by Ranae Rose
“I take it he wasn’t your type.”
“No, he wasn’t.”
“What’s your type then, if not overly-talkative security guards?”
She flashed him a brilliant but brief smile. “I don’t know, really.”
“No?”
She shrugged. “In the past, my type has always been the arrogant, selfish douchebag. I’m thinking of changing things up, though.”
“Seems like a solid plan.” He made a mental note to try his best not to act like an arrogant, selfish douchebag in her presence. The way she looked at him – the way she leaned in close when they talked – made him think that he might be her type.
She was certainly his.
“Would you like some coffee?” she asked when they were done eating.
“Sure.” He normally didn’t drink coffee in the evenings, knowing it would make it hard for him to sleep. But at the moment, Crystal could’ve offered him gutter water and he would’ve accepted, just as an excuse to hang around.
“I hope you don’t mind, but I need to give Emily a bath and put her to bed. I can put a pot of coffee on, and by the time it’s done brewing I should have her tucked in.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
Emily let Crystal whisk her away – although she did get in a last yell at Dylan – and the kitchen seemed quiet without either of them.
He sat alone at the table as the coffee maker rumbled. The scent filled the air and he drew deep breaths, hoping it would clear his increasingly sexual thoughts.
It didn’t.
For fuck’s sake, what was wrong with him? He could hear splashing and laughter coming from the bathroom, where Crystal was giving her baby a bath. That should’ve cooled his desire, but no – he’d been curating a collection of fantasies about Crystal ever since he’d met her, and he couldn’t stop thinking about them.
Soon the baby would be in bed and he’d be alone with Crystal, in private, for the first time. The prospect had his lust at high-tide. He’d been waking up with a hard-on for Crystal every morning for days, and dealing with it on his own.
Morning seemed like a long time ago, and he was halfway hard again.
He wished he knew whether his stay in Pittsburgh would be permanent or not. If it would be, that’d give him the courage to talk to Crystal about the possibility of a relationship. And if it wouldn’t be, that’d give him the strength to suffer through unfulfilled desires, knowing she didn’t want to be used and left.
He was definitely leaning toward accepting Jed’s invitation to become a permanent artist at Hot Ink, but wouldn’t let himself say yes so soon. No fast decisions – they always got him in trouble. He told himself that over and over again.
The last thing he needed was to make an ass of himself in the eyes of another woman, or to rush his way into something that’d fuck with him in ways he couldn’t afford, like he had with Ultimate Ink Challenge.
“Coffee’s ready,” Crystal said when she reentered the kitchen, snapping Dylan out of his conflicted thoughts.
“Great.” He tried and failed not to stare at a wet spot where water had apparently been splashed on her shirt, just below one of her breasts. He could easily imagine her whole top being soaked, the fabric clinging to her breasts, raised by hardened nipples.
“Do you take sugar or cream in yours?”
“No.”
She set a cup of coffee down in front of him and took the seat beside him. It was a small table, and as they drank their coffee, he couldn’t help but notice that she was close enough for him to reach out and touch.
He resisted the urge as they discussed Hot Ink, what he thought of it so far and what he planned to tattoo in the coming week.
“You’ll have to take pictures,” she said. “I love seeing what you’re working on.”
“I always take photos when I’m done.”
“You know, Jed’s wife is a professional photographer. She’s taken a lot of photographs of the Hot Ink artists’ work. Maybe she’ll take some photos of your clients eventually.”
“It’d be pretty cool to have professional photographs. My phone snapshots aren’t exactly fine art.”
“If it happens, you should ask that guy you did the raven design for to pose for some photos. That tattoo is one of the best I’ve ever seen.”
Satisfaction hit Dylan as he thought of the tattoo, and how Crystal had responded to it.
“I think that’s some of my better work, too.”
He set his empty coffee cup down on the table.
“Can I get you another cup?” she asked.
“No thanks.” He already knew he’d regret the one he’d had.
Instead of drinking more coffee, he focused on watching Crystal’s lips move as she spoke. It was a turn-on, and so was the sound of her voice. He had to keep from reaching out and touching her.
All his self-restraint turned out to be pointless when she sat down her empty coffee cup and touched his hand.
“Dylan?”
“Yeah?” Her voice sounded twice as sweet when accompanied by the soft heat of her skin against his.
“This is embarrassing, but…”
She gave him a look like she had the first day they’d met, inside Hot Ink.
Heart pounding, he waited for her to finish. All his reservations melted away when she looked at him like that, sending his commonsense flying out the window.
“It’s getting late. I have work in the morning, and as much as I’d like for you to stay, I think you’d better go.”
His heart dropped like a fighter jet shot out of the sky, spiraling into a freefall.
Shit. Talk about reading someone wrong.
* * * * *
Crystal sat alone at the kitchen table, staring into her empty coffee cup. God, she was such an ass!
The way she’d asked Dylan to leave had been so abrupt. She hadn’t meant for it to be, but the later it had gotten, the less she’d wanted him to go. And the more she’d found herself considering asking him to stay.
Every look and every word they’d shared had worn on her willpower, the barrier between them. Feeling herself teetering on the edge, she’d panicked. And pushed him away.
Her pride in her newfound self-restraint was diminished by her guilt over how she’d rushed him out the door. And then there was the dead silence of her apartment. It seemed more lonely than peaceful, and made it feel like all the warmth had been sucked out of the room.
The worst part was how badly she already missed Dylan’s company.
Feeling guilty and more than a little pathetic, she turned on Ultimate Ink Challenge, too curious not to watch just to see how it all ended. She was on the eighth episode when she finally found out what had happened with Dylan.
* * * * *
Dylan was halfway across the parking lot that sprawled in front of Crystal’s apartment building when he realized that someone was watching him.
It was dark, but there was enough streetlight for him to recognize the blond hair and tattooed arms of the man leaning against a car.
“James?”
It was definitely him. He nodded as Dylan came closer. He’d parked right next to Dylan’s vehicle.
“I was driving by and saw your car.” James didn’t sound happy. Not that he usually did, but there was an edge to his voice that left little doubt as to why he was there.
So much for not creating any bad blood at Hot Ink. Fuck. Dylan almost wished he could take back the whole evening.
Almost.
“All we did was eat dinner. I brought take-out.”
“If all you wanted was a buddy to eat take-out with, you could’ve asked me.”
Dylan clenched his jaw, said nothing. A part of him was irritated, but most of him was still swimming in too much disappointment to focus on any other emotion.
Shit, maybe James was right – maybe he was out of line. Crystal had told him days ago that she didn’t want anything intimate, or serious.
“My sister’s been through a l
ot. She doesn’t need you taking advantage of her and then riding off into the sunset in a couple weeks.”
“I might stay.” The words were out before he could consider whether they might be best left unsaid. “Jed invited me to tattoo full-time at Hot Ink.”
James’ gaze narrowed. “I know. But you haven’t accepted.”
“I’m taking time to think about it. Don’t want to make a rushed decision.”
“If only you had the same attitude when it came to Crystal.”
Despite his self-doubt, Dylan’s temper started to stir. “I told you, all we did was eat.”
“For fuck’s sake, don’t act like I’m stupid. We both know exactly what you want from her. She doesn’t need it, and Emily definitely doesn’t need you around.”
“I want to date her.” Better to get it all out now – it wasn’t like he was going to change his mind. “If I stay in Pittsburgh, and she wants to keep seeing me.”
“It’s not easy being on your own and raising a kid, not really having any close friends. She can talk to me, but I’m her brother.” He shrugged. “Don’t let it go to your head if she acts like she likes you. She’s just lonely.”
James climbed into his car and left.
CHAPTER 8
15 Months Ago
Crystal laid the notice from the electric company down on the table, thinking of the balance in her bank account. She had it memorized, down to the last penny.
It wasn’t much. It definitely wasn’t enough to keep going like this.
She’d been so busy and exhausted working double shifts at Guidry’s during her last trimester that she’d let the electric bill slip through the cracks. Apparently. Now, she had a bill for two months’ worth of usage, and because of her spotty payment history, they were threatening to shut off her power if she didn’t pay soon.
Her internet service had been cut off, which made it hard to search for a new job – they’d already replaced her at Guidry’s – or childcare. Not that she could afford it, anyway. Months ago, Justine had volunteered to babysit when she wasn’t working, and Crystal had figured it’d be better to pay a friend she trusted than a stranger.
Four weeks after Emily’s birth, she no longer trusted Justine, or even considered her a friend. She still hadn’t heard from her – not even a text to congratulate her, or ask her how she and Emily were doing. Rick said Justine was worse than ever, and it seemed likely to be true.
Of course, Crystal wasn’t in much of a position to judge. Once again, she was hooked on opiates. One taste of the relief provided by prescription pills and her addiction had come crashing back down on her like a wave, filling her with the constant desire for more. It was like picking up a book and opening it where she’d left off. This time, she couldn’t muster the willpower to kick the habit.
She’d first tried prescription drugs almost a year ago at a party – one she’d accompanied Justine to – and had flirted with them for a while. Eventually, she’d gotten into the habit of buying and using them regularly from a woman who lived just three blocks away.
She’d liked the way they’d masked the emptiness she’d felt ever since she could remember, the way they made it easy to get through her work shifts at a shitty bar and made her happy just to be alive.
She’d stopped when she’d found out she was pregnant. It’d been hard, but she’d done it.
Now, she’d fucked-up again, and the weight of her failure was crushing her.
She’d burned through her prescription supply in a week, and then she’d gone to her acquaintance three blocks away, telling herself it was for the pain.
It had been, but not just the physical pain. Even better, it numbed the shitty reality of her life. Made her feel like somehow, she’d be a good mother to Emily. That she’d heal from the birth, pay her bills, find good childcare and get a new job. One she could support them both with.
Of course, it was all bullshit. She wasn’t any closer to doing any of those things than she was to landing on the moon. And soon, she wouldn’t have two nickels to rub together, let alone money to keep the lights on and buy pills with. The happy veneer provided by drugs was crumbling away, revealing the cesspool of failure she’d brought a new life into.
Panic made it hard to breathe as she watched Emily sleep in her bassinette. She couldn’t do this to her – couldn’t. She had to do something.
Her phone service hadn’t been shut off yet, and so she used the 3G to conduct a search. It didn’t take her long to find the kind of place she needed, and on the ‘finances’ page, she found the green light she was looking for: Medicaid accepted.
She wasn’t sure how long she’d have the insurance the state had granted her when she’d found out she was pregnant. If she got a job, her income might disqualify her for it. And there was no way she’d ever be able to afford something like this on her own. It was now or never.
Besides, she was on the verge of failing Emily completely. Maybe even of losing her.
She made the call, her heart racing and breaking as she contemplated the logistics of a huge change.
* * * * *
“With your complexion, I’d recommend a peachy shade of pink,” Crystal said. “Hot pinks and darker colors would be too overwhelming for your fair skin.”
“Oh, okay.” The twenty-something brunette on the other side of the cosmetics counter stared down at the assortment of blushes Crystal had laid out. “I didn’t know… Actually, I have no idea what I’m doing. I want to learn, though – I have a date this weekend and I’d like to be semi-competent at applying make-up by then. Is that asking too much?”
“Absolutely not.”
Crystal forced a smile as her heart sank. Just the mention of the word ‘date’ had her flashing back to the night before. She’d probably ruined whatever it was she and Dylan had had. But then, she probably shouldn’t have agreed to hang out with him in the first place. God knew she had a history of giving in to temptation.
She’d been stupid, and she’d probably offended him.
Staring across the counter at her customer, she experienced a stab of jealousy. Imagining the excitement of preparing for a real date – one that would probably be the beginning of a relationship – made her feel wistful. It was way too easy to imagine herself looking forward to that with Dylan.
“Let’s get started. I have some ideas I think you’ll love.” She hoped she sounded enthusiastic – she really did love doing makeovers. Pushing away her self-pity, she focused on the girl’s face, trying to get excited.
She wasn’t wearing any make-up, save for a touch of mascara. Her complexion was fresh and with the right cosmetics, her features could easily be enhanced with methods even a beginner could use.
“What kind of date are you going on?” she asked, ignoring the wistful twinge that hit her.
Some of the artists Crystal worked with wouldn’t have bothered to ask, but she knew better – she wouldn’t have to work half as hard to make the sale if she made sure the client loved what she saw in the mirror.
“We’re going out to dinner.”
Crystal thought of her dinner with Dylan. She’d been thinking about it all day. She really needed to get a grip.
Dylan was going back to Jersey in a couple weeks, and she didn’t need a fling. She’d already experienced enough meaningless indulgence to last a lifetime.
“Do you know where you’re going?”
She rattled off the name of a restaurant Crystal didn’t recognize. “I’m wearing a purple dress,” she added. “More of an eggplant than violet.”
Crystal nodded. “Okay. Well, how about I give you a makeover with your date in mind, and I’ll teach you how to apply everything yourself as I go along? If you love the look, you can get everything you’ll need to recreate it here.”
“Okay.” The girl seemed enthusiastic, even relieved. Had she ever experimented with make-up in the past, or had she been too intimidated? Some people were scared by the sheer array of products and colors, and didn’t have
a clue where to start.
Crystal had been clueless once too, but couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been fascinated by make-up. Some of her earliest memories were of sneaking into the bathroom and playing with her mother’s lipstick. There’d been a few times she’d tried to chase James down and put it on him, too.
She’d been little when they’d been placed in foster care, where she’d discovered her foster mothers were a lot less tolerant of her snooping around in their make-up drawers and bags. By the time she was a preteen, she’d acquired a stash of her own. The little floral case she’d kept it in had been her most treasured possession, one she’d taken from home to home.
One foster family had forbidden her from wearing make-up, saying it was inappropriate for her age and made her look cheap. Furious, she’d secretly taken the bag to school every day, where she’d applied it in the girls’ bathroom.
Hitting eighteen and leaving the foster care system behind had brought many freedoms, and she still remembered the sense of victory she’d felt the first time she’d walked into a store and bought whatever make-up she’d wanted, then taken it home, knowing no one would try to take it from her or shame her for using it. It might’ve sounded petty to some, but it’d been a big deal to her.
“Do you normally wear foundation?” Crystal asked, guessing that the answer was no.
“Uh-uh. Like I said, I’m a total amateur. I was always afraid that if I tried it, it’d come out looking caked-on.”
“Well, I’ve got something I think will be perfect for your skin. It’s a light cream – watch how smoothly it goes on, and how it evens your skin tone. Feels like wearing nothing at all, doesn’t it?”
She kept working, judiciously selecting products from her arsenal. She didn’t want to overwhelm the girl with too much, and luckily, with her skin, she didn’t need to.
“What about lip color?” Every woman owned some sort of lipstick or gloss. “Is there a product you usually use?”
A dent appeared in her customer’s lower lip as she bit it from the inside. “I probably have two dozen tubes of gloss in the back of a drawer at home. There are so many colors, it’s hard to choose. I usually end up hating what I pick out once I actually put it on.”
