I doubted he’d care if I made some coffee, though, so I did that, while I waited for him. He had said we would go to the shop early today, but I’d probably overestimated what early meant. It wasn’t even nine in the morning yet. The shop opened at around noon. I was excited; I didn’t want to wait.
Finding a job had been easier than I had expected it to be. Almost too easy.
I had never been a tattoo shop manager before. I hadn’t even been inside a tattoo shop before a couple of days ago. I didn’t know what it all entailed, but I liked to think that Asher hired me because he did know and he thought I was qualified. Not that he felt sorry for me and was giving me the job as a way to say sorry for what had happened with Ryan. He had seemed genuinely impressed with my resume, which was great. Earning money for the first time in months would feel amazing.
This was somewhere I wouldn’t have to pretend. If managing the shop would be anything like managing the veterinary clinic, then I could do it. Supervising daily operations; that was what managers did, right? I could do that. I had done that. And here there wouldn’t be any dead puppies. Jenn, the tattoo shop manager, was as good a next step as any in my life. It was an improvement. I’d been rehab-Felicity and bed-bound-Felicity and drop out-Felicity. Recently employed-Jenn was a vast improvement.
What kind of girl was Jenn? I wasn’t sure I knew, and if I was going to be her, I needed to find out. Like how much of me was also part of her. How much of her was just me, making stuff up. Was she bitchy or was she a nice girl? What were her favorite movies? I guess I had come to LA to be an actress.
It wasn’t really acting, though. I mean, I was still me. Felicity. Lissa. Lissy to my parents. I still looked the same—if you didn’t count the piercing in my navel. I was just using a different name and reserving the parts of my story that were a little more… sensitive. I was being cautious around strangers in a strange place. The name thing… I would be gone before I had been around long enough for it to matter.
I had heard Asher come back during the night, sometime past midnight. He hadn’t been alone. He had been with someone very giggly; I was guessing a girl. I was also guessing she was still in there with him because I hadn’t heard her leave. Which was fine. It was fine. It was his house; therefore, it was fine. It didn’t make sense to be jealous, and that wasn’t what I was.
I had blown into his life, right out of the desert. He didn’t have to change shit for me. I would never have asked him to. I just felt very inside his life very suddenly, but still like I was just a spectator. It was weird. Like in movies where you’re a ghost and are aware of everything happening around you, but it doesn’t matter because it’s all happening without you.
Asher was hot—very hot—and from what I’d seen, single. I wasn’t necessarily looking, but you know, I was looking. I had looked. I looked as often as I could. He obviously took very good care of himself, but he liked to have a good time. He also didn’t seem to wear a shirt around the house a lot which was fine by me.
All the better to stare at him while pretending like I wasn’t. He, from what I’d seen, had more tattooed than blank skin. Both arms, some of his neck, his chest and his entire back. I wondered where else he had them. I wanted to see, but using my imagination was good too. Like imagining what he looked like working out to get that big in the first place.
I hadn’t had a guy on my radar for years. Sure, I had looked at other guys while I was with Ben, but never with the intention of exploring beyond that. I didn’t have that here because I thought the circumstances were a little weird, but fantasizing a little was fun. It made me feel alive, like that part of me hadn’t died when Ben had.
I drank my coffee while I sat on the couch I used as my bed, contemplating whether or not I should turn the television on.
The door to Asher’s room opened, and I heard someone walk into the living room. I turned expecting to see him but instead saw a woman. She had just woken up, but she looked like she’d redone her makeup; blood-red lips, mascara and eyeliner around her eyes. The rest of her skin was porcelain white and flawless like she’d powdered it. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, jet black. She looked like one of those impossibly beautiful old-timey actresses, like Ava Gardner or Hedy Lamarr. Her heels were in her hand, and one of her arms was completely covered in tattoos.
“Hey,” I said when she didn’t notice me. She jumped seeing me.
“Oh yeah, Ash said he had someone staying with him,” she said instead of saying hi back.
“I’m Jenn,” I said, “Coffee?” I offered before I could stop myself. It was me, the Felicity me that had said it without approval from the person I was supposed to be here. That wasn’t so bad, was it? I was just using another name; I could still mostly be myself.
“I actually wanted to leave,” she said. She was wearing this really adorable sky-blue vintage style dress with a flared skirt and cinched waist. All the girls I’d met here were so cool. I still only had my rehab approved clothes, assorted sweatshirts, and loose-fitting jeans. Not that my style otherwise was that different, but this fucking chick, who looked that good after a one-night stand? She smiled at me. “Who are you? His sister or something?”
“No, we’re friends,” I said vaguely. “If you’re calling an Uber, it’s going to take a while to get here,” I said. She smiled at me the way you smile at a little kid.
“No, I think I’ll get going. It was nice to meet you,” she said, slipping her heels on. She ran a hand through her hair and shot me one more smile before she let herself out. God. People in Los Angeles were so beautiful. The women Asher dated were so beautiful. Of course they were—he was so beautiful.
What was that I was feeling? A little insecure? A little dumpy in comparison? Not great feelings to have, but better than constant darkness and dread. At least it meant I was out in the real world encountering real people again. My pills fixed some things, not everything.
Not long after the woman left, Asher emerged from his room. I had wanted to say hi or something but had decided at the last minute that I’d rather silently watch him. Nothing but a tight pair of boxer briefs on. You don’t think movement can be sexy till you can see it. Muscles moving under skin, tightening and relaxing, it’s pretty hypnotic. Even his ass was fantastic. He finally saw me.
“She left already, if you’re looking for her,” I said. Good morning Asher. How are you? I made coffee, would you like some? All of those would have worked better, but I wanted to hear what he’d say to me.
“Finally, fucking thought she’d never leave. How’d you sleep?”
“Better than you did, I’m guessing,” I smirked. He smirked back, accepting my challenge.
“Did you hear us? Was it good for you too?” he asked. I had, mostly her though, so no, it hadn’t been that great for me.
“I hope she didn’t tire you out too much,” I said. “We have to go to work. I made coffee.”
“Afraid you’ll be late for your first day? You know you can’t get in trouble if the reason you’re late is you were hanging out with the boss.” I smiled at him over my coffee cup.
“I’m just excited to be working under you. When can we leave?” He smiled wolfishly at that.
“Under me is a good place to be. That’s the go-getter attitude I hired you for. Half an hour and we can go,” he said going into the kitchen. He came out with a cup of coffee and went back to his room. I felt a little warm, and not just from the coffee. I mostly did it because he’d do it back.
Every word was true, and I thought he was gorgeous, and I was coming onto him, and if all he was doing was flirting back for my sake, then fine, I’d take it. The fact that I didn’t really think I was his type and that he wouldn’t really make a move just made me bolder. Like I could practice on him, for when I really wanted to meet someone.
I washed my mug and in thirty-two minutes—I had counted—we were in Asher’s car on the way to his shop.
He muttered something about getting the shop keys back from Ryan as he
opened the door up. He turned the light on, and we walked in. It looked bigger when it was empty. I could remember looking inside the first time, out on the sidewalk and wondering what I’d say if I plucked up enough courage to go inside. Asher had been the only one in there, and he had looked sort of busy. The idea to get a quick, small commemorative tattoo had crossed my mind, but in the end, I hadn’t. Ryan had come outside for a smoke, struck up conversation and now here we were.
“That is Jun’s station, that is Mal’s. That is Devon’s over there, and that’s mine,” Asher said, pointing out the four stations, beginning the introduction. Each was slightly different. Each artist had been allowed to personalize theirs to some degree. “And this is yours,” he said when we got to the desk. The way the shop was set up, you had to walk past the artist stations before getting to the desk. “The first thing you do when people walk in through there is you have to greet them. Smile. Say hi. Be nice. Ask them what they’re here for.”
He walked around the desk to the seat. There was a computer on it and a phone.
“If they’re here for an appointment, direct them to the waiting area if they have to wait a little or send them through to their artist,” he said. “We will depend on you to answer the phone and emails. Customer service. Can you do that?” I nodded, trying not to smile. He sounded very business-like and official.
“What about if the customer wants to know something specific or technical that I don’t know?”
“A lot of people already know who they want their ink from by the time they’re contacting us. A lot of the time they contact us directly, but when they don’t, we need you to direct them to who they want to talk to.” I nodded again. I could do that.
“Next, is the boring stuff,” he said. “Inventory, orders, marketing. You have to make sure we always have what we need. We can’t tattoo without ink, without needles, gloves—we always need these things. I’d rather have the storeroom full than have to send a customer away because we don’t have the tools to tattoo them. Got it?” I nodded again, telling him I understood.
“Next,” he said moving past me from behind the desk. We moved into the back area past his office and the storeroom. There was a spacious room back there with a massage chair. There were tables and what looked like extra storage.
“Is this another station?” I asked.
“Yeah, sometimes we have guest artists, that is another thing you have to organize if and when we do host guests,” he said. We stopped at a table which held two large things that looked like pressure cookers. “These are the sterilizers: one for piercing, one for tattooing. These are regulation, we have to have them, and we have to make sure they work. If a customer asks about our sterilization and wants to see, bring them back here.”
He showed me their business license, where they kept the tattoo and piercing waivers, told me their rules, general things I had to know about running the shop. It was a lot of different moving parts. Not too much, just more than I expected. Tattoo shops just seemed like such informal, artistic spaces. It never occurred to me the health codes they had to adhere to and what it took to keep one running.
“Lastly,” he said. “We will ask you for help planning parties. Ordering and buying drinks, music, calling a few people, things like that.” I nodded, I’d helped Ryan with that once already. “So? Think you can do it?”
“I’d like to try,” I said, regretting it immediately because I sounded really unsure of myself.
“The first month is going to be a trial period. We’re all friends here. Getting along with the other artists is extremely important. I don’t do tension, and I don’t do drama.”
“You think the other guys are going to like me?” I asked.
“They already think you’re cool. Whether or not they like you is going to depend on whether or not you can do your job.” They liked me. I let myself feel good about that for a second. Had I made friends, and I hadn’t even known it?
“How early do I come in?”
“The usual time. Noon to open the shop up. Earlier if you want, but we don’t start tattooing till then. We’re closed on Mondays. We can come together.”
“Thank you for this,” I said, sincerely looking up at him. “I’d probably be working with my stepmother at her flower shop right now, de-thorning roses.”
“Don’t thank me yet. It’s still your first day. It’s a trial period for you, but it’s one for us too.”
“I’m just grateful for the opportunity. And the place to stay,” I said.
“I like having beautiful girls around me,” he said quietly. I felt myself blush and had to fight to stifle the girlish giggle I had coming.
“Mhm. Devon and Jun are very beautiful,” I said. He chuckled.
“Yeah, Dev’s beard? It’s something else,” he said playfully. “Don’t tell him, but I think you’re way hotter.”
“I hope you don’t play favorites, Asher. It would be terrible for employee morale.”
“Then don’t tell the others,” he said, winking. All my organs turned to soup inside me. I didn’t want to feel like he meant it, but he sounded pretty convincing.
What was he doing? Was this just a game for him? Was it fun for him, making me squirm? Was that all it was? Just a game or had he meant a single thing he’d said to me? I had seen the type of women he apparently liked, and I wasn’t it. If there was a chance that he did like me, any chance at all, it would be because he wanted to fuck me. It embarrassed me to admit, but I wasn’t sure I’d say no if he offered.
9
Asher
It took about a good two hours after starting work to regret bringing Jenny in as the new manager. Less than that, really because all it had taken was the time between when Devon had gone to her desk to talk to her, and the time she had laughed at something he said. No more than twenty-five seconds, I estimated. Shit. The two hours was how long they talked as Devon drew while waiting for his appointment to come in.
I wasn’t close enough to hear what he was saying to her, but I was close enough to hear her laugh at it. I didn’t like it, but I had no good reason to go over there and tell them to stop. I knew Dev. What could he possibly be saying to her that would make her laugh so hard?
I didn’t like it. I felt like he was getting too close and he needed to back off. Jenny was… she wasn’t mine, but I felt like I had to have my guard up when guys got close to her. Dev wasn’t going to try hurt her right there in the middle of my shop at work, but that didn’t matter. I still felt it.
Phaedra squirmed on the chair, cursing. For the number of tattoos she had, she was terrible at getting them. I hadn’t remembered taking her home the night before that she was my first appointment the next day. If I had, I would have maybe taken better care of letting Jenny meet her.
She was getting her feet done. She did burlesque, so she was really picky about where she got her tattoos. She wouldn’t get her back because she said that was one of the sexiest parts of a woman and men didn’t like it, or something like that. I didn’t pretend to understand, I just paused and asked her whether she was okay before I kept going.
“How much longer?” she whined. She was getting these illustration style custom pieces—lipstick, ribbon, different elements that had to look like they were one piece when she stood with her feet together. I had just begun shading, so she wasn’t lucky.
“At least two more hours,” I said apologetically. I glanced over at Jenny’s desk because she’d been quiet for a little while. She wasn’t there. That was because she was at Dev’s station, watching him work, talking to his client.
“Ash?”
“Hm?” Phaedra had said something. I’d totally blanked out.
“Can we finish the other foot later?” she repeated. I frowned. It was not nearly enough work to have to split into two sessions. Tattoos hurt. More people needed to realize that before they came into shops and pussed out. Besides, squeezing her in for another session wouldn’t happen until a few weeks from now.
�
�I’d rather finish everything today,” I said. “If I get her done now, you won’t have to do this again.” She pouted. “Come on; we have lollipops in the back for the people who sit the best.”
“I think you like hurting me,” she said.
“I don’t give you more than you can take.”
“Can I come over tonight?” she asked.
I glanced back at Dev’s station. Jenny was gone, back at her desk. Yes. Yes, she could come over. If I couldn’t put it in Jenny, I had to put it somewhere. I wasn’t a hound, but I wasn’t the Pope either. Jenny was like your boss’s daughter or best friend’s sister, I could look, but I couldn’t touch. If I couldn’t touch, I had to touch something else because I wasn’t going to jerk off every night like a twelve-year-old.
If everything was different, and we’d just met like normal people, at the gym, or a club or on an app, then I wouldn’t even be having this conflict. I would be having Jennifer, naked in my bed every night. As many nights as it took. Usually, it just took one, but this girl seemed a little sweeter. A little naughtier. A little more worth the chase.
Knowing she was out there in the living room and could probably hear me made it hotter. When she was so close, I could imagine what she was doing out there. I could believe it made her hot to know what I was doing in my room. It was almost voyeuristic; like I wanted her to know what I wanted to do to her. What I could do to her.
“I don’t know,” I said, starting the machine up again. “Might already have someone else coming in, but you can still come if you don’t mind sharing.” She narrowed her eyes at me.
“You mean if you don’t mind sharing,” she said. She leaned over the chair to kiss me, which I let her do. She got wet for guys and girls. Phaedra was the girl you didn’t lock down but kept her number in your phone. For when you wanted something different. She was kinky. She did the whole bit with fishnet stockings and corsets—pretty hot. Not something I wanted all the time, but a nice way to mix it up.
Asher (Heartbreakers & Troublemakers Book 6) Page 7