Scintillation (Stars Align Book 3)

by Kate Stacy

  I tried to pass the time by attempting to talk to him, but between my nerves and his short, gruff responses, I gave up trying. I found it better to sit quietly and watch him work.

  That’s exactly what I’ve done.

  Watch. Wonder. Want.

  My relaxation has turned into something else altogether.

  As Adam prepped earlier, he explained that everyone tolerates pain differently. Some people don’t mind the pain at all, and others have different reactions depending on their pain tolerance and history. He did warn me that even with a high pain tolerance, tattooing over scars can make skin extra sensitive.

  He was careful with his word choice, but I understood what he was hinting at.

  Because I self-harm—or used to—I might enjoy the bite from the needles.

  And, well...he wasn’t wrong.

  I’ll admit, I didn’t know what to expect when it came to getting a tattoo, but it wasn’t this.

  His touch on my sensitive skin combined with the constant sting from the needles has me on edge.

  It’s a constant struggle to resist the urge to squirm, to squeeze my thighs together in search of relief for the agonizing pressure building in my core.

  I’ve been silently praying for the last half hour that Adam hasn’t noticed. He’s given me no indication that he knows how hot and bothered I’ve become. I’d be embarrassed if he knew. My thong is soaked. My body is primed and ready for something I shouldn’t even want.

  Not from him.

  He’s been nice through the process of getting my tattoo started, but he still shows no signs of having changed his mind about me.

  My body doesn’t seem to care if he likes me or not. It’s practically screaming, begging for more of his touch. My greedy eyes have watched, taking in his every movement as he works on my tattoo. My lust has increased with every passing second, with every touch of his fingers on my arm.

  My fucking arm!

  I’ve never been this worked up over something so completely non-sexual. It’s that simple fact that brings me to a sudden realization.

  It’s not what he’s been doing that has my body on the verge of combustion.

  It’s him.

  And I have no fucking idea what to do with that.

  “...should stop here for now. I’ve gotta get these interviews done, but we can finish up in a few weeks.”

  Snapping myself out of my crazy thoughts, I breathe in deep and try to calm my racing heart.

  When I don’t respond, he leans in, forcing me to look at him. “You okay, Princess?”

  Licking my lips to wet them, I nod.

  “I’m good.”

  He searches my face for a moment before nodding.

  “Good. Let me explain aftercare to you and then you can head out.”

  I nod again, still reeling from my revelation.

  Somehow, I manage to listen to the instructions he gives me, forcing myself to concentrate because I know it’s important.

  I can work out my feelings about Adam later.

  FOURTEEN

  Adam

  I follow Presley to the front of the shop, thankful as fuck I was able to adjust my dick before she noticed the bulge in my behind my zipper.

  Fucking Christ.

  It was impossible not to notice the flush in her cheeks, the way her hips moved ever so slightly as she clenched her thighs.

  It’s not unusual for someone to be turned on from the pain of being inked. Hell, today isn’t even the first time it’s happened in my chair.

  But never once have I ever had such a visceral reaction to someone else’s lust. The instant she relaxed under my ministrations and the pain turned to pleasure, my dick hardened. It was almost impossible to concentrate on the design with my dick trying to fight free from the confines of my jeans.

  The break I insisted we take to stretch our legs? Fucking hell. It was nothing more than an excuse, giving me the opportunity to rush to the bathroom and rub one out before I came all over myself like a teenage boy with his first dirty magazine. I came so fast I’d be embarrassed if anyone ever found out.

  Fuck. I should be fucking ashamed of myself for getting myself off mid-tattoo while thinking about my client.

  But Presley isn’t just any client, is she?

  I never would have been able to finish today without that release. I’ve never been so goddamn turned on in my life.

  Christ.

  As expected, two guys are sitting in the lobby waiting when we exit the hallway. I don’t miss the way their greedy eyes follow Presley as she rounds the front desk. Trying to remain professional, I grind my teeth to keep my mouth shut.

  Ignoring the assholes, I open the scheduling program on the computer and put her down for an appointment three weeks from now. I make sure she’s my last appointment of the day in case we run into any other unexpected situations. Grabbing a business card, I write the day and time down, deciding at the last minute to add my cell number to the back.

  “See you in three weeks, Princess,” I say, handing it over. “Call me if you have any questions or concerns.”

  “Thanks, Adam.”

  Paying no mind to the men waiting, she turns for the door.

  Unfortunately, the same can’t be said for the men. Their attention is focused solely on her. One of them stands quickly, moving toward the door.

  Every muscle in my body tightens, coiled and ready to strike if the need arises.

  He opens the door, holding it to let Presley pass. She smiles at him as she exits and the tick in my jaw returns. That gorgeous fucking smile of hers should only be for me.

  She quietly thanks him, and he tips his head, letting the door close behind her. Dude grins, shaking his head at whatever salacious shit is probably running through his mind.

  He catches sight of me from my position behind the desk. I know I look imposing. Arms crossed over my chest, muscles still tense and tightly wound. Clearing his throat, he mutters an apology before lowering his eyes.

  Smart man.

  I’m the fucking alpha around here.

  “Follow me.” I demand.

  The short trip to my office gives me a minute to calm down. I know I’m acting completely irrational, but I don’t give a fuck. I have no real claim on Presley, but that doesn’t matter. She’s off limits and these two are about to find that out firsthand.

  Once we reach my office, I introduce myself and thank them for coming in. The one that held the door gives me a firm handshake, introducing himself as Trace. That means the other motherfucker, the one who strolled into my office, had a seat, and leaned back like he owns the place must be Jonah. I already don’t like the vibe I’m getting from him.

  I take a seat behind my desk and Trace follows suit, only sitting once I have. Opening my drawer, I pull out their portfolios and drop them on the desk.

  “I was impressed with the work you both submitted.” Trace smiles, but Jonah only leans back further, crossing one leg over the opposite knee. He gives no other reaction, so I continue. “I don’t like formal, stuffy interviews, so I didn’t bring you in here to play twenty fucking questions. We’re gonna hang out for a bit, get a feel for each other, and if I think you’ll be a good fit for my shop—you can start tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good,” Trace says, chuckling.

  I look at Jonah, who still hasn’t said a single fucking word since he stepped foot in my shop. He’s pissing me off, but I let it slide for now.

  “First thing’s first. The girl that just left? Off. Fucking. Limits. You don’t ink her. You don’t touch her. You don’t hit on her. Don’t even fucking look at her. In fact, there are two more in town who look just like her. They’re all spoken for, all off limits. Feel me?”

  Jonah scoffs and rolls his eyes at me. Rolls his fucking eyes.

  I’ve had enough of his shit.

  “Got somethin’ to say?”

  Scoffing again, he finally speaks, “Yeah. This s
o-called interview is a fucking joke. I came here for a job, not for some asshole to lecture me about who I can or can’t fucking talk to.”

  “A joke?” I chuckle darkly. “Yeah, you sure as hell are. Get the fuck out of my shop. See yourself out the same way you came.”

  He huffs out a breath and stands.

  I wait, wondering what his reaction will lead to, wondering if he’s gonna try to start some shit. But the tough guy only shoots a glare in my direction, shakes his head, and disappears through the door. Trace opens his mouth to say something, but I hold up a finger, silencing him while I listen. I wanna see if the other asshole is brave enough to try to fuck with something in my shop after being brave enough to call me an asshole to my face.

  I relax when I hear a low beep signaling his exit. I got rid of that annoying fucking bell and installed a whole new system with a single low tone that can be heard in any of the rooms.

  Thankful that fucker is out of my shop, I turn to Trace. “Sorry, go ahead.”

  He shakes his head. “Was only gonna ask if you wanted me to follow him out. Thought he was gonna throw a tantrum.”

  The tension in the room dissipates and I laugh.

  Unlike the asshole who left, I get good vibes from Trace. Not sure what the hell the other guy’s problem was, but I’d never hire someone who has such a huge fucking chip on their shoulder. He may have been a damn good artist, but I didn’t like his attitude.

  “You got a problem with anything I said before?” I ask, just to be sure.

  “Not at all, boss. I heard you loud and clear.”

  “Thank fuck. I need some fucking help around here and didn’t want to have to send you packing, too.”

  “No worries. I’m not here to get in anyone’s way or step on any toes. I just wanna ink.”

  “Works for me. I think you and I will get along just fine.”

  Reaching a hand across the desk, I wait for him to shake it once again.

  “Welcome to Three Kings.”

  FIFTEEN

  Presley

  Something warm and wet hits my cheek and I gasp. Turning toward the little monster beside me, I wipe the glob of frosting from my face and smear it across his nose. He freezes, then bursts into a fit of giggles.

  “You’re lucky you’re so stinkin’ adorable, Kaden.” I say, voice full of laughter.

  I tickle his chunky little sides and his giggles turn to those deep, full-belly laughs that always bring a smile to my face.

  Camille comes over, swiping him right out of the highchair. “Time to clean you up, mister.”

  Smiling, I watch her walk away and disappear through the doors to the kitchen.

  Everyone came out to 80 Proof for brunch today to celebrate mine and my sisters’ birthday. The bar is packed with family and friends, yet somehow, I still manage to feel alone in the crowded room.

  Even Adam is here, though it’s probably more for Camille than for me.

  I thought things might change between us after my visits to the shop, but things still seem oddly strained. It’s not that nothing has changed, because it has. Adam isn’t as hostile toward me. His apparent hatred for me changed into something along the lines of indifference. Honestly, I’m not sure which is worse.

  Our eyes meet from across the room, but he looks away, pretending as if he didn’t see me.

  I should be used to it, especially from him, but it still stings.

  “If you don’t eat that cake, I’m going to,” Derrick says, slipping into the booth beside me.

  Appetite gone, I slide my plate to him and watch as he digs in with gusto. I’m glad someone is able to enjoy my birthday cake. I certainly can’t.

  Unable to resist temptation, my eyes find Adam again and I watch as he converses with Ryan and Holden. Shamelessly dragging my gaze down his body, it’s easy to see why I’m so attracted to him. He’s exactly my type. Tall, dark, fit, and inked.

  If only he would look at me the way I look at him.

  “He only ignores you because he’s into you and doesn’t know what to do with a girl like you.”

  Tearing my gaze from Adam, I look at my best friend with furrowed brows. “A girl like me?”

  “You’re special and he knows it.”

  “You’re delusional, Derrick.”

  “You’re wrong, my pretty,” he says, polishing off the last of the cake. “You don’t see the way he looks at you when he thinks no one is watching.”

  “He’s right, you know,” Noah says, joining us at the table. “I’ve seen it firsthand. He even got all growly when I said something about how gorgeous you are.”

  The thought amuses me. “Growly? Is that the technical term?”

  Noah shrugs. “Laugh all you want. Doesn’t change the way he looks at you.”

  Fine. I’ll humor them.

  “And how does he look at me?”

  Derrick smiles devilishly. “Like he wants to strip you, throw you down on the nearest surface, and devour you whole.”

  “That about sums it up,” Noah agrees.

  Flabbergasted. I don’t think I’ve ever used that word to describe how I feel, but I can’t think of another so perfectly suited.

  “That’s ridiculous!” I sputter. “He doesn’t look at me like that. He doesn’t even see me. Can’t stand to be in the same room with me.”

  The only time he can stand to be around me is when I’m at the shop, where I’m paying him to be near me. But that’s not actually true, is it?

  I suddenly realize that I didn’t pay for my first session. He never mentioned the cost or asked for payment, and I was too damn flustered to even notice at the time. What does that mean?

  Noah laughs and shakes his head. “It’s gonna be so damn fun to watch this play out.”

  “I’ll bring the snacks if you supply the drinks, Mr. Bartender,” Derrick offers.

  “Fuckin’ deal.”

  “I can’t believe you guys! Derrick! You’re supposed to be on my side! There’s nothing to watch. Nothing is going to happen between me and Adam.”

  “I’m only ever on your side, my pretty. But as your bestie, I feel it’s my sacred duty to let you know that you’re being a stupid girl. Pull yourself out of the misery you immerse yourself in and open those pretty green eyes of yours.”

  Shocked, I can’t even respond. He’s left me speechless.

  “I say that with love, Presley. If you’d pay more attention, you’d see everything you’re missing right in front of you.”

  I glance across the room for what I promise myself will be the last time, only to find Adam’s eyes on me.

  Are Derrick and Noah right?

  No. It’s impossible.

  Isn’t it?

  Getting my tattoo finished is probably the best birthday present I could receive.

  I wasn’t paying attention to the date when Adam scheduled me, I was too flustered to pay much attention to anything. That’s how I find myself in his chair and under his needles in the hours between the birthday brunch and the plans I have later tonight.

  I don’t mind, though. Not at all.

  It’s been much the same as it was the first time around, minus my nerves. They’re happily absent, and that’s the only reason I’ll be able to ask Adam the question I’ve been dying to have the answer to. But not yet. I’m not asking until he’s finished because though we already sit in silence—I don’t want to make it awkward. I’m afraid I won’t like his answer. For that reason, I’d rather wait until the end. Then I’ll be able to escape and hide out until I can drown my sorrows with copious amounts of alcohol.

  Also much the same as the first time is my reaction to being inked. I could easily become addicted to this feeling, the intense sensations I feel when the needles pierce my flesh. My entire body buzzes with endorphins as his hand and needles move across my skin. Every single inch of me feels like a live wire, waiting to short circuit and catch fire.

  Thankfully, I have my e-
reader with me to keep me somewhat distracted.

  I say somewhat because the hero in the steamy romance I’m reading gives me serious Adam vibes. It’s too easy to picture me and him in place of the characters in the story, as the hero pins the heroine to a wall and takes her mouth like she gives him life.

  “...done. Gonna clean you up, then you can take a look.”

  His voice startles me and my hand flies to my mouth, fingertips brushing lightly over my lips. Seems I was a little too lost in the fantasy, but Adam doesn’t seem to notice.

  I watch as he wipes the last of the blood and ink from my arm before spraying it with an antibacterial solution. He works too quickly for me to get a proper look at my new tattoo, but one last swipe of the paper towel and I can finally see the finished piece.

  As tears spring to life in my eyes and stream down my cheeks, I search my mind for words adequate enough to explain how much I love what he’s done.

  I find none.

  There are no words.

  I’m overwhelmed.

  I settle on a simple, but extremely emotional, “Thank you.”

  Adam tips his head, smiling softly.

  “My pleasure.”

  My hand moves to my arm, fingertips itching to trace the intricate design, but hovering just above my skin instead.

  “It’s like they were never there,” I whisper, voice full of awe with a touch of disbelief woven in.

  I know my scars didn’t vanish. They’re still there, hidden beneath the crisp lines and dark ink. Unless you knew they were there, you’d never know now just by looking.

  Adam remains quiet, giving me time to revel in my new reality. I no longer have to cover my arms at all times to keep my secret from being revealed. I’m free to wear whatever I want, and no one will ever need to know about the scars I carry with me.

  “You remember the aftercare instructions? Or do I need to go over them again?” he asks, breaking the silence.

  “I remember.”

  “Good. Let’s get some ointment on this and get it covered, then you’re all set.”