by Regina Cole
He nodded, dropping his arms by his sides. “Tomorrow.”
I waited for a moment, watching as he walked away. When he’d passed the cauldron full of flowers and disappeared into the shop, I turned and made my way to the bus stop, brain buzzing and heart light. The bus squeaked to a stop, I mounted the steps, and I was struck by a surprising thought—life didn’t suck.
The ride back to campus wasn’t too long. Only about fifteen minutes, including the other intermittent stops. The low buzz of the passengers’ chatter mingled with the thrum of the engine, melding into a kind of white noise. With the patterned dark gray fabric of the bus seat cushioning my head, I looked up at the ceiling, thoughts wandering.
Dr. Fields often worked late and was almost always there on the weekends. I traced a finger across the cool glass of the window, drawing a line through the tops of the trees as the buildings thinned out, giving way to the large oaks of the park. I was pretty lucky that my adviser was available so often. Some of my friends had to camp out for days to get an adviser’s attention. Hell, Walt didn’t even know who his adviser was. Since Dr. Fields had been so worried about finding a way for me to stay at Leesville, I should probably let him know that I’d found work.
“Thanks.” I waved to the bus driver as I descended the steps at the stop. Laugher echoed from across the quad, people obviously gearing up for good times tonight. I smiled to myself. Maybe a little celebration wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
My sandals slapped against the steps of Adams and echoed down the empty hallway. “Dr. Fields?” His door was open, and I poked my head inside. “You busy?”
“Hailey,” he said warmly, rising from his seat behind the desk. Gosh, did he ever go home? He must be crazy-dedicated to this place. “Do please come in. How are you coping?”
“Honestly, I’m great.” I entered the office, smiling self-consciously. The room was kind of dark, only the glow of the computer screen and the last faint fingers of sunlight illuminating the space. Dropping a hand on the back of the chair across from his desk, I continued, “I wanted to let you know that I took your advice, and I’m working on some grant and loan applications. But I took it one step farther, and I got a job.”
Dr. Fields’s brows narrowed slightly, but his voice was pleasant enough. “A job? Well. I see. Where are you working?”
I gripped the chair back a little tighter, trying to figure out his expression. Not exactly the overjoyed, congratulatory look I’d been expecting. “It’s a tattoo shop, actually. A place called Sinful Skin. I’m the receptionist there, and I—”
Dr. Fields’s fist slammed down on his desk, and I jumped. Totally unprepared for that response, I stepped backward, my pulse racing. His brows lowered and his voice was clipped, loud.
“A tattoo shop? Hailey, really. A bright young woman like you shouldn’t even enter a place like that. Don’t you care about your reputation?” Hands planted on his desk, he pinned me with an intense stare.
My shock morphed into adrenaline, but flight turned into fight, and I yelled back. “Are you kidding me? You know I love art, and this job is completely surrounded by it. It’s not 1930, you know. Tattoos aren’t taboo anymore. I thought you’d understand that.”
Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose. His shoulders rose and fell with his deep breaths, like he was collecting his thoughts. “As your adviser, I have your best interests at heart. Those who split their time between work and school have a harder time keeping up in their classes, and the extra demands on their time make grades suffer. But in your situation, I agree, perhaps some employment would alleviate your financial burden.” He dropped his hand and straightened up slowly. “Let me speak with the head of the department. Perhaps you could work for me part-time here.”
“Do you need an assistant? Or are you just throwing me a bone because you feel sorry for me?” The question came out kind of snappish, but I hadn’t expected him to be so negative.
“There are always things I could use a hand with here. Filing and paperwork, clerical things.” He pinned me with a concerned look. “Besides, Hailey, you are in an emotionally vulnerable position at the moment. Is a tattoo shop the environment that you really want to be exposed to?”
I set my jaw and looked at my toes, the ones I’d stupidly painted the blue of Sinful Skin last night. This wasn’t going at all like I had expected. I was sure Dr. Fields genuinely cared about my education, but he’d never been to Sinful Skin. It wasn’t skeevy or scary, and I’d had more fun there than I’d thought was possible at any kind of job. He was wrong about it being a bad influence, totally and completely wrong. But he’d done a lot to help me, so I couldn’t just throw his offer to help back in his face. I hated to disappoint him, but I would make a lot more money at Neill’s tattoo shop than I ever could as an office assistant on work study.
“I’ll think about it,” I said quietly, just to get him off my back, adjusting the bag’s strap on my shoulder. I turned to leave, but before I could reach the door, Dr. Fields moved in front of me.
“Please do,” he said in a calm tone. “Hailey, I— Just consider it.”
I waited a breath, trying to figure him out. But there weren’t any answers waiting in the concerned lines of his forehead, or in his pale, watery eyes. So I nodded, and he moved out of the way.
Why did things have to be so confusing? I fought tears all the way back to my dorm room, glad there was nobody around to see my frustration. My hands fumbled on the ID card that gave me access to the dorm; I finally shoved it into the slot the right way around. I glanced over my shoulder at the sound of voices, but it was just a couple of frat guys moving toward the other side of the quad. I didn’t want to talk, not even to my friends. There was too much going on inside me right now, and I didn’t understand any of it.
I passed the stairwell, the giant corkboard in the center of the hallway, all the way down to the next-to-last set of rooms on the left. My door stood halfway open. Of course. Just when I really needed some solitude, Jackie would be there and conscious. With a steadying breath, I entered.
Jackie sat at her own desk, bobbing her head slightly to the heavy-bass tune flowing from her laptop speakers, munching on a handful of Doritos. At the sound of my bag thumping against the floor, Jackie turned and waved.
“What’s up with you?” she mumbled through a mouthful of chips. “You look like somebody stole your last Oreo.”
“Bad day is all.” I flopped face-first on my bed and stuffed my pillow beneath my chin. “I thought it was good, but now I’m not so sure.”
Jackie’s footsteps clomped across the room, stopping when she sank onto the bed beside me. She twirled one of my deep brown curls around her finger, thankfully not her orange-stained hand. “Really? Why?”
“I don’t know.” I thought about asking her to leave, about mulling my problems over on my own, but the lure of a friendly ear was more tempting than I’d thought it would be. I turned my head to look at my roommate. “It’s not weird for me to work in a tattoo shop, is it?”
Jackie’s pierced eyebrow rose nearly to her hairline. “You’re working in a tattoo shop? That’s fucking awesome!”
I pulled my hair free of her grip and sat up. “I thought it was, but Dr. Fields didn’t seem so thrilled. He wants me to quit and come work for him in the psych department.”
Jackie’s snort matched up with the drop from a new song. “Why do you care what that douchecanoe shrink thinks? He’s not your dad, he’s your adviser. That means you can ignore his advice if you want.”
“He’s been really nice to me, but when I told him about this job, he seemed . . . kinda weird.” I drew my knees up, resting my chin on them. I stared at the painting I’d hung above my bed, an abstract piece with swirls of bright color. “I just don’t know what to do.”
Jackie shrugged. “Want some herbal clarity?”
I shook my head. “Thanks anyway.”
Jackie left the room a few minutes later. I stared at the white ceiling, wil
ling my mind to be blank, but stuff kept popping into my head. Clearly, my brain wasn’t done mulling over the last few days. With a disgusted huff, I stalked across the room, pulled my cell from the front pocket of my bag, and stared at it. Who could I call? I’d been so certain that getting this job would fix everything wrong in my life, and then Dr. Fields had gone and crapped all over my excitement with his concerns. Would I really screw up my education if I kept this job? I didn’t think so, but doubt was gnawing at the back of my mind like a termite. I wanted someone to tell me I was on the right path, to reassure me that I knew what I was doing, that everything would be fine.
With a steadying breath, I scrolled through my favorites list and dialed. Mom’s cell. I was still pissed at her for disappearing and not telling me, but right now I needed to hear her voice.
One ring. Two. Three. At five and a half, any hope I’d mustered of talking to my mother had completely dissipated. On the sixth ring, a mechanical voice answered: “You’ve reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. Please check the number and try again.”
“What the fuck?” I stared at the phone, then ended the call and tried again. Only one ring this time, then the message. A third time I called, a third recording, this time halfway through the first ring.
I chucked the phone at my pillow, my chest so tight that it felt like my ribs would crack at any moment. Dad had done the screwing up, not me, so why had Mom abandoned me, too? It wasn’t fucking fair.
Dry-eyed, I stood. Enough was enough. Nobody had the answers to my problems, and it was definitely time to stop begging for them. Dr. Fields had to be wrong. This was the way I was supposed to go. I was supposed to work at Sinful Skin, and I was supposed to get my degree, even if I never spoke to my parents again. If Dr. Fields could find me a job as his assistant, I’d turn it down. I couldn’t make enough money there. Right or wrong, I was keeping my job at the tattoo shop.
I grabbed my bag and left the dorm room, slamming the heavy wooden door behind me. I’d head over to the art building. It was late, so there wouldn’t be many people there. A perfect time to work with some watercolors and get my mind off this shit. So what if the project wasn’t due for three more weeks? I needed to create, to move, to ignore the chaos my life had become.
Chapter Four
Neill
The angry buzz of the tattoo machine surrounded me, making a comforting, familiar sound blanket that dulled the outside world. I finished the thin black line at the edge of the bird’s wing and carefully wiped away the excess ink and smears of pinkish blood. I glanced at the girl’s face. She was lying on her back in the tattoo chair and staring at the ceiling, her mouth pressed into a thin line.
“Doing okay?”
She nodded, glancing over and giving me a tight smile. “I’m good.”
I’d warned her that this would be no picnic—a decent-sized, intricate piece over a rib cage could make Navy SEALs cry. But I had to hand it to her, she was a trouper. Two hours in and she hadn’t shed a single tear. The outline was nearly complete, though it would take close to another hour to do the inner shading.
“I’m going to take a quick break, okay?” I laid my machine down on the silver tray, snapping off the black gloves and tossing them in the small trash can that sat beneath the counter. “You might want to go ahead and pop another couple ibuprofen, and we’ll try to get the last part in one go.”
She nodded. The woman beside her moved forward quickly and helped her to sit up. My client whispered her thanks as I left the room. She’d have sat there and taken the pain, but dammit, the girl needed to breathe. Ten minutes to rest would probably be enough, and then I could knock out the rest of the tattoo. It was always nice when a beautiful piece ended up on a good person, and from what I’d seen of this client, she was a badass worthy of some epic ink.
I made my way through the busy lobby of the shop, glad to see clients milling around, waiting for their turn with an artist or heckling their friends from outside the semi-private tattooing studios. For a Friday night, it was a good crowd. Karl would have been happy if he’d been here to see it. With a friendly wave to a regular, I ducked into the break room to grab a bottle of water.
“Hey, boss, that girl you’re working on, is she single?” Roger, one of the other artists at Sinful Skin, was already seated at the round table, twirling an empty bottle in his hands. Rocking his chair back on two legs, he gave a predatory grin. “She’s fucking hot.”
“Sorry to disappoint you dude, but A—she’s not single, and B—I’m pretty sure that’s her girlfriend with her right now.” I yanked open the white refrigerator door and bent down. The whole top shelf was devoted to bottles of water for the staff and the occasional client. The lower shelves held various lunch bags and a few pieces of fruit with Tasha’s name on the sticker. I grabbed a bottle of water and let the condiment-laden door swing shut.
“Shit, man,” Roger groaned as he tilted his head skyward. His ladder-backed chair thumped to the floor. “Sure they’re not just good friends?”
I crooked a brow at Roger as I sank onto the chair across from him. “Do good friends open-mouth-kiss every half hour or so?”
Roger sighed. “Guess not.” He lobbed his empty bottle at the recycling bin, giving a low whoop when the bottle clattered into the blue box.
“Besides, Luce would kick your ass if you so much as looked at another woman.”
Roger laughed his agreement as I continued. “We’ve got a crowd out there. You had any clients today?”
Roger nodded as he scraped his chair back, rubbing a hand over his shaved head. “A couple. I’m about to start a piece in a minute. Tasha is making my template now.”
“Man, get off your ass and make your own template. Tasha’s only here for another few days, and she’s too busy to be picking up your slack.” I delivered the reprimand without any malice. Roger was a good guy. A little too easygoing sometimes, but genuinely kind and talented.
Roger shoved to his feet, not losing his easy smile. “All right, man. Sorry. I’m going.”
I watched as the shorter guy jammed his hands in his pockets and left the break room, whistling jauntily as he swung the door shut behind him. Once he was gone, I blew out a breath, lacing my fingers together and propping them on my head. The room was quiet, only the low hum of the refrigerator and the buzz of faraway voices tickling my ears. I let my mind wander for a minute.
Hailey.
She’d done a really good job today, greeting clients, learning her responsibilities. Tasha had apologized profusely for doubting my judgment there. Score one for the new boss.
I pursed my lips and blew out a loud breath. Today had been so busy, I hadn’t really gotten the chance to spend much time with Hailey. I’d like to talk to her, get to know her a little better, help her feel comfortable here. See what made her laugh, what made her smell so damn good, what turned her on.
I slammed my eyes shut. What the fuck are you thinking, Vanderhaven?
I chased the thoughts away with the rest of my water, then chucked the bottle into the big blue recycling bin on my way out the door. It didn’t matter what turned Hailey Jakes on. She wasn’t here to be my eye candy, she was here to do a job, and she’d done a damn good one so far. She was normal now, but Gretchen had been, too, before I had entered her life. I yanked the door open a little harder than necessary and schooled my features into a blank expression. As I headed back to the studio, I vowed to stay away from Hailey. I was pretty sure that something inside me had shoved Gretchen off the edge and into the deep end. I wouldn’t do the same to Hailey.
I gave a quick knock to my studio door before gently pushing it open. My client was lying on the tattoo chair, her fingers laced through her girlfriend’s. They looked up from what seemed to have been a pretty intense personal conversation to smile at me.
“Ready?” I kept my tone gentle, calming. The client gave a nod. Her partner moved up, standing by the head of the chair and scratching her fingers alon
g my client’s scalp. I tried not to feel like a fifth wheel while pulling on my gloves. There was a lot of emotion floating around. It seemed odd to be in that room, with a pair so devoted to each other. I hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time with loving couples. It was kind of a foreign concept, one that left me vaguely nervous and uncomfortable. A whispered conversation started up as I moved my equipment into place, and I wasn’t sure how to approach things. So I did what I always did. I inked my machine, bent to my work, and let the worries fly away on the backs of a thousand angry bees and the beauty of art on skin.
Hailey
I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the dark ceiling of my dorm room, wishing I’d brought some of those glow-in-the-dark stars from my old bedroom at home. When things were bad, and my parents’ arguments played out in the middle of the night, I would stare at those stars and wish to be a grown-up, far away from there.
I hadn’t known that distance wouldn’t solve the problem.
I’d stayed in the art building until security had tossed me out at eleven, but even though I’d had two hours of uninterrupted art therapy, I wasn’t close to feeling better. Lily and Courtney, had done their damnedest to get me dressed and out to the clubs, but I’d refused. They’d finally gotten the message and left without me. As much as I hated disappointing my friends, I would have hated ruining their night even more. I’d have been a complete misery at the club. No way could I go out and party tonight. My heart just wasn’t in it.
I let my lids slide closed, trying to empty my brain. It wasn’t working. Everyone’s faces swam in front of me one at a time. First Mom and Dad, then Dr. Fields. Then my friends. Tasha. Neill.
I flung my arm over my eyes, trying to make the image go away. Neill. God, why did he have to be so freaking gorgeous? And he was sweet. He’d been so nice every time I had run into him today. He’d brought me a bottle of water, showed me where things were, even reached for a clipboard that was on the top shelf, too high for me to reach. Simple stuff, really. Nothing I should even remember. But his eyes said much more than his lips had. His eyes said he was interested in me.
