Valentine's Day (Second Skin Book 3)

by Ophelia Bell

  “The one and only,” Toni says with a barbed note. “Can you let me into my room?”

  “You’ll need to show ID once I let you in.”

  “And I will, don’t worry.”

  I snag my own keycard and follow her in case she needs any backup to prove she belongs in her own room. The hotel manager swipes a card across her lock and pushes it open when the green light appears. Toni audibly exhales and enters, heading straight to the desk where her purse rests. She fishes out her wallet, producing her California driver’s license and the keycard to her room, then walks back to the woman where she stands with her back propped against the open door.

  “This says your name is Antonia Quiñones,” the woman says, scowling at Toni’s driver’s license.

  “Yeah, Antonia Valentina Quiñones. AKA Toni Valentine. There’s no law that says I have to use my legal name to register.”

  “And you’re from where?”

  Toni heaves an exasperated breath. “San Diego. Why does that matter?”

  The woman scrutinizes the driver’s license for a few more seconds. Far longer than necessary, in my opinion.

  “It’s her, trust me,” I say as if my word carries any weight. But the woman seems to relax a little, then nods and steps back.

  “Enjoy your stay. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ring the front desk.” She directs the last bit to me, smirking just a little before letting the door swing closed behind her.

  Toni snorts. “She definitely wants a piece of you.”

  “Good for her. I’m not interested. So, you want to get ready and go down and check out the breakfast buffet? It’s still pretty early.”

  She’s fishing into her purse and nods as she pulls out her phone. “Sure . . .” she begins, then pauses with a frown. “Aw, no fucking way!”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “What now?”

  “My client canceled.” She drops her purse and scowls at her phone, swiping as she scrolls through the message. “Dammit. He’s not even going to make it to the show. Sam, this is bad. This tattoo was supposed to be my best of show entry. I don’t have a backup, and it’s too short notice to find a new client, much less design a piece of this caliber.”

  The despair is back, and I can already see her starting to crumble under the weight of the news. I go to her and urge her to sit, then crouch in front of her, grab her phone and set it aside, turning back to grip both her hands.

  “I’ve got you. We’re going to figure it out, okay? Let’s get our shit together and get some food in us, then set up the booth. We can brainstorm with Vic and Mako about what to do. If nothing else, maybe one of them can pull it out and win enough contests to get the name recognition we were hoping for. Hell, maybe I can too. I’m already planning to enter everything humanly possible. It doesn’t all need to fall on your shoulders.”

  She gives a shaky nod and exhales. “I am truly sorry I’m such a basket case. Thank you for being . . . you.”

  I lean in and kiss her forehead. “Get ready, okay? I’ll be back after I shower.”

  She nods and I depart, exhilarated even though I’m disappointed for her setback. But I’m a problem-solver at my core, and I love nothing more than being the point man to solve her problems.

  In the shower an idea forms, but I want to run it by the others—Toni especially—to see what they think.

  “Creating a combined design is another opportunity to see how we work together on a collaboration,” I say after pitching the idea to Toni in the elevator on the way to breakfast.

  “And I like the idea, but we’re missing a crucial piece: the skin to tattoo it on. It’s a risk. At least with my other client, I know he’ll sit for the three hours it’d take to finish.”

  “You can’t repurpose his art either, can you?”

  “No. He paid for it in advance. The art is going on his skin next time he makes it to San Diego.”

  “We can manage a fresh design between the two of us. Let’s see what ideas the guys have about the other half of the problem.”

  Vic and Mako wave at us from the buffet line and we cut in next to them. Vic gives Toni a peck on the cheek and she accepts a half-hug from Mako, and our foursome shuffles forward with the rest of the crowd.

  We’re distracted by the prospect of food for the next several minutes until we sit and dig in. Over a pile of food that makes Toni’s eyes widen and look at me like I have two heads, I explain her predicament to the others.

  “Man, that blows,” Vic says. “If I had any spare skin, I’d sit for you.”

  “I do,” Mako says. “But I don’t think your flower girls will go with the rest of my ink—no offense, Toni. What about Sam? He’s the one with all the bare skin.”

  “He’s got to actually tattoo half of the design if we collaborate on it.”

  “What about a raffle?” Vic suggests. “You two put your heads together on the art, and then we’ll post it up at the booth with a box for people to buy tickets for a chance to win. We’ve already got our charity swag, so this can be another option to earn money toward that. Whoever wins just has to agree to get it tattooed at the show.”

  “We’d make that a condition for entering,” I say, nodding.

  “It’s a good idea no matter what the design is. I like it,” Toni says. Her shoulders settle and she lifts her coffee mug, taking a long swallow. She’s across the table from me and I feel her foot nudge mine underneath. Her eyebrows lift and I catch a sly sparkle in her eyes. I’m relieved that she’s less stressed now than she was a little while ago and hope that sparkle means she’s let go of whatever regrets she had over fooling around this morning.

  Vic clears his throat and Toni and I both look at him. His eyebrows arch high and he points between the two of us.

  “There something you two need to get off your chests? Because I believed you yesterday when you said Sam was just pretending to fend off assholes, but now I’m not so sure that’s all it is.”

  “Seriously,” Mako adds. “I’m getting a boner just watching you eye-fuck each other.”

  “Oh my god. No.” Toni rolls her eyes. “It’s innocent, I swear.”

  “Well, something is different. Don’t fucking lie to us,” Vic says.

  I raise my eyebrows at Toni. It’s up to her to share if she wants. If she doesn’t, then I’ll go along, but it’ll be weird.

  She looks them both in the eyes and sighs. “It really isn’t what you think. You guys both know the last time I was here Manny was with me. It’s been tough to adjust . . . so I may have begged Sam to sleep with me so I wouldn’t have to sleep alone. But that’s all it was! We slept. All night. No funny business.”

  She glances at me and I have to bite my tongue. She isn’t lying. We did nothing but sleep all night. This morning, however, was a different story.

  Mako and Vic both stare at me, and I shrug and nod. “We were clothed. And she snores.”

  Toni tosses her napkin at me. “The hell I do!”

  “Maybe a little.” I hold up my hand with thumb and forefinger poised a tiny bit apart.

  The other two laugh, but Vic’s narrowed eyes are enough for me to know he smells bullshit. I only give a faint shrug and shake my head, hoping he doesn’t push.

  After we eat, we head as a group to the convention hall where the booths are set up. Vic excuses himself to hit the restroom and taps me on the elbow as he pulls away. Toni and Mako are already through the doors into the arena, so I turn and follow Vic.

  He’s mid-stream at the urinal when he says, “I’m not going to pry, but I need you to know Mako and I will mess you up if she gets hurt.”

  “That’s the last thing I want. She means everything to me. It isn’t about the job, or even about sex.”

  “She offered you a partnership, though. So it’ll get complicated fast if you’re not careful.”

  When I stare at him, he shakes his head, then finishes pissing and zips up. “You’re not the only one she talks to. She ran it by me first, but I just don’t hav
e the time or interest in it. I told her you’re the better option. You’re hungry to make a mark on the world. You deserve to have the opportunity to try.”

  “Thanks, man,” I say, baffled by the revelation. Vic has always been the most low-key, soft-spoken man. He keeps to himself for the most part, though I know he and Mako are close.

  He looks at me in the mirror over the sink when I step over to wash my hands next to him. “Your intentions are what, exactly?”

  My stomach turns a flip and my nostrils flare, because no one but my family knows the extent of what I feel for Toni, and I don’t think even they completely grasp the depth of it.

  The words catch in my throat at first, then come out in a rasp. “I love her. All I want is for her to be happy.”

  Vic presses his lips together and nods, then smacks a big hand down on my shoulder. “You’re a good man. God knows she could do worse. Manny was good to her, but his lifestyle only had one likely outcome, and she’s been paying for it ever since. For what it’s worth, I hope things work out for you two.”

  He leaves me in the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I think Vic’s the first person who’s actually encouraged me to pursue Toni.

  I head into the huge event space practically vibrating from the show of solidarity and get to work helping the others finish setting up our booths. The show doesn’t start for another hour, but already there are podcasters and online journalists beginning to interview the guests. More than five hundred artists are at this event, which is one of the largest tattoo conventions in the world, and the energy in the room increases the more people filter in getting ready for the show to start.

  The space adjoins the arena where we can hear a band already setting up doing sound checks for the concert that will begin later in the afternoon.

  By the time the doors open for the early-bird attendees to stream in, we’re ready. Vic’s new sign is lit up, catching eyes, and we have all our pre-prepped stencils and flash designs tacked to the cubicle walls around us. The swag is prominently arranged in front, and each of our tables is set up and ready to go.

  Mako’s the first one to snag a client who homes in on his bold Japanese style. Then a woman sees Toni lets out a pleased exclamation.

  I alternate between standing in front and showing off my freshly painted arms to try to entice customers to stop and sitting on my stool sketching ideas for the collaboration Toni and I decided to work on tonight. We’ll put our heads together after dinner and come up with something hopefully worthy of a best-of-show prize. We’ll only have two days to complete it, so smaller is better, but I have no intention of scaling down. The bigger and more impressive the design, the higher our chances of winning.

  I also pause every so often, distracted by Toni at work. We have somewhat separate booths at home with screens between them to give our clients privacy, so I don’t often get the opportunity to just watch if it’s not a pre-recorded session. Her methodical needle-work and low, husky voice is both calming and arousing at the same time. She catches me looking after a few minutes, glances up, and winks before returning to her work with a smirk.

  Fuck, I need to focus. What I need is a client so I have an excuse not to get distracted by her. I glance at my watch and check the schedule to see if there are any seminars worth attending. There’s one on piercing that sounds cool, but it isn’t until later. I block out the time on my schedule so I don’t accidentally book a client and miss it. If I ever book a client, that is.

  I hear commotion from the booth next door and glance up to see a cameraman with a shoulder rig aiming his camera at the artist in that booth. A tattooed woman with a microphone steps in front of the camera and begins a spiel about the artist, who then pauses to answer questions. When the interviewer turns and I finally get a look at her face, my adrenaline spikes and I sit up straighter. It’s Chelsea Silvers, a reporter for probably the most prominent tattoo magazine in print. They also have a popular website and video channel with hundreds of thousands of followers.

  “Heads up,” Mako warns. “We’ve got Inked inbound.”

  The interview lasts for about five minutes, and then the crew steps back. Chelsea glances at a tablet someone hands her, then looks down the row, checking booth numbers.

  Her eyes light up when she spies our sign and she nudges the camera man to follow her.

  “Hey, guys! I’m Chelsea Silvers from Inked magazine. Do you mind if we do a quick interview? You can keep working or take a break. This won’t take long.”

  All three of the others have clients, so she focuses on me. “I know the other three but you’re new to Tendrils. What’s your name?”

  She doesn’t seem to be in interview mode, so I stand and hold out my hand. “Sam Santos. I’ve been with Tendrils for about three years now.”

  “Ohh, wait! You’re the new boyfriend we heard about last night, aren’t you? This is good! Can I get the two of you together for a joint interview?”

  Wow, the rumor mill must’ve been in high gear if some simple hand-holding got turned into “new boyfriend” so fast. I open my mouth to set her straight when Toni steps up and slides her arm around my waist.

  “Hi, Chelsea,” she croons in a voice as sweet as honey. “Sam is the best thing to happen to Tendrils in a long time. Best thing for me too.” She squeezes me and looks up into my eyes. I stare down at her, hoping she can read my mind. I figure “what the fuck?” has to be etched pretty clearly on my face.

  All I see is the pleading in her eyes and I cave.

  “What can I say? Toni’s always full of surprises.”

  15

  Toni

  I’m such an ass for dragging Sam into my problems, but he’s been a trooper so far, so I hope one more time won’t stretch his patience beyond recovery. My tension eases when he goes along with the ruse, gamely answering Chelsea’s questions about how we met and how our so-called romance began. He doesn’t have to lie much, at least. In fact, none of what he says is a lie, exactly.

  “We met when she interviewed me for an apprenticeship. My older brother’s a tattoo artist too—Mad Dog Santos. You might have heard of him.”

  Chelsea’s eyes widen and she makes an “O” of recognition, then says into her microphone, “I have indeed. He keeps turning me down for interviews. Maybe you could put in a good word?”

  Sam chuckles. “I’ll give it a shot, but Mad’s a stubborn fucker. Can I say fucker?”

  Chelsea laughs. “This isn’t live, so you can say whatever you want. We’ll bleep it out later. So tell me how this little romance began. You are quite the picture together, the two of you. The poster-couple for sexy tattoos.”

  Sam looks down at me so adoringly I almost believe he isn’t faking it. “You’ve heard the story about how Jason Momoa and Lisa Bonet got together, right? It’s a bit like that.”

  Chelsea nods and smiles. “So there’s an age difference too. How old are you?”

  “I’m twenty-two. Toni’s older, but if you say her age I’ll have to punch you.”

  Chelsea giggles, then reaches out and pats my shoulder. “Girl, trust me, I get it. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t envy you a little. Do you have other brothers besides Mad Dog?” Chelsea asks Sam with a sly smirk.

  “I do. Two, in fact, but one’s engaged. The other’s a Navy SEAL.”

  “Oh, really? Well, I will just leave you my number.” She shoots an exaggerated look of excitement at the camera while she hands him a business card.

  She wraps up the interview with some shots of us working on our current clients, then some wide shots of the booth before moving on with a wave.

  Sam sits in utter silence on his stool, watching me as if in a daze before he switches focus back to his sketchbook. A moment later someone stops by, asking if he’s available.

  We spend the next several hours engrossed in work, but I can feel his eyes on me when he’s not working, and I just know he’s itching to talk about the interview and the fa
ct that our little lie has now grown. Sometime in late afternoon he disappears, muttering something about checking out a piercing seminar. After enduring the tension of not being able to talk around our clients, his departure allows me to breathe.

  Finally the show portion of the day winds down. We each had several pieces our clients agreed were worthy of entering into the day’s contests, and sent them off with our blessings and a healthy dose of hope. I’m still bummed as hell that the piece I’d hoped to enter into the best of show contest isn’t happening, but I had a chance to peek at Sam’s sketches throughout the day, and I’m feeling better about our plan to collaborate.

  My last client pays me with a wad of twenties, and the moment I look up after stashing it in a lockbox, Sam appears, rolling his stool over and settling right in front of me.

  “We need to talk,” he says. My heart leaps, but I maintain a neutral expression and slowly nod.

  “Guessing this isn’t some huge revelation about what you learned in that piercing seminar.”

  “That was educational, yes, but it isn’t that. You know what it is.”

  I stare down at my hands as I peel off my gloves. “You’re wondering why I pushed the lie about you being my boyfriend.”

  “To a fucking national magazine, yeah. What do you have to gain by telling the whole world?”

  “A little peace? It’s hard enough when I am in a relationship. Even with Manny right here, I still had men hitting on me. Having you as a deterrent makes it easier to deal with.”

  He clenches his jaw and leans back, arms crossed. My belly churns when it hits me how very unfair this is to him. This morning was probably a mistake, but I can’t bring myself to say as much out loud. No matter how dumb it was to let things go that far, I needed it. Not just the sex, either—the outpouring of dark secrets was even more cathartic than giving myself the tattoo had been.

  My cheeks heat while I wait for him to speak, but I’m nowhere near prepared for what he finally says.