed hard. “Well, that’s just the way it is. We’re all labelled,” she said, and thought about Hawk and what she had thought he was like before she had even met him, “and we’re all guilty of labelling. Can we talk about something else?”

  She knew Pixie meant well. They’d met their first year at college, and they’d become fast friends and roommates too, and even now, six years after college had released them, they were still friends. They might not see each other every day, but they’d been there for each other through a lot of things, and she was always grateful to have such a good friend, but, no, Pixie didn’t get it.

  Pixie was a what-you-see-is-what-you-get kind of person. She’d grown up in a solidly blue-collar Midwestern home, and she was sensible and kind, and flighty and weird. She was also stunningly beautiful and she could eat her weight in cookies and never gain a single pound.

  Joy pulled into her parking spot and the two of them got out and headed inside.

  Pixie snapped her fingers. “Oh, change of subject; did I tell you I’m going up to Napa tomorrow?”

  Joy blinked. “No.”

  “Yeah I decided to go hang out with Laurie and Josh for a couple of days. You want to come?”

  Joy shook her head, regretfully. “No, but I wish I could. I’ve a huge deadline looming and I’m nowhere near close to getting it done. I’ll have to work overtime until it finished.”

  “No problem. You know the invite’s open if you change your mind.” Pixie yawned and stretched. “I’m beat and, what’s more, my binge shows are on. You want to watch?”

  Joy smiled. “No. I know how you are. You’ll be throwing popcorn and screaming at the screen.”

  “Yes, it’s all true, Your Honor.” She grinned and added, “I have to get up at five to catch my ride, so I’ll probably crash early. I’ll bring you back some good vino.”

  “Chardonnay,” Joy said firmly.

  Pixie gave her a hug and skipped off to her room, her dress floating up around her legs while Joy sat down and stared down at the plans she’d been working on earlier. Normally she could focus like a laser, but tonight she was restless.

  Hawk.

  He was definitely sexy as all hell.

  And funny.

  And successful in his own way and right.

  The perfect man.

  Only, a man that perfect was probably not ever going to be interested in a woman who was, to put it mildly, insecure and introverted. She knew she was being too hard on herself. She had a lot to offer; she just had to find the right person to offer it too, and that person wasn’t Hawk.

  But, damn, he was tempting.

  **

  Pixie was long gone when Joy woke up. She headed down to the gym for half an hour and came back up and showered quickly. She dressed comfortably and settled down at her desk to work on the deadline project she needed to finish. Unfortunately, she had a hard time concentrating.

  Her mind kept going back to Hawk.

  She was being ridiculous. The man likely had women lined up for miles, and he’d probably already forgotten all about her.

  If only she could forget about him!

  She couldn’t, though. She found herself thinking of the art up on the walls of his shop, and the way his hands had been so steady as he plied the needle across Pixie’s flesh.

  Frustrated by her inability to concentrate, or even think, she headed out of her place. As much as she hated to do it, she’d promised to have lunch with her mother. It wouldn’t hurt to be early. She got in her car and gave her reflection a quick peek. She’d applied a minimal amount of mascara and gloss, and a slight dusting of a fine mineral powder foundation to cover the faint dark circles under her eyes. Those dark circles were due to her tossing and turning all night in a restlessness she had absolutely no clue how to handle.

  She was used to being content with her life and being alone, with the occasional exception of Pixie and Caligula. “Thank goodness Pixie took that damn bird with her,” she muttered and then grinned, wondering how long it would be before Caligula drove Pixie’s hosts nuts with his one-line insults and ability to poop right through the bars of a cage and onto the floor, or, more recently, right onto the hapless person who happened to be anywhere near his cage.

  Pixie swore Caligula would be her next boyfriend’s litmus test. If the bird liked him, he was okay. Joy had to admit, ruefully, that Pixie might have a point. Caligula had spent hours insulting Brian, and look how he’d turned out.

  Traffic was light at that time of the day. Rodeo Drive, in the early mornings and afternoon, was the haunt of tourists and tour buses, and the tourists who were out were wandering along, stunned and confused, as they looked around the sun-washed streets in hopes of catching a glimpse of some celebrity strolling out of the mostly silent shops and eateries.

  She parked in a garage and headed into the place her mother had told her to meet her. She walked along the concrete sidewalk, mindlessly window-shopping, seeing the high-priced name brands of purses and clothes, not missing that she never shopped in them. The minute she walked into the door of the restaurant, she wanted to leave.

  Megan Reed lounged in a chair, her slim and elegant frame covered in off-white linen. Her hair, a perfect honey blonde, hung over one shoulder in a thick and exquisite braid. Her makeup was flawless, and at he
r elbow sat a tall glass of water that had likely been infused with either asparagus or some other green vegetable or fruit.

  Across from her sat Lily, Joy’s half-sister.

  Lily, fresh off her third divorce, this one a shattered mess created by a cheating, drug-addicted rock star of an ex, was just as impeccably groomed.

  Her frame was lean like Megan’s, and, like her stepmother she, too, had been a model. Lily’s black hair was drawn straight back from her tall forehead, and her perfectly arched eyebrows formed a double crescent as she took in Joy.

  Joy forced a smile and headed for the table.

  Lily’s eyes grew wide as she stared at Joy. “Are you ill?”

  “No.” Joy snuck a peek at the water next to Megan’s hand. Definitely slightly green.

  Megan continued to stare. “You look tired. Like really tired.”

  Already. She hadn’t even managed to order a drink yet and they were insulting her. Joy pressed her lips in a tight line. “I’ve been working a lot.”

  “I worked a lot as a model,” Megan said in a reproving tone. “Tell her, Lily, about when we had fifteen- hour and longer days, not to mention flights before and after. Now that was hard work, and we had to get off work looking as fresh as we had when we went in. Try some rose hip oil. It’ll perk your skin up.”

  Joy pretended to make a mental note. “Will do.” Had her mother ever been kind to her? She felt like Cinderella sometimes, with Lily being the real daughter and she just the stepchild.

  She couldn’t remember her mother ever being sweet. She could remember growing up in the shadows of the stunning Lily and the equally stunning Rose, and Calla. She had never measured up and she’d often had the uneasy feeling that her mother would have been quite happy if she could just claim her stepdaughters as her own, and ship her biological daughter off somewhere, never to be seen again. Forcing the thought aside, she asked, “Is Dad coming?”

  Her mother checked the expensive watch on her wrist. “He’s supposed to be. Would you like some oxygen-infused water?”

  “Yes, thank you.” What she really wanted a good hard bolt of liquor. Or a rocket ship that would take her right out of there.