Kickflip

by Christina Lee

  I could’ve sworn I saw a flicker of the same joy on Jude’s face—identical to the kind he’d just had performing tricks on his board—before it disappeared. And something seized my chest and squeezed tight. Jude seemed like such a recluse, outside of his skateboard antics. I wondered if he ever got lonely. Did he lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling like I did before my eyes drifted closed and sleep consumed me?

  “I don’t know what it is about you,” I said, without thinking it through first. I heard Jude’s breath catch as he twisted his head and stared into my eyes. As his penetrating gaze latched on to mine, I became so mesmerized by those light-green orbs, I didn’t know if I was talking about the way my dog felt about him or the way I did. “He obviously sees something in you he likes.”

  Yep, just digging myself a deeper grave.

  Jude’s gaze held mine as he shrugged. So I filled in the dead air again. “I have no idea why he’s always trying so darn hard to get close to you.”

  I felt a line of heat climb up my neck, so I grabbed hold of the leads to untie them from the bike rack, giving my fingers something to do. I looped the leashes around my wrist, and Ace happily stepped toward me. It was the other dog that was about to give me trouble.

  I still felt Jude’s heavy gaze on me, like he was using the opportunity of our close proximity to check me out. His eyes scanned me, from my black Chucks to my jeans and up over my vintage Flash Gordon T-shirt. I had on my gray knit cap, the same one I always wore, and my Ray-Bans were looped over the front of my shirt. Now I wished my shades were covering my eyes so he’d be unable to read my reaction to him. So he couldn’t see how much he’d unnerved me. I desperately wanted to know exactly what he saw when he looked at me.

  When I gave the leash a tug, Chopper unsurprisingly refused to budge and instead rubbed his nose against Jude’s arm. “Maybe he likes your cologne or something,” I said, sounding fucking ridiculous again. Why couldn’t I just shut the hell up?

  The corner of Jude’s lips lifted fractionally, and I nearly lost my breath at how pretty that smile looked. It would probably kill me on the spot if I were ever given the privilege of seeing it in its full glory. It might be as blinding as the dazzling sun.

  “I read somewhere that dogs are responsive to scents,” I said, and at this point I was just making shit up, talking myself in circles. Jude might flee just to escape my absurd commentary. “Maybe you have a dog or a cat and he smells them on you.”

  Lips downturned, he shook his head, and in that moment I wanted so much to know him, to hear his story.

  “Once upon a time, I did,” he said, gracing me with his gravelly voice at last. It was one concise sentence. And that had been enough for him. He seemed to think that more information would be unnecessary. Except now I wanted the specifics. I smartly kept my lips sealed shut.

  He scratched Chopper behind the ears one last time before he rose to his full height, at which point I was able to catch a whiff of him. He smelled like the outdoors—moss and cedar blended together. That was the only way I could describe it. He was about an inch taller than me, and all I could think about was closing the space between us and angling my mouth firmly against his.

  But then I considered how much my jaw would ache when he punched my lights out. I glanced down at his muscled forearm and took a step back. The guy inside the smoothie shop was the person I should’ve been thinking about hooking up with, not Jude. At least that guy was gay.

  As if materializing from my thoughts, that was exactly who stepped out of the shop at that moment, with his small frame, pretty eyes, and yellow Smoothie King shirt. “Cory, you forgot your change.”

  Probably because I desperately wanted to get away from that counter and our conversation. I shoved the dollar bill and quarters in my pocket. “Hey, man, thanks.”

  He seemed to be deliberating something else and then finally blurted out, “A few of us are probably heading up to Racers Friday night.”

  I stood there struck dumb because he’d broadcasted this in front of Jude. Not that I hid who I was or where I hung out. Jude already knew I had an ex-boyfriend who’d abandoned Chopper. But suddenly I just wanted him to shut the fuck up.

  “Cool, maybe I’ll see you there,” I said to speed him the hell back inside.

  When he hesitated and held out a piece of paper, I almost cringed. “If you want to see me before then, here’s my number.”

  It was my receipt with his digits scribbled across it, along with his name. Jonathan. That was it. When I enclosed the receipt in my fist, he bowed his head and batted his eyelashes at me before turning and heading inside.

  I remained motionless, but I could feel Jude’s gaze on me. When I looked over at him, there was something unreadable in his eyes. But it wasn’t disgust or embarrassment that he’d witnessed a possible hookup. It was more like watchfulness or maybe protectiveness. I didn’t know what that was about, but it did make me wonder why he was here in the first place, outside the smoothie shop.

  Did he know we were headed this way, or did he see my dogs by chance and stopped to greet them? Or maybe Chopper had make a spectacle of himself as Jude skated by, and the only thing he could think to do before the dog brought the fucking bike rack with him was give him attention.

  I felt so uncomfortable from the silence and my convoluted thoughts that I needed to fill the quiet immediately. “Those were some cool stunts you guys were doing back there.”

  Another long silence stretched between us, and then he tipped his chin as if in thanks.

  “Jude,” I heard a voice call behind him. It was the other skateboarder, the one from the concrete stairs. Jude turned his head to look back. “We’re headed to the bowl.”

  Jude nodded and lifted his hand in a wave. Then the guy looked at me and recognition dawned on his face.

  “Hey, man,” he said. I had inked something on him last year. Some kind of Japanese anime skateboard dude on his bicep, I thought it was.

  “How’s the ink holding up?” I asked.

  “Great.” He flexed his muscle so I could see my creation. It was moments like these that always seemed to throw me. The surreal fact that my art was on a person’s body and they were walking around with it permanently.

  “Might consider adding something else,” he said as he began skating across the street.

  “Cool by me.” I gave him the thumbs-up.

  I met Jude’s gaze one last time as he righted his board and placed one Vans sneaker solidly upon it. “Probably a good idea you’re headed the opposite direction, or Chopper might want to follow you home.”

  A streak of crimson washed across his cheeks before he pushed off with his foot and sailed down the sidewalk.

  4

  It was the day of Jude’s appointment. Normally I didn’t pay much attention to my schedule outside of having a general idea of what my agenda was for the shift, but this one stuck out like a beam of light. Probably because I didn’t know what to expect.

  Also because I knew I had to control my reactions around him to make him feel comfortable. I did not want to screw up my artwork over some lame-ass crush. I was more professional than that, and now was the time to demonstrate it.

  I was at the front desk, saying goodbye to a client who’d wanted some blackbirds inked on her shoulder, and as soon as my customer left, Emmy, who’d been steering a tight ship of appointments today, said, “Be right back. Going to disinfect the station.”

  She took off to the back room, and just as I pulled up my remaining schedule, the bell above the door jangled. Jude stepped through with his skateboard slung over his shoulder, and our eyes met. He appeared to stumble a little upon seeing me, if it wasn’t my imagination, before the door swung closed behind him.

  If he was nervous, it was probably my fault for staring at him longer than necessary every time I was in his presence. Either that, or he didn’t exactly enjoy getting tattooed. He had enough ink on him to banish that second thought completely, though.

  Still,
I knew the process could be unpleasant, even for me. I hadn’t gotten new ink in a couple of years, not since the one above my heart that was a memorial of sorts to the people I’d lost in my life.

  Jude gazed at me through thick blond lashes that were so pretty, they softened the sharper angles of his face. Our eyes were pinned to each other, and it was as if he and I were the only two people in the shop. Dex and Lila were at the front stations, talking over the buzzing of the machines as they finished up smaller jobs, and paid us no attention. Despite my resolve to remain adept, I struggled to even move my lips, which was unusual for me.

  Jude’s chest was heaving, but he could’ve been winded from pounding the pavement on his board. Or he was uneasy around me. That thought propelled me forward. “Hi, Jude.”

  As usual, he didn’t say a word, and I looked back down at the schedule to give my eyes something to do other than gape at how nicely his cotton T-shirt stretched across his muscled shoulders. “Almost ready for you. Just have a seat, and Emmy will send you back.”

  He nodded, and as I stepped from behind the desk, I could feel his gaze on me. I suddenly wished I’d thrown on a different pair of jeans or had patted on more cologne or something. But did it matter, really? He was here for a tattoo, and I had a job to do, one I’d been performing for years and was pretty damned skilled at. So what I looked like or how I smelled didn’t figure into the equation. Besides, Jude would be royally pissed if I screwed up his ink or wasn’t an utmost professional.

  I strode down the hallway as Emmy rounded the space I’d be using with Jude. “All set. Need anything else?”

  For lighter or quicker jobs, we used the stations up front, but the tattoo shop had a handful of secluded rooms reserved for bigger jobs and private appointments, and the customers seemed to appreciate that.

  “Nope.” I looked back once, as if Jude could see me. “You can send him back.”

  Stepping inside the room, I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans, then got busy prepping my station even though this was only a sketch consult. If it wasn’t a large job, I could at least get the outline going pretty quickly. If it was a more complicated design, I could keep our visit confined to discussing the details, and then I’d be ready for my next client.

  Bending to adjust the cover on the armrest, I sensed Jude behind me, and my spine tingled in response. He plopped his backpack on the floor and pried open the two Velcro flaps. That black backpack was a fixture on his shoulders, and now I realized that it was specially designed to store skateboards. They must sell them at the shop where he worked, along with those knee-length shorts and Vans sneakers he was usually wearing. My favorites, though, were his black ripped jeans and long graphic T-shirts, even though they covered up most of his skin. Go figure.

  He stood awkwardly in the center of the floor with his hand at his neck, seeming to wonder what to do next. He motioned to the door with his thumb, as if inquiring whether to close it.

  “That’s up to the customer. Some like the privacy, others think the individual room is discreet enough and choose to leave it open,” I said, using my most practiced voice. “Your call.”

  When he shut it without hesitation, I sucked in a breath. So maybe this wasn’t about his comfort level. Or maybe he wanted the tattoo itself to remain private. Fuck, I needed to stop thinking so hard and just get to work.

  “So, um, hey,” I said, flicking my hand over my shoulder. “Why don’t you have a seat over there.”

  He nodded and sat down at the small circular table. I sat across from him and grabbed a sketchpad, mostly to keep my fingers busy, but I could feel him watching. When I looked up, his cheeks were ruddy and a splotch of color appeared along his neckline.

  I swallowed roughly. “Tell me what kind of design you want.”

  I couldn’t shake the idea that I had Jude all to myself for a little while. We were in this room, behind closed doors, sharing the same air space. I needed to play it cool, to let him set the pace, and I needed to keep my mouth shut, or he was going to run the hell out of this joint and never return. For some reason, he trusted me to do this, and I needed to honor that.

  But he was going to have to actually speak if he expected us to get anywhere. He raised his finger before digging into his front pocket. As he did so, my eyes glided down his knees to the fine blond hair on his legs. Some bruises and scars were visible, no doubt from those skating stunts.

  I kept my eyes trained on the multiple strands of colorful threaded bracelets on his wrist so I wouldn’t be asking for trouble. But as he forced the paper out of his pocket, his T-shirt rode up, exposing his abdomen. His skin was smooth, and a trail of light fuzz ran vertically above the button of his shorts.

  I cleared my throat as he unfolded the paper, smoothed it out, and handed it to me. It was an intricate drawing of an enormous leafless tree. Black and stark, it looked desolate even on paper. The trunk was substantial, and the jagged branches darted out haphazardly. The leaves were few and far between, several stragglers clinging to the twigs up top. It was pretty cool, stunning really, and I couldn’t help gaping openly at it.

  I didn’t know what I was expecting from Jude York. Something having to do with wheels or a board maybe.

  “You drew this?” I murmured.

  Jude bit his lip, as if nervous about my opinion. He gave a curt nod.

  “Nice job,” I said, staring into his cellophane-green eyes, which now crinkled in the corners. “And this is what you want inked on you?”

  His head moved up and down vigorously. I now saw how easily he could avoid communication, even for an appointment such as this—deciding on a tattoo that would become a long-term fixture on his skin. I was doing all the work, pulling the information out of him.

  “Where do you want this to go?”

  I’d be placing a permanent illustration somewhere on his body. Just the idea of it made me shiver.

  He stood up suddenly and swayed toward me, as if hesitant or unsure of himself. He huffed out a steady breath and lifted his shirt. He pulled it over his head, then held it to his side, the material dangling from his fingers.

  I held back a sigh as I regarded him from shoulders to abdomen. He was wiry and fit, not an ounce of fat to be found, only lean muscle. My gaze landed on his pecs, where translucent blond fuzz, similar to the hair on his legs, curled around the light-brown areolas. I forced away the thought of my tongue rounding those nipples, which now stood at attention like pencil erasers. We kept it cool in the shop, so his tightened nipples could’ve well been from the air-conditioning.

  Dozens of tattoos lined his arms, and one of them, what appeared to be a series of flames, curled over his shoulder.

  “So you want this on your chest?” I asked, nearly exhausted by the twenty-questions game. Almost. Maybe if all his smooth flesh hadn’t been on display in front of me. As my eyes scanned down his chest again, I noticed how his fingers trembled from my scrutiny.

  Before I could reason that out, Jude shook his head, and my gaze darted back to his eyes. I saw hesitation in his gaze the split second before he spun around to face the wall.

  I bit my lip extra hard to clamp down on my reaction to seeing the blunt and heinous difference between the front and back of him. Holy shit. There were angry red lines and raised pink circles. These were scars. And not just scars from falling off his skateboard. Somebody or something had done this to him.

  Was this the reason he’d shown up in town? Had he been in some kind of accident? Was he running from something? Someone?

  “Jude,” I said in a croaky voice, because I didn’t have anything else I could say. Not to him. I wanted to ask so many questions, but I didn’t think he’d stick around long enough to hear them. He seemed too good at avoidance and evasion. Though he’d never truly run away from me. Not yet. And I didn’t want him to start now.

  I finally got my lips to form a sentence. “Do you want this centered on your back?”

  His head fell forward as if it could no longer support the weig
ht of his thoughts, and he released a heavy breath. As his fists tensed, I could only imagine how difficult this had been for him. To expose himself to me.

  I gentled my voice. “You trying to disguise these scars?”

  He tipped his head to stare at the ceiling, and that was all the confirmation I needed.

  “Okay,” I mumbled as if talking to a startled colt. That’s how fragile Jude seemed to me in this moment.

  “I’ll work on the sketch. Then I’ll get it on tracing paper. It’ll take several visits to get this inked on your back, and I’ll probably have to do some of it freehand.” When he didn’t say anything, I continued. “It might be painful, especially if the skin around those scars is sensitive.”

  Silence. Truth was, some scars took ink better than others, but at least the tree would disguise them enough.

  “You cool with all that?”

  He nodded.

  Slowly and carefully, I stepped nearer. “Can I…touch your back?”

  He nodded as he huffed out a breath. Shit. I wished I knew what was happening in that brain of his.

  “I want to measure this out so I can draw it to scale.”

  He lifted his head and seemed to be waiting on me.

  Fingers shaking, as if I were about to touch a piece of fine china, I reached out my hand. The pad of my forefinger tentatively traced the center of his back. I felt his skin tremble beneath my touch. “Am I… Do they hurt?”

  He moved his head side to side. So this was emotionally traumatic for him. The scars themselves looked like they’d had years to heal.

  I held up his picture and calculated how much larger it would have to be to cover the surface area of his back.

  “I’m assuming you want the branches to reach here”—I moved my fingers across his flesh from shoulder to shoulder—“to mask most of these.”

  His head dipped forward as my fingers glided lower, and I felt the ridges and raised edges of his battered skin. I kept my lips tightly closed so that I didn’t blurt out anything too personal or asinine.