by Ophelia Bell
There’s a video clip the still shot was taken from that I’ve probably watched a thousand times. She was in the process of prepping to start a new tattoo on a client and was putting her hair up, and had just brushed it out upside-down before flipping it over and twisting it up at the back of her head, then securing with two ornamental sticks. Mad managed to capture the essence of that singular movement in one of the more dynamic tribal designs I’ve ever seen, and even broke from his usual rule of only inking black designs by including a single red spike amid the row of black ones.
At the time, it was merely a tattoo representing my idol. Now I’m hesitant to let her see it for fear she’ll draw the wrong conclusions. Or the right ones, I guess, since I can’t deny I’m crazy about her.
Toni shakes her head. “It still boggles my mind that you managed to make it to twenty-two doing what you do and not wind up covered in ink. Mad Dog would’ve hooked you up if you’d asked.”
“My brother’s a hard-ass, which you already know. He wouldn’t even let me drink around him until I turned twenty-one.”
She’s still staring at my arms with a thoughtful expression and I flex a little, just to see if I get a rise out of her. I’m not disappointed when her pupils flare. The black band may not be that impressive, but it does accent the muscles in my forearm quite well and I wish I had a matching one on the other arm.
“You’re thinking about what you can do with all this virgin skin, aren’t you? Just show me a design and this body is yours. Every last inch if you want.” I wag my eyebrows at her.
“Oh my god!” She hops up in a huff and grabs the paper trays our food came in, then stomps over to a trash can and tosses the pile in, shaking her head and laughing. I chuckle to myself, more pleased by the fact that I got her to laugh than whatever might be going through her head right now, which I hope involves picturing me naked.
I stand and close the tailgate, then lean against it with my thumbs hooked in the pockets of my jeans as I wait for her to return. Her eyes sparkle and she smiles.
“That looks good on you, you know,” I say when she’s within earshot again.
“What’s that?”
“Your smile. It’s been scarce for way too long.”
Her gaze drops to the ground and her eyebrows draw together as she lets out a breath. “I know I haven’t been the most pleasant to be around. But I’m working on finding a new normal. I don’t have much of a choice.”
“You always have a choice,” I say, fishing the keys out of my pocket and opening her door for her.
She gives me a grateful smile as she slips into her seat, then shakes her head. “If I don’t get my shit together, I’m going to lose Tendrils. I’ve posted exactly ten videos in the past three years. There was a time when I’d bring in five figures per video, but the audience has dwindled. I’m lucky to cover the lease each month with them now, and that’s just the shop. My monthly mortgage payment straps me.”
“Well, I’m here to help in whatever way you need. If I need to tattoo naked to earn viewers, I’ll do it.”
Her one pierced eyebrow lifts and she definitely checks me out for a second before shaking her head. “Not that it wouldn’t work, but it’s against all kinds of health codes, I’m sure.”
I close her door and lean in the open window. “I’m serious, Toni. Not about the naked stuff—unless you want that—but about doing whatever it takes to keep the studio open. I’ll work on some ideas this weekend. Prove to you that I’d be a good partner.”
“Thank you, Sam. I don’t think I tell you enough how much I appreciate everything you do.”
I just smile and pat the top of the truck once before turning to walk around to the driver’s side. I’d be going overboard if I let slip that I would literally do anything for her, but she’s giving me the perfect opportunity to prove how valuable I can be, and in more than just business matters.
4
Toni
I’m equal parts relieved and giddy that Sam’s interested in my proposal. He didn’t ask what the buy-in was, but the boy is frugal to a fault and I know how much he brings in per piece, not to mention the art he sells on the side. He has the head for it, and the fact that he didn’t even balk tells me I’m making the right decision.
Yet I can’t shake that alien tangle in my gut that twists tighter as I watched him through the windshield before he climbs in and starts the engine.
When did he morph into the hot-as-sin man on the other side of the glass? The haircut is new as of today, and I’ve barely had time to really look at him. He actually looks like a grown-up now, and with his other talents and dedication to the shop, it elevates him above our other two coworkers in a big way.
I love Vic and Mako, but they don’t want to take on the headache of managing a business. They got into tattooing for the creative outlet and the fun. Both of them are already in Cancún, having opted to fly down in advance for a brief vacation, though I did wrangle them into hauling half the gear and swag with them so I’d have less to deal with.
Sam’s new haircut keeps making me do double-takes because he looks five years older than he did just a few days ago. His hair is shorn up the back and sides, but he left the sideburns and some length on top. The hipster look suited the younger Sam, but this look suits him just as well.
It also draws attention to the sturdy strength of his neck and shoulders, which of course draws my eyes to the way those shoulders flex under his snug cotton T-shirt. When he puts the truck in gear and twists to check the mirrors, I’m hyperaware of how sturdily built he is. He’s as big as his oldest brother, Maddox, and just as handsome, but somewhat softer around the edges both in looks and personality.
Two days ago Sam was just an overgrown teenager with shaggy brown hair twisted up into a sloppy tail at the back of his head, and he seemed to be toying with the idea of growing a goatee. I know he’s not nineteen anymore, but until today I couldn’t help but see that same kid with the puppy dog enthusiasm who first showed up at my studio three years ago, way more gung-ho about schlepping trash and cleaning floors than he had any right to be. He said he didn’t care—he was just glad it wasn’t his older brother giving him orders anymore.
It didn’t take long for him to prove to the other artists that he had talent. He spent every second of spare time during that first year drawing. After less than a month, both Vic and Mako started coming to him for input on their designs, then outsourcing to him entirely on some pieces they didn’t feel equipped to do themselves. He has an eye for intricate details and his style leans more toward dark illustrative, though he’s fully capable of emulating just about any style a client requests.
I honestly expected him to start begging for ink from the rest of us right away—too many wannabe apprentices think free art is a perk of the job. Sam never once asked any of us for tattoos, though. But now it’s just ridiculous that he doesn’t have more. The only excuse he ever gave was that he had a plan that involved him hitting certain milestones, but he refused to share what those milestones were.
There are only so many milestones in a man’s life, aren’t there?
One of his comments echoes in my head, and when he pulls out onto the road headed north, I give in and ask.
“Please tell me your skin’s the only part of you that’s that virginal.”
We’re stopped at a light and he barks a laugh, then looks at me. “Wow, that’s a pretty bold question, even for you.” He shoots me a grin, and I’m sure his cheeks are the slightest bit pinker than they were before.
I raise my hands. “No judgment, just curious.”
Returning his eyes to the road and hitting the gas he shakes his head. “I’m not a virgin, Toni,” he says in a low tone that suggests I’m way off the mark with my question, as if he knows I’ve been struggling not to picture him naked for the last twenty minutes.
After a minute of silence, I prod. “Well? This is where you explain how non-virginal you are. You’re as cagey as Mad Dog.”
; He frowns and shoots me a wary glance. “The last three years were a few of the worst years of my life. I know you understand. I wasn’t really in the mood for banter, and neither were you. If it wasn’t for you offering me that apprenticeship, I’d have gone off the deep end. Tendrils was the one bright spot.”
I blink and open my mouth to speak, but the words get lost amid the welling of emotion at the reminder. Instead I swallow and look out the window for a moment to gather my thoughts. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own grief I forget that he was grieving that whole time too.
“J.J.—I mean Mason came back,” I say in a soft voice, meant to be comforting. I reach out and squeeze his bicep and can feel his body settle slightly under my touch. He glances down at my hand, gaze landing on the bandage around my wrist, but he has yet to comment on it, and for that I’m grateful.
“I know. My family got lucky, but I was just pointing out that I’m not the only one who’s been too preoccupied to share. That doesn’t mean you don’t know me just because I don’t talk about my sex life the way Mako talks about his.”
I chuckle and nod. Mako is something of a man-whore who loves to gloat about his conquests to Vic the morning after. I’m convinced he’s so vocal because Vic, by contrast, is asexual and has never once shown interest in anyone of either sex if they weren’t already engaged in conversation. He claims his attraction is never sexual, but always intellectual. To each his own, I guess. Sometimes I wish I could turn off that part of my psyche.
“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. You lost someone who didn’t come back. You’re allowed to be a mess. And for what it’s worth, I don’t exactly have much of a sex life. I wasn’t in the headspace to think about more than tattoos for the past three years.”
“Forget I asked,” I say. “I just wanted to get to know you better. And I’ll be honest, I’ve been curious—as have the other guys—about whether or not you might not be het.”
His brows twitch and he takes a beat before giving me a bewildered look. “Is that a nice way of asking whether I’m gay?”
It’s my turn to flush, and I shrug one shoulder and give him a sheepish smile. “Or bi, or ace, or whatever the hell floats your boat.”
He’s smiling again, and this time I get the distinct impression he’s enjoying this line of questioning. “I want a woman. One woman. I’m pretty straightforward that way. And I know this because I have had sex with the opposite sex before and know for a fact I love it. But there has only been one so far—my high-school girlfriend, Monica. We were together three years and pretty much went through our weight in condoms during that period.”
“Oh,” I say, and I can’t help but grin at the outpouring of details. It’s more than I’ve ever gotten from him before, but it only makes me want to know more. “Three years is a long time, which means you must’ve gotten together at, what, sixteen?”
“We were fifteen when we started dating. At first she just wanted to lose her virginity and believed I’d be a safe option, but we enjoyed the sex so much we kept doing it. Our relationship wasn’t exactly immersive . . . we were horny teens, so we made excuses about studying and would just fuck all afternoon. And I mean all the time. For three years.”
“So you weren’t emotionally attached?” I ask, a little put off by the confession. The way he describes it seems so empty.
“I didn’t say that. We loved each other. Mom adored her. But we were teenagers. It couldn’t last.”
“So why did it end?”
For the first time tonight he looks uncomfortable, as if he really doesn’t want to answer the question. He clears his throat. “She graduated. I didn’t. I guess she couldn’t bring herself to keep dating a guy who was technically still in high school.” He shoots me a sideways glance. “You knew I had to repeat twelfth grade, right? I got my diploma literally the day before I started working for you.” He swallows, a fearful look in his eyes as if afraid I might judge him. “It’s not something I’m proud of.”
I’m not sure what to say, but I can’t just keep staring like an idiot. “Right. I guess I forgot that detail. It just seems so incongruous with what I know about you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, you’re one of the brightest guys I know. You have a photographic memory, genius-level talent, and there’s pretty much no question I can ask that you don’t have the answer to. And if you don’t know it, it takes you about five minutes on the internet to learn everything there is to know about a topic. It honestly surprises me that you were held back and not, I don’t know, in gifted programs and earning full scholarships to college.”
He winces, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. I’m no stranger to shame, and I can see this is something that cuts deep for him. I reach out and squeeze his arm again.
He sighs. “Elle’s the academic, not me. It wasn’t a lack of desire to learn that kept me back, just . . . other shit going on in my life. My dad was pretty much at his absolute worst for those five years, and none of my brothers were around to help. The art was kind of my escape, and I guess it was hard for me to care about anything else where school was concerned. It wasn’t until Mad came home that I felt like I had the freedom to get my shit together.”
The bitterness in his tone is hard to miss, as is the way his voice pitches lower and quavers just a little. It isn’t a secret how abusive his dad was to all his kids. It just never occurred to me how much it would’ve affected other parts of his life too.
Softly I say, “You’re kind of kicking ass now, you know. I’m glad I took a chance on you.”
He pulls to a stop at the curb in front of my house and turns to me. “You have no idea how much it means to me to hear you say that.” He reaches for my hand and I let him take it, squeezing back when his fingers tighten around mine. He glances down at my bandage again, letting his thumb brush along the edge of the tape. For a second I think he’s going to ask what it means, but he just looks into my eyes and says, “You’re kicking ass too. I don’t think people tell you that enough. You’re one of the most amazing women I know.”
His lips part and he takes a breath, his gray eyes searching mine. I think he’s about to say more, but all he does is smile and squeeze my hand, then lets it go.
“Thank you, Sam.”
He faces forward and nods, then clears his throat. “Our flight leaves at the ass crack of dawn. So see you in a few hours, I guess?”
I want to show some enthusiasm for the trip for his sake. That’s what the old Toni would do, but it’s hard for me to muster anything past the resurging anxiety and outright fear. My career depends on me getting my shit together, getting past my grief and reclaiming my celebrity status.
But here I am, depressed and on the verge of turning thirty, and the only bright spot in my life at the moment is a totally inappropriate affection for this kid. He deserves more than a mentor he spends more time trying to cheer up than she spends teaching him because she’s struggling to hold her shit together.
But I can’t say that either, so I just settle for a simple, “See you in the morning, Sam,” and climb out of the truck to head inside.
5
Sam
Toni’s not her usual self when we get on our flight, and despite some half-assed attempts at enthusiasm, it’s not hard to tell how much of a basket case she is. It would make me feel better about my own nerves, if it weren’t so heartbreaking, because I have a pretty solid clue why she’s a mess.
I agonize over trying to talk to her about it, but broaching the topic of her dead lover in the middle of a plane full of strangers seems like a bad plan. So instead, when the refreshment cart rolls down the aisle, I pull out my wallet and order us both double Bloody Marys.
“Sam, you didn’t have to do that, but thank you. I so need this.”
“No worries. I’ve been saving up for the trip. So, I know why I need this . . . I’ve never been on a plane before and I’m kind of freaking out a little on the inside. But I’m not sure w
hy you need it so much. You’ve traveled a lot, so don’t tell me you’re afraid of flying.”
She offers a wry chuckle as she empties the little airplane bottles of vodka into a plastic cup and tops it off with tomato juice. “It’s not the flight I’m a mess over. It’s just stressful having been out of the scene for so long and trying to get back into it. Tattoo cons are a wild ride. Promise me you won’t let me hold you back while we’re there. You should have fun.”
“Is this a test?” I ask, lifting one eyebrow at her.
“What? No! Why would you think that?”
“Because after last night’s offer, you ought to know I have every intention of trying to impress you this weekend, and I’m pretty sure spending the weekend partying isn’t the way to do that.”
“No, but networking can involve some parties too. You can still have a blast while helping Tendrils. Enter contests, do some live interviews. You’re good on camera, so don’t waste that.”
“So what you’re saying is you want me to put myself out there so you don’t have to. How warm am I?”
She sighs and leans back against the seat with a pained look, then turns to me and shakes her head. “As tempting as that is, I can’t do that. I have an agenda for this trip which involves getting the fuck over myself finally so I can get my life back.”
Her eyes search mine, and I know it’s because she doesn’t want to say the words out loud. So in a quiet voice, I say them for her. “You’re ready to let Manny go, and you’re hoping going to this thing will help you do that.”
Her mouth opens as if she’s going to speak, but her lower lip starts to quiver. Instead of saying anything, she blinks rapidly and nods. All I want to do is haul her into my arms and hold her. Instead I take her hand. When I do, I realize the bandage is gone, and all that was underneath is a fresh tattoo. I turn her hand over to get a better look.
