Bad Love

by Jaci J

  “This art is vivid, brother, good as fuck in any style. Watercolor. Real life. Landscape. Portraits. She’s damn good.”

  “Doesn’t fucking matter. We’re good.” I step out back and into the alley behind the shop. “Does she even tattoo?”

  I do my own art, my own drawings. The last thing I need is another person in here trying to get rich off our clients.

  “No, but Shay’s art is fucking amazing.”

  Jesus fucking Christ. “Shay? That’s her name?”

  “That’s what her name was on her page. Doesn’t even fucking matter. She’s good.”

  I don’t need some social media “artist” coming in here and throwing their work around. Don’t need things changed or improved on. What we do works, and that’s how it’s staying. “Stay the fuck off the internet, yeah?”

  “Theo’s down.”

  “Don’t give a fuck,” I curse, pulling a smoke from my pack and lighting it up. Taking a drag, I lean back against the wall, relaxing a moment before I go back in and get back at it. “Theo doesn’t own the joint.” I might appreciate his opinion from time to time, but his say doesn’t really mean shit. Neither does my brother’s.

  “She’s comin’ by tomorrow.”

  I own this place, owned it for ten years, and in those ten years we’ve put in the work—my brother Alek, best friend Theo, and myself. We started out with nothing, just word of mouth and repeat customers, until we got to where we are today, which was from hard fucking work. No one’s gonna come in here and get a piece of that. Doesn’t matter how good she is, or how bad my brother wants to stick his dick in her.

  “We’re not hiring your piece of ass.”

  “Fuck you. I’ve never met the chick, just saw her shit on the internet. I know good art when I see it, and hers is fucking good.”

  Taking a drag, I put out my smoke on the brick wall beside me, shaking my head. “That’s fucking great, but she can sell her shit elsewhere.”

  It’s a big ass no from me.

  Alek growls, throwing his hands up. “She’s comin’ tomorrow. Either look at her shit or don’t, but I will be,” he tells me, walking off. He can be mad. He can be pissed. But I didn’t get where I am by letting artists ride my goddamn coattails. So like I said, Shay can take her art and sell it elsewhere.

  2

  Shay

  What does someone wear to a tattoo shop? I have no idea. I could stand here all day, staring into my little closet, but I’ve concluded that I own nothing nice. Nothing that even comes close to resembling interview or business meeting attire. My closet is full of faded, fringed, and holy this and thats. Paint covered or bought in a second-hand store, my wardrobe is lacking that grown-up polished style I wish I had, but know I couldn’t pull off.

  So, I pull on a pair of ripped knee jeans and an off-the-shoulder band tee, with a little lacy bralette under it, knowing this is as good as it gets for me. Of course, my jeans have paint splatters on them, because I just wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t covered in paint somewhere on my body.

  Grabbing a couple of prints and painted pieces, I shove them in my canvas tote and toss it over my shoulder on my way out the door.

  I don’t know what to expect, and I don’t know where this will go, but being a starving artist, I’d be stupid not to follow up. I’m a desperate lady here.

  Custom is downtown on the waterfront, a block from the docks and all the small shops and kitschy little restaurants. It’s a prime location. A three-story brick building, it’s weathered and old, but nonetheless, it’s a cool place for a tattoo shop.

  Pushing the old wooden door open, a bell above chimes when I walk in. I’m hit with rock music and the buzz of tattoo guns.

  The walls are painted black—the ones that aren’t old brick—and covered in art and drawings. There’s a desk in the middle, next to a glass case full of body jewelry and merchandise.

  The place is nice. Artsy and eclectic. All industrial and clean lines.

  “Welcome to Custom. What can I do for you?” a woman with purple and pink hair asks me, her face full of cool rings, metal studs, and colorful barbells. She’s a total badass.

  “Uh, yeah. I’m here to see Alek,” I tell her, rocking back nervously on my heels.

  She looks down at a large, leather-bound book in front of her, flipping through the pages. “You have an appointment?” she inquires.

  Twisting my hand around the strap of my bag, I laugh. “Kinda. He wanted to see my art.”

  “Shay?” She looks me up and down, like it just dawned on her. I can’t tell if she’s sizing me up or checking me out.

  I nod slowly, pointing at myself. “That’s me.”

  She smiles and opens her mouth, shouting, “Alek, your chick is here!” toward the back of the shop, her eyes still on me, watching for my reaction.

  “Be right out!” he hollers back.

  Pink and purple hair girl’s smile gets bigger. “Go ahead and hang out. He’ll be up here to grab you in a second.”

  “Thanks,” I mumble, walking up to the glass and looking at the things inside. Her phone rings, taking her attention away from me as she goes to answer it. Do I want a tongue ring? Not so much. But it’s better to browse than it is to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.

  I don’t know much about body piercing, aside from my nose ring, but I can imagine what those big barbells and things labeled “French Ticklers” are for, and I think I blush a little when an image of a pierced tongue between my thighs pops into my head.

  “Lookin’ to get somethin’ pierced? Because my boy Theo is the man when it comes to body jewelry,” a deep voice teases from near my shoulder.

  Jerking, I look away and up, up, up, at a very handsome face. “Uh...n-no,” I stutter.

  The man, who I’m guessing is Alek, smirks down at me. “Too bad. A tongue ring would go nice with that little nose hoop ya got there.”

  Oh boy.

  Sticking out my hand, I get to business, ignoring his comment. I’m done with men. Done, done. And Alek might be a fine piece of man at first glance, but not fine enough. “Shay,” I introduce myself, using my best business voice.

  He’s tall—like, six foot. Dirty blond hair cut close to his head and messy at the top, sticking up all over the place. Tanned, tattooed arms. A wide chest and slim waist. He’s handsome in a California surfer sorta way.

  He takes my hand and shakes it, continuing to smirk at me like he knows something I don’t. “Alek Delgado.”

  “Shay Brooks. It’s nice to meet you. Thanks for asking to see my work.”

  “Don’t thank me now. I haven’t bought any of it yet,” he says smoothly, adding a quick wink to his words. Any other woman might fall for that, but I’ve been there and done that, and I’m not about guys right now.

  The man is handsome and flirtatious. He’s trouble. “Let’s go sit. I wanna see your shit.”

  My shit? I try really hard not to roll my eyes. This meeting, if you can even call it that, is anything but formal as far as I can see. We’re doing this thing casually. My holy jeans will fit right in apparently.

  “Sure. I have some of it here.” I pat my bag and follow him deeper into the shop.

  We walk down a long hall, lined in brick and covered in framed vintage tattoo prints. Stopping at one of the doors, he opens it for me.

  Inside is a big table with large, stately chairs all around it. “Have a seat. Let’s get down to it.”

  Taking the seat closest, Alek sits in the one next to me.

  I pull out my prints and set a few pieces on the table, handing the others over to Alek. I watch, on pins and needles, as Alek looks each piece over, judging them, studying them carefully. The man is serious about his art. I can appreciate that.

  “Your landscapes are fucking amazing,” he tells me after a few minutes, running his fingers over the watercolored beach print I painted a few years ago, when I bought junk food from a gas station and ate it on the beach, watching the sun set into the Pacific.

/>   “Thanks.” I’m proud of my work, but shy about taking praise for it. I’m good, but I’m also my own worst critic.

  “Simple, but so damn good. Detailed in the cleanest way.” Instead of handing back my landscape pieces, he keeps them, putting them in a pile near his arm. “And these sugar skulls. Damn, Shay, you’ve got talent.”

  I just nod, picking at my black nail polish, not meeting his eyes. Skulls I do for fun, something I doodle when I’m bored. Landscapes are where I fall in love, where I spend my time and energy.

  “I want them all.” He looks at me with serious determination.

  Looking up quickly, my head practically spinning, I ask, “You do? Seriously?” I’m shocked.

  “Fuck yeah. You’re good, the best I’ve seen in a while. Would you be up for doing a mural for me as well?”

  Wow. “I don’t know what to say,” I mutter, looking down at the table in front of me, attempting to swallow the lump growing in my throat.

  “Say you’re gonna sell them to me, give me a price, then tell me you’ll do the mural,” he chuckles, watching me closely.

  I open my mouth to answer him, but snap it shut when the door flies open, hitting the wall behind it with a hard thud.

  Startled, I look up at the scariest, yet sexiest man I’ve ever seen.

  Niko

  “THE FUCK YOU DOIN’ in here?” I ask Alek, looking from him to some woman sitting at the table in the conference room.

  About to look back at my brother, I stop, doing a double take when I really get a good look at the chick sitting in a chair at the head of the table—my chair.

  The woman is fucking beautiful. Her eyes are wide, and her lips are worried between a set of pearly white teeth. She’s a goddamn goddess.

  With long dark hair, a stunning face, and a hot little body, she’s fucking sexy as sin.

  Too fucking hot.

  She’s trouble.

  The woman stares back, unwavering, when something close to a growl makes its way out of my mouth. She’s the artist.

  Fuck. Me.

  Looking away, I focus my attention on my brother, confused as fuck about what he’s trying to do behind my back. I told him no, and I know goddamn well he heard me say it.

  The fuck is he trying to pull?

  “This is Shay,” he tells me, sliding a canvas across the table in my direction. Catching it, I pick it up and look it over. It’s damn good work. This bitch is clearly talented, but, “I’m not interested in buying new art or hiring any new artists,” I snap, my voice loud. Louder than it should be.

  I’m not in the mood to do this shit today, but it looks like we’re going to be doing it anyway.

  I half expect her to cry. Hell, even whimper. But instead, she cocks her head to the side, still staring at me. Watching me. Studying me. Begging me to say something.

  “Jesus, Niko,” Alek barks out in annoyance.

  “Do you think my work sucks?” she asks, her voice softer than I’d expected, yet strong and full of malice.

  “Your shit’s fine enough, just not lookin’ to buy any of it.”

  Shay looks at me, and then at my brother, before getting up slowly from her chair. I watch as she walks around the table, between my brother and me, and begins grabbing up her work, stuffing the canvases into her bag.

  She has to reach across for a few, and I’m having a hard time not ogling her, looking at her body and the way it fucking moves.

  Jesus.

  Walking right up to me, she smirks and takes the canvas from my hand, stuffing it into her bag with the others. She doesn’t say anything else, she just turns on her heels and heads for the door.

  “Wait up, Shay!” my brother shouts, getting out of his seat, but not before shooting me a glare. “You’re a prick, Niko.”

  I grunt, rubbing at my beard. He’s not wrong. “Alek, if you wanna fuck her, just take her on a damn date and do it that goddamn way. You don’t have to go through all this shit.”

  That shit stops her dead in her tracks.

  In the hall, she whips her head around, eyes narrowed on me. “I’m not here to fuck your brother,” she seethes, advancing on me. “I’m not here to fuck anyone.”

  She’s a little thing. Can’t be over five-four, but she packs a punch with just her eyes, giving me the nastiest fucking look I’ve ever seen come from a female. I can only imagine what she’d do with that fisted hand. “I’m here to sell my art. Fuck you very much for assuming differently. It’s assholes like you that make it hard for females in this world.”

  Whoa, whoa. “Calm the fuck down, yeah?” She’s going all she-woman on me, and I’d never admit it, but that shit makes me rock fucking hard.

  “Fuck you,” she spits, tossing her hair over her shoulder defiantly. “You don’t even know me.”

  From somewhere next to me, my brother chuckles, enjoying this.

  “Listen, Shay.” I put a placating hand up, trying to calm her ass down before she hauls off and hits me. “Not here to shit on your work. Just tellin’ you I’m not in the market for new art.”

  She crosses her arms, which pushes up her tits, making my jeans tighten. Christ. She’s as hot as she is crazy. “Not here to sell it to you,” she fires back, like she’s got me there.

  I don’t even know this broad, but here we are, having a fucking standoff in my place of business.

  She’s glaring, her face tight, and I couldn’t give a fuck less if her feelings are hurt or her goddamn dreams are crushed. “Good. I’m not lookin’ to buy it.”

  “You’re a dick!” she hisses before she turns and walks off, her perfect ass swaying down the hall.

  Alek growls, giving me a look. “What the fuck was that?”

  “I fuckin’ told you I wasn’t interested.”

  My brother is always looking to change shit. Improve. Revamp. Switch shit up. I’m looking for none of it, but he just keeps pushing, and this is what he gets for doing it.

  “You didn’t have to be such an asshole. You don’t want her shit here in the shop? Cool, I fucking get it. But we,” he growls, motioning between us, “own the bar next door, and I’ve been looking to add a mural to the back wall and some damn art on the walls. Not to mention that I do my own tattoos too.”

  “You must really want to fuck this bitch,” I mutter, walking around him and toward the fridge in the little kitchenette area off to the side.

  “Jesus Christ, Niko, not every female that walks through this place ends up in my bed.”

  That’s fucking hysterical. “Pretty goddamn close.”

  “Says the guy who fucks a lot of them too.”

  Grabbing a bottle of water, I make my way back through the door and find my brother hauling ass down the hall after Shay.

  As I watch him go, my phone rings. Again.

  Jerking it out of my pocket, I see Mikayla’s name on the screen and hit ignore, which only makes the crazy bitch call again. And again.

  This day is going to fucking hell quickly.

  I answer, because she won’t stop calling unless I do. And if I don’t answer, she’ll just show up. “Yeah?”

  As soon as she hears my voice, she starts screaming at me. Standing in the doorway, Shay and my brother watching me from down the hall, I shake my head. “Not doing this shit with you, Mikayla.” I’m pissed that I even have to hear this bitch’s voice today on top of the other shit I’m dealing with.

  Alek’s eyes go wide before he tells Shay, “Niko’s ex,” in way of an explanation. And now I’m mad for a whole other reason. That motherfucker needs to keep my goddamn personal life personal.

  “Niko! Are you fucking listening to me?” Mikayla shouts.

  Pulling the phone away from my ear, beyond fucking mad, I look at my brother and tell him, “Get her the fuck out of here,” before going back to the phone and telling Mikayla, “Stop calling my goddamn phone,” while looking up one last time at Shay. She’s smirking at me, apparently glad I’m in hell, and I’ve never wanted to wipe a smirk off someone’s
face more than I do right this moment.

  Today takes the fucking cake. If it’s not one female, it’s another.

  3

  Shay

  I’ve been hit on, had every pickup line known to man thrown my way, and I’ve been shit on, had my work put through the verbal ringer, but never in my life have I had someone be so blatantly mean within a matter of minutes of meeting me.

  Niko is a fucking prick.

  “Wow,” I mutter quietly to myself, mentally scratching my head. “Fucking asshole.”

  Storming out of the lobby, I’m halfway down the sidewalk before Alek catches up with me.

  “Wait up, Shay,” he calls, chasing after me.

  Turning around, I walk backward a few steps and shake my head. “I came down here to sell art, not listen to that guy,” I growl, throwing a hand back toward the building, “be a dick to me about my work or why I’m here.”

  Alek catches up to me quickly and blocks my path. “I know,” he sighs, running a hand across his short hair. “My brother’s a fucking asshole. I’m sorry about that.”

  “Why?” I ask, not really sure I even care. I don’t know these people, and from the last fifteen minutes, I’m not sure I really want to.

  “Why?” He looks confused, and surprised by the question. Almost like his brother being an asshole is just common knowledge, a part of everyday life. And if that’s the case, I feel bad for the people in his life. Dealing with that all the time must suck.

  “Yeah. Why is your brother such a prick?” I need this job, need this money, but not that damn bad. Not bad enough to put up with that kind of bullshit. I put up with enough of it in other aspects of my life. I don’t need it here too.

  Alek shrugs his shoulders, looking at his feet. “Niko’s just rough around the edges.”

  That makes me laugh. That wasn’t rough around the edges. That wasn’t even cranky. That was downright dickhead-ish.

  My laughing makes Alek laugh. “He’s an asshole, okay? Better?”