by Regina Cole
With Jackie’s snores as background noise, I settled onto my narrow twin bed with my laptop. Tucking my feet into the purple throw blanket I kept folded at the bottom of my polka-dotted comforter, I booted up the computer. The screen lit, surrounding me with a soft electronic glow.
I’d been lucky. My parents’ marriage could have blown up years ago. Tears brimmed in my eyes as the awful memories played in my mind, the yelling, the way each had used me against the other, the constant feeling of tension surrounding me. I’d hidden for so long at home that coming here had felt like freedom. It was just too bad that Dad thought I would drop everything to come home and try to put my parents’ lives back together. No way, not happening. I was going to stay in school, no matter what it took. I could do this. I had to.
“Part-time jobs in Leesville,” I said aloud as I typed the words into the search box. I could do anything, right? Maybe I’d get lucky and find a job that would grow with me. One I could stick with the next two years while I finished college, one that would propel me into a career in art or graphic design, something like that.
I nodded determinedly. Once I found that career? I’d move halfway across the country. And it wouldn’t be a day too soon.
Neill
I hummed to myself as the dubstep tune cranked through my iPod dock. With another spritz of cleaner, I wiped down the tattoo chair. Giving it one last swipe, I tossed the paper towels and snapped off my gloves. Though the pungent scent of germicide burned my nostrils, I nodded, satisfied. This was my chair, my studio, my shop now. It hadn’t been an easy road, but for the moment, it felt like I might be able to climb out of the financial and emotional grave Gretchen had dug for me. I slapped the arm of the chair, hoping the feeling would last.
“So how was your first day, boss?” Tasha poked her head through the crack in the shiny black door. The beads at the ends of her braids clacked against one another, a soft, familiar sound.
I stretched toward the ceiling as I answered, my back cracking. “Good. Not much different than any other day at Sinful Skin. Still seems weird that I’m not just another artist anymore.”
Tasha entered the small room that was my personal studio, plopping down on the rolling stool. She stretched out her lean brown legs, crossing them at the ankles. “Well, now that you’re part owner, I guess I can deliver this news to you.”
I crossed my heavily tattooed arms over my chest and arched a brow at the receptionist. “What news?”
Tasha cracked a nervous smile, flashing brilliant white teeth against her silver labret. “I’m pregnant.”
I staggered backward dramatically, a hand over my heart. “But Tasha, how could you? I thought what we had was special!”
She laughed, tossing her braids over her shoulder. “Yeah, but I found another guy, and he knocked me up. You probably know him. Six-five, hands that could palm a watermelon? I’ve been married to him for six years.”
I dropped the act and pulled Tasha to her feet. “I’m happy for you guys. Really.” I hugged her lightly, rubbing her shoulders, trying like hell to be smooth. I didn’t want to break her, after all. And how the hell would Sinful Skin run without her? She was like the brain of the place.
“Thanks.” She pulled back, dashing teardrops away. “I don’t want to leave you guys, but Travis and I are moving closer to his parents.”
I handed her a tissue from the box I kept strategically close to the tattoo chair. It came in handy for the less pain-tolerant clients. “Don’t they live in Greenville? It’s not that far.”
“They live in Greenville, South Carolina. About six hundred miles, approximately.” Tasha blew her nose delicately and dropped the tissue in the orange biohazard-labeled can.
“Oh. Shit.” I looked down at the toes of my black leather boots, which almost blended in with the dark tile flooring. Dammit, why did Karl have to be out of town right now? My first official act as half-owner of the shop would be finding a replacement for the best receptionist and assistant we’d ever had. Tasha had been there five years, a year longer than I had. I’d worked my way up from apprentice to part owner, and I wasn’t about to fuck things up now. She would be tough to replace, that was for damn sure.
I squared my shoulders and met Tasha’s gaze. “We’re going to miss you. How long before you go?”
Tasha sighed. “A week. I know it’s fast, but we didn’t even have the house on the market yet. One of Travis’s buddies wants it now, so we’re going to go for it. It’s just a matter of the closing, and then we’ll be out of here.” Her brown eyes welled with tears again. “It’s probably all these god-awful hormones, but I’m going to miss you jerks.”
I gathered Tasha into my arms for another friendly hug, and she settled close. “Don’t worry about us. We’ll make it. But I expect pictures of the little one.”
“Of course.” Her voice sounded muffled against my chest, and when she angled her head to look at me, fresh tears appeared in her eyes. “Neill, honey, are you sure you’re okay? I know it’s been a while, but I still worry about you.”
I set my jaw and rubbed her back without answering.
“What happened with Gretchen wasn’t your fault,” Tasha whispered. “You’re a good man, and you deserve to be happy.”
I didn’t know that I believed her, but I wasn’t about to say that out loud.
“Thanks, Tasha.” With another gentle squeeze, I let her go.
The door clicked shut behind Tasha, and I sank onto the rolling stool by my tattoo chair. Dammit, Tasha had been the best. Great with clients, good with temperamental artists, hell, even with me. She was like the sister I’d never had. She’d stuck with me when I’d gone out of my mind with worry, with pain, frightened out of my brain about whether Gretchen . . .
Nope, not going there again. That shit was over.
Rolling the stool halfway across the room to the small desk in the corner, I tapped my MacBook’s trackpad to wake it from slumber. Karl wouldn’t be back from his guest-artist spot in New Orleans for three weeks, maybe more. We couldn’t make it that long without a receptionist and assistant. It would be best if the new receptionist could have a couple of days to train before Tasha left. As much as I hated to do it, I didn’t have a choice.
With nervousness tensing my shoulders, I started crafting a “Help Wanted” ad.
Chapter Two
Hailey
I slogged down a street in Leesville’s quaint downtown district, bag slipping from my shoulder, sweater trailing along behind me with one sleeve tied to the bag’s strap. I squinted up at the midday sun. Early April wasn’t supposed to be ninety degrees, was it? Heat radiated from the sidewalk, and my only dressy shirt was spotted with sweat.
This. Sucked. I slumped against the side of Main Street Pharmacy, grateful for the small patch of shade beneath the awning.
Thirteen places I’d tried in the past two days. Thirteen no-thank-yous. And thirteen was the total number of options I’d found in my Internet job search. Lily had helped, but even with my suitemate’s assistance, we’d only come up with a baker’s dozen possibilities.
“Gotta keep moving,” I said to myself as the door to the pharmacy opened, letting a cool blast of air pass my arm. I ducked into the pharmacy, and five hopeful minutes plus one disappointed one later, I left and continued on my way.
Another no, I thought with a sigh. Dropping onto the bench outside a pizza parlor, I let my bag fall to the sidewalk at my feet. The crumpled list of job ideas fell out of the back pocket as the bag hit the ground. I wanted to leave it there but grabbed it anyway. Smoothing the wrinkled paper over my nicest jeans, I went over them again.
“Nope. Nope. Nope. Hell no, and no.” Cashier. Greeter. Administrative assistant. Technician. Office staff. I apparently wasn’t qualified for anything. I had taken the bus from Leesville College to the closest location, which happened to be an insurance agency, and walked to all the rest. I had done my best to be charming, friendly, and open. But what had it gotten me? A couple new blisters
and a dismal view of what life would be like from here on out.
A toddler gurgled at me from his position in a stroller as he and his dad rolled by. I tried to smile at the towheaded kid, but that expression was beyond me at the moment. The young one smiled and dropped a handful of Cheerios on the pavement. A pigeon flew from the top of a streetlight and landed in front of me, pecking at the Cheerios as if they were the bird’s last meal. I frowned. I might be that desperate, that grabby, if I couldn’t find a way to make this work.
“Dammit, no.” My fist thumped against the bench. “I’m not going out like this.”
Grabbing my bag, I marched into the pizza place. I would walk into every damn store on this street, and the next, and the next, until someone offered me a job. My dreams were worth working for. My family might be wrecked, but my education wouldn’t be.
The pizza place was a no-go. So were the grocery store, the bank, the car wash, and the hair salon. The afternoon wore down, and so did my determination. Hour after hour I smiled, introduced myself, begged for an application. There were plenty of excuses: the downturn in the economy, family business, only hiring full-time employees. But no luck.
Dejected, I made my way past a line of evenly spaced trees toward the bus stop. My steps echoed on the cracked, lonely sidewalk. I glanced at my reflection in the plate-glass window of the closed and locked barbershop. Yup, I looked as bad as I felt. My stomach grumbled as I glanced at the screen of my cellphone. It was nearly six. If I hurried, I could make it to the dining hall before they closed. I didn’t have enough cash to buy both dinner and bus fare. I could probably borrow a few dollars from Jackie, if she was around, but I hesitated to do that. Right now I wasn’t certain I could ever pay her back. I jumped away from a nearby pigeon, which was pecking perilously close to my shoe. God, what a depressing day.
It was almost enough to make me wish I had a boyfriend to complain to. There had been a few guys interested in me over the past year at Leesville, but I couldn’t agree to anything more than a couple of dates. Relationships didn’t work, and I had solid proof of that. Better to be on my own, really. Less pain that way.
But before I could reach the bus stop, a neon sign caught my eye. “Sinful Skin Tattoos,” it read in curly blue script. “Open,” declared the reddish-orange block letters beneath it. The building was old, one of the more historic in downtown Leesville. Painted white quite recently, the curls and scrollwork along the roofline stood out against the dark brick of the neighboring stores. An alley cut along the left side of the building, a neat sign proclaiming that there was extra parking in the rear. Fresh flowers grew from a heavy black cauldron that looked like it had been ripped from a Halloween movie and plopped next to the entrance. The juxtaposition made me smile.
With a quick glance at the bus stop’s little shelter, I considered. I hadn’t checked out that side of the street. The place looked really interesting. Should I try over there? I bit my lip.
Tattoos? I hadn’t really thought about them much. I didn’t have any, but that was mostly because I hadn’t had a lot of spare cash. Most of my spending money went to art supplies and replacing clothes that I’d ruined with paint or turpentine. The idea of a permanent piece of art on my body was exciting, sure, but working at one of those places? Maybe my art would someday appear on someone’s skin. I tried it out, just to see how it sounded in my head. Hailey Jakes— Award-Winning Tattoo Artist. I grinned as a pigeon cooed before pecking my shoelace. I yelped in surprise, and the bird skedaddled.
I stared at the window. My parents would kill me if they stopped bickering long enough to notice.
My fists tightened at my sides. That clinched it.
Looking right, then left, I darted across the empty street and made for the door. Taped to the glass beside the door, a simple sign, black ink on white paper, caught my eye. “Help Wanted,” it declared in black block letters. “See Management.”
My stomach flipped excitedly as I pulled open the door. A rush of cooled air greeted me, and I stepped into a new world.
Inside the shop, everything was black or a deep maritime blue, with shiny chrome accents here and there. The reception area with its glossy black counter was tucked into the front right corner, and from there the lobby spread out like a huge living room with sumptuous black leather couches and chrome side tables bearing sculptures. Doors lined the walls on all sides of the lobby, presumably the private rooms where people got tattooed. Awards lined the vibrant blue wall behind the reception desk, where a friendly-looking young woman talked to a burly leather-clad man, both bearing some serious ink. The polished floors gleamed as if daring any dust bunny to ever dare tread upon them. Everything in here was classy with an edge. I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder and waited nervously.
God, it was gorgeous in here. Almost too nice. Maybe this was a bad idea. I wasn’t a tattoo artist. I could draw, but what if they wanted someone with experience? I wasn’t even sure what kind of job they were offering. What if they laughed me out of the place? I gripped the bag’s strap a little harder. It would probably be better to leave than to embarrass myself again. I wasn’t twenty yet. They’d probably want someone older, someone harder. More than a scared college girl.
I couldn’t do this. Why had I ever thought I could?
Turning on my heel, I crossed to the door. Better to leave now than face another disappointment.
“Hey, can I help you?”
The deep, masculine voice was like a punch to my gut. I gulped, then turned.
Good God, he was tall. Well, compared to my five-two, everyone was tall. But he had to clear six feet. I took him in slowly. Vintage jeans, a simple black tee, and arms full of colorful ink. Strong jaw dusted with five o’clock shadow, and silky black hair that curled around his ears. And then his eyes. Dark blue, so dark it was like the sky before an awful storm. He smiled, and I fought the urge to sway. It should be illegal to be that attractive.
“Sorry,” I stammered. “I’m sorry. I was just, well, I didn’t mean, and it’s . . . Oh, shit.”
He laughed, a deep rumbling sound that made me fight against melting. “Hey, it’s okay. Relax. I’m Neill.”
He stuck out his hand, which I shook while trying to clear the bewildered fog from my brain. His hand was strong and big, mine nearly disappearing inside it. “I’m Hailey. Hailey Jakes.” I cleared my throat as he released my trembling hand. I wiped the sweat from my palm onto my jeans as he looked straight into my eyes. Why’d he have to be so hot? “I . . . uh, I saw your sign in the window.”
Neill nodded, one corner of his mouth curled in a lazy grin. “Yeah, I just put that up. Our receptionist is leaving.” He indicated the woman at the counter, who was laughing with the customer. “You interested?”
“Well, actually, yeah,” I said quickly, my mouth running much faster than my brain. “I mean, if you’re okay with that. I love art. I’m a graphic design major over at Leesville, and I thought tattoos, hey, why not?”
“Come over here with me, and we can talk about it.” Neill gestured toward the back wall of the shop.
He started walking through the lobby area, and I hesitated for a split second. A tattoo shop? Really? But it was beautiful, and if anyone understood how I felt about art, it would be these people, right? And Jesus, was Neill gorgeous. It wouldn’t hurt my feelings to look at him every day. I pinned a confident smile on my face and followed him, passing by the array of doors. Some of them were closed, others were half open, and the sound of a harsh buzz assailed my ears. Laughter and conversation flowed like water through the studio, the whole assortment a happy, comforting sound.
I followed Neill into the room at the back corner of the shop. The decor in here matched the lobby, with blues and blacks and silver accents all around. A large drafting table was set up against one wall, and a light box occupied the majority of a nice desk. Unsure whether to sit or stand, I hesitated.
“Have a seat,” he said as he pointed at a comfy armchair nestled in the corner. In
stead of sitting behind the black and chrome desk, he grabbed the seat next to me and turned it so we were facing each other. His knees were only an inch or so away from mine, almost close enough for me to feel his body heat. I wondered, only for a second, what it would feel like if he pressed forward, touching me. Innocent enough, but I wasn’t sure I’d want innocent with him.
Ease up, girl! What the hell? I slammed those thoughts into a locked box and shoved them behind a curtain in my brain. Think about the hell Mom and Dad put you through. No way do you need to get involved with a guy. Besides, if you’re lucky, this will be your boss. Total bad idea.
My knees started a rhythmic bouncing. It was the only way I could keep my hands from visibly shaking.
He gave a gentle smile as he propped his elbows on his thighs. “Hey, there’s no need to be nervous. I promise we’re easygoing around here.”
My laugh was high-pitched and nervous. “That’s good to know.” I tensed my quads to keep my legs still. It worked—sort of.
“So, Hailey, what do you do now?”
I tucked my hair behind my ear self-consciously. “Just school, actually. I’m looking for a job, though, obviously.” I groaned inside. Of course, you idiot, you already told him that.
“Graphic design, huh? Do you like art, or were you looking for the easy way out?”
I shook my head vehemently. “No, I love art. Really.”
“What do you do?”
“Drawing and painting, mostly. Some digital stuff, photo manipulation, that kind of thing. I love ceramics, too.” I almost let my glance dart away, but something in his gaze was magnetic. Those eyes were incredible. They made me long to pick up a pencil, try to capture their depth, their lusty deep blue color. “I guess you love art?”
Neill nodded, giving another lethal smile. “I’ve loved drawing since I was a kid. I used to tag a lot. I got into tattooing when I was pretty young. I apprenticed here, I tattoo here, and now I own half the business.”
