“The way he stands. Is he putting his weight on the balls of his feet – which suggests calf strength, which means he can change direction quickly – or does he rest more on his heels? That suggests he’s got upper-leg strength. He can push, bully. He can pivot, like a football player feinting, or a basketball player in the post.”
“I don’t watch sports,” I say.
“I notice if he watches my eyes, or if he watches my fists. I notice if he inhales through his mouth or his nose.”
“Get to the point.”
He grins. “I like you. My point is that this is what I do. I notice it. So, if tattooing is what you do – or what you want to do – then you notice it for sure. So, tell me, what did you think of my tattoos?”
He’s pretty good, I think to myself.
“The wolf on your shoulder is detailed, intricate. It’s not a stencil, but a personal design. I’m guessing maybe yours?”
He smiles. “You got me.”
“And the serpent on your abdomen, that’s a king cobra?”
“Yeah.”
“That was too poor to be a design from an artist.” I wink at him.
“Thanks.”
“You drew that, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Almost got bitten once.”
“By a king cobra? Where?”
“I was on holiday in Bali.”
“Nice.”
“You’ve got a good eye, then, considering you were ten meters away from me.”
I shrug smugly. “I notice these things. You’ve also got an incomplete tattoo that, I’m guessing, extends from your pubic region to your upper thigh.”
“Inside thigh,” he says.
“I couldn’t make it out.”
“Well, I’m not going to tell you what it is. I’m sure that’ll eat you up.”
I grin. “Why a wolf? On your shoulder.”
For a moment, the expression on his face changes. But then the same smug self-satisfaction returns. I’m positive I’ve just witnessed a momentary break in the façade.
Maybe it is an act, after all?
“The wolf was my father’s favorite animal.”
I swallow. Am I wading into sensitive territory?
“And?” I ask gently.
“He died when I was young.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. My voice is sticky. Now I’m awkward.
“It’s not a big deal,” he says.
He pours me another glass of champagne, and I take a big sip. I’m feeling it, the buzz. It feels good.
“So you got daddy issues, then?” I ask, grinning. He laughs, and shakes his head.
“Just to remember him.”
“I wouldn’t have pegged a person who fights for a living to be sentimental.”
“Well, people are full of surprises.”
I’m feeling good. I’m feeling confident. Maybe it’s the champagne. Maybe it’s the fact that, for the first time tonight, I seem to have the upper hand… I seem to be in control.
“My mother left when I was young,” I say. Somehow, I feel like I’m balancing the scales, making the conversation fairer.
“I know,” he says.
I blink. “How?”
“My mother told me?”
Inside me, I feel a kind of indignation being to bubble, like the champagne is in the glass I’m holding. Am I wrong to feel that this is too personal information for him to have known via my father’s girlfriend?
“She told you that?”
“Yeah. You’re uncomfortable with that. You have to remember that your dad would have told my mom.”
His logic doesn’t make it any better.
“It’s personal.”
“I also know you don’t have a good relationship with your mother.”
God! Why is he pushing?
“So?”
He shrugs. “Nothing. Just want you to know what I know about you.”
“Oh, you’re doing me a favor are you? So I don’t tell a lie or tell a half-truth?”
He shrugs again, and it pisses me off. I feel dizzy now. I feel… angry.
“No,” he says. “But I’d want to know. So, what has your dad said about my mom or me?”
“Nothing!”
He frowns. “Really?”
“Disappointed?” I ask, grinning. I’m biting back now. But he doesn’t react the way I expect him to. Instead, he leans forward, and he presses his forehead against mine. I don’t know what to do. I’m at a loss for words.
“Are you always so savage?” he asks. “Or is it just when you’re drunk?”
“I’m not being sava—”
He presses his lips against mine, and I melt. My whole body falls limp and I let him kiss me. Eventually, feeling returns to my arms, and I wrap my hands around his neck and I get up, and try to straddle him.
But he stands, too, and then breaks the kiss.
“You’re drunk,” he says. “I’m not going to take advantage of you. Go home.”
I blink a few times, shake my head. “What?”
“Go home,” he says. “The elevator is that way.” He points the way we came.
I stand there for a minute, trying to process everything, but I can’t. It doesn’t make sense.
“Go home Penelope,” he says. Now he’s being condescending.
“How?” I retort. I put my hands on my hips. “You drove me here.”
“Go find Rose, tell her you’re drunk and that you want to go home.”
“I’m not drunk.”
“You are.”
“And that’s that?”
“That’s that,” he says.
“Why?”
“Because I’m not yet drunk.”
“So?”
“So if I get drunk, and you’re drunk, then I might do something that you’ll later regret.”
“Like what?” I shout.
“Like this,” he says, and he takes a quick step forward and kisses me again. I practically melt in his arms, but before I know it he’s pushing me back, breaking the kiss.
“So go home. I’m not interested.”
I scowl at him, and storm away.
And I know that I’m pretty buzzed, and I know that my judgment is compromised.
But damned if I didn’t want to kiss him more.
And damned if I didn’t hate myself for it.
*
chapter six
My head hurts. I’m hung over, and I can’t believe I drank that much last night.
I can’t believe I let Pierce kiss me.
My father is dating his mother! It’s insane.
The woman before me clears her throat. Tina Azume. She’s way more intimidating than she looks on her website. Her face is all sharp angles, and her black eyes bore hard into my own. I haven’t seen her smile yet.
“You got your visiting tattooist visa?” she asks me. Her thin lips barely move as she speaks.
“I can’t yet, as I need a current tattoo artist to vouch for me.”
“I’m unfamiliar with the visa requirements for visitors. How long does it last?”
“Thirty-one days, to allow me to apprentice, and then you can vouch for me to get a different visa that lasts for longer if you want to keep me on.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” she says. She’s flicking through my black, leather-bound portfolio. Tina Azume is my favorite artist. She’s got such an idiosyncratic style, and I fell in love with it the moment I saw it.
I can hardly believe I’m sitting in her office, talking with her! I’m star-struck.
“You did the tattoo on your foot yourself?”
I look down at my right foot instinctively. I’m wearing my favorite blue-and-white pinstripe flats, so I can’t see the whole web of intricate and interwoven beanstalks that I designed myself. But I do see a bit of it.
“Yes,” I say.
“How?”
“W-what do you mean?”
“How were you able to? I me
an, with what instruments? Where?”
“I was friends with a local artist back home in Chicago. She said that if I wanted to practice on myself, she’d let me and watch me.”
“That would make it illegal.”
I swallow. My heart stops dead. Should I have lied?
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Quite a risk for her to take.”
Tina Azume is eyeballing me now, and her face has gone from mere indifference to something approaching hostility.
“I don’t do that in my shop.”
“I understand.”
“Take off your shoe.”
I blink, and then immediately slip it off. She extends a hand, and I’m not sure what she wants me to do.
“Your foot, please.”
A little embarrassed, I lift my foot into her hand, and she holds it and pulls my toes down flat, and then peers at my tattoo.
“Your hand must be steady, especially since it hurts on the foot, and since you did this upside-down.”
I don’t know what to say, so I don’t reply.
“You are skilled with curved lines – they are smooth. These are vines?”
“Well, in my mind they were kind of like beanstalks.”
“But they are not straight?”
I shrug. “I started off with them straight, but after drawing and redrawing the design, realized I liked them more vine-like, tangled.”
She sets my foot down, and I slip it back into my shoe.
“It’s impressive for a girl so young. Most people don’t start getting into practicing body art until their mid-twenties, sometimes older. You’ve got a good hand, and a good eye. I can see that from your drawings.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. I feel my heart quicken with excitement, anticipation.
“But being a tattoo artist is not the same as being, simply, good at drawing. Tell me, what other skills are vital?”
“An excellent knowledge of the health-related ramifications of getting and giving tattoos,” I say. “And also effective communication. Nothing is worse than a tattoo artist who cannot communicate with her client.”
She just stares at me, as though she’s expecting more.
“Um,” I stall, buying time. “Mental discipline. Tattoo sessions can often go on for hours, and an artist must not only know how to concentrate and not get distracted, but must also know her own limits.”
“And that’s just the tip of the iceberg,” Tina says, slapping my portfolio shut. “I like your style, but I must say I see a little of my own in it.”
“I’ve been following your work since I was fifteen,” I say. “On your website, on tattoo message boards, and social network groups.”
“I see. And where are you living now?”
“St. Kilda.”
“Ah, so just down the road?”
“Yeah,” I say, grinning. “I walked here today.”
“Don’t walk home at night if you can avoid it,” she says. “Especially on weekends.”
I hold my breath. “Does this mean that, I, uh—”
“Yes, Penelope. Bring the license form tomorrow morning so I can sign it. I’m normally in the shop at eight, but you’ll now be opening up for me, so I expect you to be here at seven thirty.”
I nod enthusiastically, but she sees the confusion on my face. Tattoo shops don’t usually open so early.
“I run an online business,” she says. “I sell temporary tattoos, and various paraphernalia. Some accessories, too, like rings, earrings, broaches, pins, badges, that kind of thing.” She waves her hand carelessly, but I’m just even more impressed.
“That’s amazing,” I say. “So you’re like a total one-woman show.”
For the first time, she smiles. “Not anymore, I guess. I’ll be handing off some of those duties to you. Pay will be minimum wage, and I expect to only give you two days off a week. Also, you must work weekends and all holidays.”
“That’s fine with me.” I’m squeeing on the inside, but trying to keep my composure on the outside.
“Good. See you tomorrow then.”
“Thank you so much, Ms. Azume.”
“It’s just Tina.”
“Thanks, Tina.”
“I have a client coming tomorrow,” she says as I’m about to leave. “It’s a small fill-in job, but it’s on the inside of his thigh, and extends up into his pubic region, and so he will be nude from the waist-down.”
“I can handle that,” I say. Somehow, the description sounds familiar, but I’m too groggy to recall it.
“He can be a bit… rude. I’ll try and control him, but really, I don’t think I’ll be very successful.”
“What do you mean rude?”
“I mean,” she says. “That sometimes women find him difficult. I expect, since you’ll be at my side and watching me, he’ll make a crude joke or two.”
I swallow. “I can handle it.”
She considers me for a moment, but the smiles. “Okay, then,” she says. “Seven-thirty tomorrow morning. Here’s a key, open up the shutters, and let yourself in. There’s no alarm.” She waves her hand. “Nothing to steal, and I’d rather not pay the fee. Once you’re in here, I want you to walk around, get a feel for the table, the chair, everything. Otherwise, simply amuse yourself without touching anything, and wait for me to arrive, got it?”
“Yes!” I say, taking the set of keys.
When I get outside, my hands are shaking, and I bite on my finger so as not to scream.
I can’t believe I’m going to be apprenticing for Tina Azume!
Everything is just going so perfectly so far.
*
chapter seven
“Well, well, well, what have we here?”
I whip around, recognizing the voice, and see Pierce strutting into the shop.
“Oh my God,” I groan to myself. Tina looks between me and him, and then frowns, but doesn’t say anything.
“You’re apprenticing for Tina?” he asks. “Looks like I just found my new favorite tattoo artist.” He grins. “That’s you.”
“Evidently,” I say, forcing a polite smile. It’s my first day – I need to impress her.
“Come on Pierce. Let’s go into the back.”
I follow behind him and he follows behind Tina. He turns around and winks at me. I shoot him a glare. He’d better not mess this up for me!
He goes to the chair that’s in its reclined position, and hops onto it, and immediately begins undoing his belt.
So this is who Tina meant!
He pulls his trousers and boxers down in one go to his knees. I instantly snap my eyes away, but I do not fail to miss his neatly trimmed pubic hair, not to mention his penis, which, as I sneak a look from the corner of my eye, is big.
“Looking won’t kill you,” he says, and I feel my face burning.
“Pierce,” Tina says, her voice stern.
I force myself to look, focus on the half-finished tattoo. Tentacles from a jellyfish coil around his thigh – I had caught a glimpse of that at the fight, but couldn’t make them out at the distance – and the body of the sea creature was only outlined, and still needed to be filled in and shaded. That bit lay across his Adonis belt and hip bone.
The body of the jellyfish looks strange. It is a banana-shaped hollow bubble with what looks like the outline of a dorsal fin.
He lies back and puts his arms above his head and grips on to the edge of the reclined chair. He actually looks really sexy with his arms up like that. He’s smirking at me, and I’m pretty sure this is about as close as he can get before he actually crosses over into, legally, sexual harassment territory.
Tina takes a seat at his side, and starts to prepare the tattoo needle. She fills it with blank ink, and starts to explain to Pierce that she’s going to do shadows first, to make the jellyfish appear more real, make it pop.
And I’m just standing, trying my best not to stare at his cock.
“I want her to fill it in,” Pierce says, looking at me.
I look from him to Tina, and then back at him. “I—”
“She can’t,” Tina says. “This is her first day apprenticing. I am not even confident of her skills. I have never seen her administer a—”
“Well, nothing like a bit of hands-on experience to sharpen the skills, am I right?” he says in a cocky way. He’s so smug I just want to punch him on the nose. “Unless she thinks she’s not up to scratch.”
“She’s not up to scratch,” Tina says.
“I have the skills to do it,” I say, eyeing them both. My wrist wriggles, and I look down at my foot. Tina follows my gaze, but her expression has no give. “But Tina’s right. It would be inappropriate.”
I look away from him, from his groin, and focus on someone walking by outside the window.
“Never seen a cock before?” Pierce asks. “Don’t worry, it won’t bite.”
My face grows even hotter. He’s right in a way. This is the first time I’ve seen a man’s dick in real life.
“Hey!” Tina Azume barks. “You will respect her, or you can leave.”
I turn to face them, and give him a glare, flashing my eyebrows. But he doesn’t seem checked. He just winks at Tina.
“Don’t worry, I’m only playing. But I know what the real reason is.”
God, I’m losing my temper. “What?” I snap.
“That you’re scared you’ll fuck it up because you’ll be distracted.”
I snort, and roll my eyes. “Please, Pierce. You’re such a pig.”
“Hey, just calling it like it is.”
“Right.”
“You are scared, aren’t you?” he asks. His eyes tunnel into mine, and I find I have to look away. My heart is beating fast, and I try to look anywhere else but his naked lower half, but I can’t.
His cock is just right there, huge, smooth…
“It would be unethical for Tina to let someone as inexperienced as me fill in your whole tattoo,” I say, voice level. “But, in order to get some hands-on experience, perhaps she would let me fill in only a portion of the tattoo.”
I look up at Tina, and she just presses her lips together and nods. She steps back, and I sit in her chair, and take the coiled tattoo machine.
“Ah, so the rook’s going to be wielding the tattoo gun this morning, eh?”
“We don’t refer to it as a gun,” Tina says. “Pierce, you know that if she makes a mistake—”
Pierce Her Stepbrother Page 4
