by Ophelia Bell
Sam
There’s a split-second before Toni pushes by me when I’m almost positive she’s going to reach out for a hug. It’s the barest twitch of her mouth and her eyebrows, accompanied by a flash of desperation. It disappears so fast I don’t have a chance to capitalize on it. We’ve done this dance a few times, and every time she shuts down before I can break through.
I frown after her as she walks back to Leo, who peers over her head at me and shrugs when she bends down again to resume the tattoo. I’m at a loss, which I hate. She’s not my mom or my sister, or even my girlfriend. She’s not even technically my boss, since I lease space in her shop to see my own clients, which I’ve been doing for the past two years. Figuring out where the boundaries are with her is maddening, especially when it’s plain as day that she needs someone and the guy currently getting his pelvis tattooed isn’t enough, no matter how much history they have.
I watch for a second, jaw clenched, when she turns and glances back at me. “Don’t just stand there, Sam. Those cases need to get loaded in the truck. Make sure to check all the latches too.”
A swath of retorts jam up in my head, but I don’t say anything. She’s usually the one who comes to my defense when Vic or Mako tease me about my age, but every now and then the bossy mentor I first apprenticed with emerges, and it would be petty of me to remind her I’m not that kid she took under her wing three years ago anymore. Better if I just show her by keeping my mouth shut and working harder to anticipate her needs. If only she’d let me in enough that I could help her with the one thing that still torments her the most.
Vic’s truck is parked in the alley behind the shop, empty now. I dropped off the bike at the storage unit, where Elle helped me unload it and cover it for safekeeping until next Tuesday. My sister is almost as bewildered by my feelings for Toni as my brothers, but she wished me luck at least. I think they probably all believed I’d outgrow my infatuation with the gorgeous celebrity tattoo artist, but after landing the apprenticeship, what had been a schoolboy crush turned into more. We’ve spent the majority of our waking hours near each other for the better part of three years now, and it’s safe to say what I feel is more than just a crush.
Which is why I don’t push back against her prickly attitude. I know where it comes from, especially because for three years, we had something in common: We’d both lost someone we loved, and both of the people we grieved were killed by the same man.
Except my brother came back while the man she loved stayed dead. I still catch glimmers of resentment in her eyes sometimes, though she tries to hide it. But there is nothing I wouldn’t do to ease her pain, if she’d only let me.
When I’ve loaded the four trunks holding our gear into the truck, I head back in to the sound of the bathroom door closing once more. Leo’s buckling his jeans.
“She okay?”
“Yeah, she’s washing up for real this time.” He purses his lips, then tilts his head toward the front of the shop, and I follow him until we’re out of earshot of the bathroom. He leans close. “Listen, she’s not in the best place right now. I don’t know how much she shares with you, but keep an eye on her this weekend, okay?”
“Is it that bad?” I ask, a spike of alarm piercing my gut.
“Not sure, and it isn’t really my place to talk, but this event, plus her birthday around the corner . . . it’s a bad mix for her. Keep her distracted and she’ll probably be fine. Think you can do that?”
“I’ll definitely do whatever I can.” I’m tempted to push Leo for more details, but after my talk with my brothers, I’m questioning the wisdom of forcing someone to share secrets that aren’t theirs to share.
He pulls away when Toni emerges from the bathroom and slips by us to unlock the door.
“Be safe, okay? Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Leo says, pulling her into a tight hug.
She grunts and laughs. “I’m older than I was the last time I went. Probably going to bed early every night and avoiding the parties. This is a work trip.”
“Try to have some fun at least. Manny would’ve wanted that.”
Her eyes clench tight as she nods, clinging to him a little harder. Then she pulls away, smacking his ass as he turns to walk out the door.
Leo disappears into the darkness beyond while Toni secures the lock and hangs up the sign explaining that we’re out of town until Monday.
I head to her workspace to start cleaning up, a task I haven’t done since I was her apprentice. The entire right side of the studio space is occupied by four cubicles divided by half-walls, on top of which are wooden screens hand-carved with vines. They’re polished to a warm brown shine and sandwiched between panes of glass with just enough gaps between the vines to let light through, but allow for some privacy when multiple clients are sitting for ink.
Hers is the first one, and I begin wiping down the chair and surfaces when she joins me. She stops to lean against the partition and sighs, the dark circles under her hazel eyes betraying her exhaustion.
“I’m sorry.”
I lift an eyebrow. “What for?”
“For being bossy. I know how much you hate it. Thanks for . . . well, for being you I guess.”
When I just stare at her, eyebrows raised, she elaborates. “For being someone I can count on. You really are one in a million, Sam.”
“Just doing my job.”
“You know it’s more than that.” She tosses the used ink cups in the trash and I take over wiping down the rolling cart while she bags up the garbage. Then she secures her tattoo machines in their case and clips it shut. She waits for me to grab the trash and head toward the door before she reaches to the back wall and flips off the light switch, leaving the shop in darkness.
“So, can I beg a ride? I’m leaving my bike parked here until we get back and don’t really want to deal with an Uber.”
Her old motorcycle takes up half the storeroom in the back of the shop. She’s talked about trading it in so many times, but Tendrils’ finances haven’t quite measured up enough for her to justify the indulgence. It’s only one reason I know my gift to her will be appreciated.
“Sure thing.”
“You go on. I just need to grab my things and arm the alarm.”
I head out the door and toss the trash bag into the dumpster against the back wall. Then I start the truck and turn it around for an easy exit. The different angle allows me a good vantage into the rear door of the shop, and I follow her silhouette as she flips off the remaining lights and ducks into the office, reappearing with her leather backpack swung over one shoulder.
Even weighed down with exhaustion, she’s gorgeous. She’s in motorcycle boots with a swath of buckles, only half of which do anything, into which are tucked her skin-tight black skinny jeans that hug her curvy hips and accent her stellar ass. A backless halter top shows off all her ink, the winding vines that have become her trademark crawling over her golden skin in a perfect flow that accents all the lines of her body. At least she says they’re all over her, though I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing more than what she shares in public.
Her straight black hair is in a messy twist, a swath of bangs hanging over one eye, the opposite eyebrow adorned with a single silver barbell. When she turns, I catch the brilliant red streak dyed into her bangs just before she shuts off the last light and pulls the steel door closed behind her.
There’s a bandage wrapped around her left wrist that I hadn’t noticed before. Not an odd thing to see on someone who gets tattoos, but her wrists and forearms are almost entirely covered already, so I don’t know what to make of it. After Leo’s warning, though, I’m worried, as much for her as I am over the possibility that I’m nowhere near equipped for what she might really need.
God, I’m so fucking wrecked for this woman. It’s like that ridiculous crush I developed nine years ago has morphed into a beast that’s overwhelmed nearly every other desire. Sure, I have ambitions, but when I lucked into the apprenticeship under Toni, it was l
ike the universe was telling me wanting her was part of the plan. So while I still strive for creative excellence, for becoming as well-known an artist as she is, I never once let up on the idea of pursuing her. Hopefully I’m not completely off-base about it being the right time to make my interest known.
Not tonight, obviously. I know enough to find my moment. In the meantime I indulge myself, enjoying the view until she turns toward me after locking the door. She climbs into the passenger seat, setting her bag in the footwell before sitting back and reaching for the seatbelt. I want to ask about the bandage, but decide it’s probably safer to just treat her like nothing’s wrong.
“Let me buy you dinner. There’s a food truck in the park this time of night,” I say as I put the truck in gear and pull out onto Market Street. “Or we can hit Sushi Love.” If she’s anything like me when I was at my lowest, she’ll go home, skip food, and go straight for that bottle of tequila she probably keeps in her freezer.
She sighs, and for a second I think she’s about to turn me down, but she surprises me with a nod. “You know what? You pick. I’m too tired to make any decisions right now.”
My eyebrows shoot up and I have to do a doubletake. What the hell prompted this shift in behavior? Not only is she willing to let me feed her for the first time, she’s actually asking me to decide what to feed her. It gives me an odd surge of possessiveness, not to mention the simple thrill of fulfilling some primal need I didn’t realize I had.
Not that I’m not used to being the provider in some sense for the women in my life. When my brothers all enlisted in the Navy, that left me as the man of the house, and to say I took it seriously was an understatement.
I was only eleven years old when Marco, the youngest of the three, shipped off to basic. I grew up fast the first time Dad came home on leave and I realized I was the only one left to run interference between him, my mom, and my sister. I became attuned to the two of them fast, so I was hyperaware of their mood shifts and learned when to become a distraction for my old man’s wrath.
That protective instinct has never really gone away. I have to suppress it around Elle—my sister doesn’t really appreciate me butting into her business anymore—but I’m less concerned now that I know Arturo Flores has a powerful billionaire like Drake Stavros at his mercy enough to force him to protect her while she works for him. Elle isn’t supposed to know this particular detail, but Maddox and Mason thought it was important that I know, so I don’t need worry about Elle’s safety since we both live in San Diego while they’re in LA. Taking care of Toni is therefore my number one priority.
I drive out of the Gaslamp Quarter toward Balboa Park. The food truck is in a lot inside the park and I pull into an empty spot and cut the engine. The place is hopping, what with most of the museums nearby closing up right about now, but the line isn’t too long yet. I glance at Toni, who’s eyeing the line.
“It’s pretty standard Mexican fare, so just tell me what you like and I’ll bring it back.”
She blinks and twists her mouth to one side, then shakes her head. “Ah, I don’t have the bandwidth for it. What’s good?”
“Their fish tacos are the bomb. Baja-style. Everything’s good, though.”
“Whatever you’re having is fine.”
I nod and slip out, grabbing my wallet and tucking it in my back pocket. I glance back at her once, but she’s staring off at the backlit spire of the chapel beyond the tree line, the only piece of architecture visible from where I parked. My heart clenches at how lost she looks. Maybe it’s just fatigue and hunger, but I’m almost certain it’s more.
I pick up two orders of fish tacos and a tray of nachos, plus two canned sodas, and carry them back to the truck. Toni hops out as I approach and lowers the tailgate, so I head to the rear of the truck and set the food between us before sitting. She’s smiling a little when I brush off my hands and meet her gaze.
“What?” I ask, curious what I did to provoke that look.
“You get off on this, don’t you? You’re all ‘look at me, big man provider for woman.’ ” She gives a caveman-like grunt, then giggles.
“Woman, just eat,” I say, digging into the nachos to conceal my secret pleasure that she even noticed.
“You all packed?” she asks after popping a cheesy, bean-laden chip into her mouth.
“Nah, I’ll pack tonight. Want me to pick you up in the morning?” She lives north of the park near the university, so her place isn’t exactly on the way to the airport for me. My cheap little studio apartment is in Little Italy, but naturally I’ll go out of my way for her if she asks me to.
“You might as well. You’ll need help with the gear anyway.”
“Not gonna object. I’m still not sure why we need to haul all that stuff with us. Don’t people come to these things for tattoos, not coffee mugs? My ink and machines can fit into one suitcase.”
“Sure, but you’re just one artist. Our booth represents Tendrils, the sum of all four artists in the collective. We need to increase the studio’s visibility as a whole, and the easiest way to do that at this convention is selling all that swag. Merch is half our income at a show, since we can only take so many clients over the course of three days, but every single one of those folks who buy T-shirts and drink koozies is going to be sporting our name back home, which is more than a tattoo alone will do. I think those temporary tattoos you designed are going to be popular as hell.”
“You’re the boss.”
She snorts and shakes her head. “You sure? You like to remind me that I’m not actually the boss on a regular basis.”
“Well, you’re not the boss of me anymore, but you run Tendrils, so when it comes to the studio, you are. I’ll defer to you on the business, since I’m still learning how to do what you do.”
She digs into her second taco, making small, contented sounds while she chews, and her shoulders settle. After a second she gives me a sidelong look and takes a deep breath. “You already know the important parts of running the place. How would you feel about becoming a partner?”
I stop chewing and I’m pretty sure my heart skips a beat. Struggling to swallow, I get my food down, but wind up coughing and have to take a long swig of my soda. My eyes are watering and my voice is hoarse when I ask, “Are you serious? Why me and not Vic or Mako? Or are you asking them too?”
“I ran it by them, but you’re the only one getting the offer, with their blessing, of course. They both agree you’re the only one who has the head for it. Vic is always off in his own little world with all his side projects, and Mako’s too much of a nomad. I see you sticking around. That is unless you have a better offer somewhere.”
“No. I mean, I kind of hoped Mad would be willing to partner, but he probably still thinks I’m just goofing around with this.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t think that. But one thing I can assure you is that all our business is above-board. Arturo Flores will never have control over any piece of it.”
I wince. I know what she’s insinuating, and she isn’t wrong. Maddox doesn’t talk about it, but I’ve peeked at his books once or twice, as has Elle, and we both agree that there’s more money coming in than he could conceivably make from his tattoos and the photography side gig. His business is subjective enough to be a plausible cover, though. The big question is, once it comes out that Toni is Arturo’s daughter, could Arturo’s level of involvement in her life change? Would the man drag Toni into his organization unwillingly?
My jaw clenches. Not if I’m a partner, he won’t—I don’t care if he’s her father. And really, was there any uncertainty about what my answer would be to her proposal?
“What’s the catch if I say yes?”
“Well, first I want to see how you do at the convention. Not that I’m worried, but it’s your first event, so how you handle yourself is important to the impression we give as a business. And there’s a buy-in, plus a small percentage of your earnings need to go back into the shop. But you get equity. You also get a fe
atured slot on the show, which provides a cut of the earnings from streaming, which won’t be insubstantial once we’ve built up active followers again. I have no doubt having your hot self as a regular will increase our subscriber base.”
I smirk. “You think I’m hot.”
Toni rolls her eyes. “Honey, you don’t need other people to tell you something you clearly already know. But I admit I’m a little bummed you cut your hair. The beefy hipster look suited you.”
She reaches out and rakes her nails lightly across the shorn section above my ear. Her touch sends a sharp thrill down my spine and my dick perks up.
“My niece is in a hair-pulling phase, so if I want to hold her, it was either cut it off or endure Mad and Mason’s ridicule over the man-bun. It’ll grow back.” I comb my fingers through the longer strands on top.
“Well, the hair isn’t enough for you to be a representative of Tendrils anyway. We need to get you some more ink. That one little band of yours is just not cutting it. You said you have a plan, which I respect, but maybe consider implementing some of it this weekend. Get some more designs on your arms at least.”
“Noted.” I hold my left hand out and look down at my forearm, the only part of my body with visible ink. It’s simplistic, but bold—one thick band of black just below my elbow. It was my first tattoo on live skin. I had to prove I could ink clean lines before I braved trying it on someone other than myself. My brother Mason’s back piece was the first real piece of art I completed.
I have one other tattoo, a tribal spiral on my ribcage that Mad gave me as a gift before I moved to San Diego to start working for Toni. I’ve never showed it to her because it’s inspired by her and I know she’d recognize it.
The tattoo is a design in my brother’s style, the concept based on a publicity photo Toni did for a magazine about seven years ago when she first started getting buzz for her channel. In the photo, she’s throwing her head back, her straight black hair loose as it flies through the air, the red stripe bright against the black strands.
