by Mari Carr
Finally, a slight smile tipped his lips. “You’re an interesting woman, Jen. I like that.”
Interesting? It was on the tip of her tongue to correct his misapprehension. He’d just caught her on a good day.
“You ready?” he asked.
She nodded once, then braced herself for the first pierce of the needle.
He’d warned her about the pain, but holy shit!
“Ohmigod! Jesus Christ! Fuck me!”
Caliph chuckled. “If you insist.”
It took a second for the haze of pain to clear enough for her to understand his joke.
She glared at him. “That hurt.”
“Never said it wouldn’t. You wanna go on?”
No. She didn’t. But as Caliph said, fate was a wicked bitch and she chose that moment to arrive and bless Jennifer with courage. Or was it pride?
“Yes,” she replied through gritted teeth.
Once again, he murmured his standard good girl, the compliment inciting an unfamiliar warmth inside her.
The tattoo gun fired up again, provoking another long stream of curse words to fly from her lips. Caliph grinned, but he didn’t stop this time.
For several moments, he worked in silence as Jennifer tried to adapt to the pain. The initial hurt had started to wane and soon she learned to regulate her breathing as she anticipated his moves. Before too long, the buzz of the gun turned to white noise and she actually became drowsy.
Caliph must have sensed when she’d finally managed to relax because he broke the silence, his question rousing her just before she drifted off.
“Why a daisy?”
She jerked slightly and he apologized softly.
“Sorry. Were you falling asleep?”
She shook her head, lying so he wouldn’t feel bad. “No.”
He repeated the question. “Why a daisy tattoo?”
Jennifer considered her response, wishing he hadn’t asked. The real reason was too personal, too revealing, too damn girly. She didn’t want to know what Caliph would think if she told him the truth.
“It’s my favorite flower.” That much was true. Maybe that would be enough of a reason for him.
Unfortunately the man was too astute. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
She frowned, feeling an odd need to protest his dismissal. “It really is my favorite.”
“I’m sure it is. How old are you?”
She tried to understand his bizarre switch in subjects. “I’m going to be forty in August.”
He smiled. “You know, most women would have said thirty-nine rather than confess to hitting the big four-oh so soon.”
She considered the truth of that. “Forty is coming whether I admit it or not.”
Her answer pleased him. She could see it in his expression. It increased the warmth inside her, leaving her confused about why his happiness left her feeling so content, gratified.
“Glad to hear you’re not one of those women who has issues with age.”
Jennifer winced slightly when his needle poked a sore spot. Suddenly she was glad for the distraction of conversation. “Nope. No sense fighting the inevitable. Besides I’m sort of looking forward to getting the hell out of my thirties.” She’d spent most of that decade with Marcus and look how well that turned out. She’d started this year determined to make some changes, so why not start with a new number in front of her age?
“Good for you.” Caliph picked up something from his tray, but Jennifer averted her eyes. There was a big difference between knowing there was a needle jabbing into her skin and seeing said needle. “Which leads me back to my original question. Why a daisy?”
She tried to dodge answering with an inquiry of her own. “Why did you want to know how old I was?”
His eyes never left the site of the tattoo. She found his intense concentration sexy as hell.
Jesus, lock the hormones away, Jennifer. Pretty soon you’ll start drooling.
“It’s not unusual for women to get a tattoo when those big birthdays start looming, but for most of them, I think it’s a way to pretend the clock isn’t ticking. It’s their attempt to turn back time. You don’t seem to care about age, so clearly that’s not the impetus for this tat.”
Impetus? Tattoo artist armchair psychiatry. “Where did you go to school?” She didn’t specify high school or college on the off chance she was wrong and she’d somehow offend him.
“ULM.”
Nope, not wrong. College grad. She tried to school her features, but she didn’t fool him.
He chuckled. “Surprised to find out your tattoo artist has a bachelor’s degree?”
She shook her head as more of the stereotypes fell away. God. Was she really so narrow-minded?
“It’s okay, Jen. Tattoo artists aren’t obligated to get a degree in art. That requirement came from my mother. She’d preached about the importance of a college education from the day I was born until I graduated from high school and nothing short of a zombie apocalypse was going to be a good enough excuse not to further my education.”
“She sounds scary. And awesome.”
He stopped working for a moment to capture her gaze. “You’re right. She’s both. But enough of that. You keep changing the subject. If you don’t want to tell me what the daisy represents, just say ‘fuck off’.”
Even with his permission, she’d never say that to him. Probably because part of her was afraid he would and she didn’t like the thought of him leaving.
She shook that thought out of her head instantly. She was just getting a tattoo from the guy, not dating him.
“I don’t understand why you keep insisting there’s some deep meaning behind it. Can’t I just like a flower?”
“You’ve left this soft, pale skin untouched for thirty-nine years. You don’t strike me as the impulsive type. I’d be willing to bet you’re a planner, a list maker. Someone who thinks before they act. You’re also intelligent and sensitive. There’s a story behind the daisy.”
His astute observations left her speechless. He was right. She’d spent countless hours pouring over images of tattoos as she considered what was right for her. When she’d seen the delicate rendering of the daisy with several of its petals lightly drifting down, it had spoken to her, felt right.
“My husband left me for another woman last year.” She hadn’t intended to speak the words aloud. In fact, she could count on one hand the number of times she’d actually admitted to Marcus’ desertion. A few close friends knew the truth. As for the rest of her acquaintances, she’d used the tried and true we just drifted apart lie.
“What a jackass.”
Caliph had muttered his reply, but his vehemence caught her off-guard. She giggled.
“Don’t move,” he instructed, lifting the tattoo gun away.
She apologized as she struggled to compose herself again.
“Thanks. Jackass fits,” she said after he’d resumed his work.
“Don’t thank me. I’m just stating a fact.”
More warmth. More happiness. So much in fact, she wondered if there was some narcotic in the ink that was drugging her senses, serving as an aphrodisiac.
“I’ve spent the last year trying to figure out what I did wrong.”
Caliph turned off the gun, frowning. “He had the affair and you think you did something wrong?”
“People who are happily married don’t stray.”
“Maybe not, but fucking someone else is a surefire way not to fix the marriage.”
His strong opinions made her curious. “Have you ever been married?”
He released a long sigh. “No, Jen, I haven’t. Marriage isn’t really something I aspire to. But that doesn’t mean I don’t understand. I’ve had a couple long-term relationships go south. Maybe there weren’t wedding rings on our fingers, but I was committed just the same.”
“I’m saying this badly. Marcus and I were together for seventeen years. Long enough for me to start becoming complacent, mayb
e even a little lazy. In the future, I won’t take my relationships for granted.”
“I get that, but I don’t like that you’re blaming yourself.”
“My ex was an asshole. The way he chose to leave was cowardly and wrong. I’m not denying that, but it would be very shallow and shortsighted of me to pretend it was all his fault. Takes two to tango.”
“That still doesn’t explain the tat.”
“I’ve spent the past year feeling like complete dog shit.”
Caliph chuckled at her description; his eyes were brimming with compassion.
“I got my divorce papers just before the holidays and they sort of woke me up. Jerked me out of my depression.”
“Doesn’t sound like a bad thing.”
She released a long breath, wondering why she found it so easy to talk to Caliph. “It wasn’t. I spent the last year dwelling on the negative, feeling sorry for myself. This year, I’m going for the positive. That’s where the daisy comes in.”
Caliph’s brow creased. “How?”
She smiled when she considered her reason. “It’s going to be my reminder that we don’t get just one shot at happiness in life. Marcus loved me. Then he loved me not.”
Caliph pressed a soft finger to a spot on her back. Though she couldn’t see it, she suspected it was one of the petals that had fallen from the flower.
“There are a lot more petals on that flower.” Maybe it would sound silly to Caliph, but to her the reason for getting this tattoo made sense. “I have a lot more chances to find my happily ever after.”
“You think you need a man to be happy?”
She shook her head. “No. Not at all.” She’d heard the same argument from her girlfriends for months. They were full of well-meaning advice, telling her to take time for herself, enjoy life on her own. Hell, she was pretty sure half the married ones were jealous of her single state, wishing for their own freedom.
“I don’t have to be in a relationship to feel good about myself. I got knocked down a peg when Marcus left and I’ve been trying to find my balance since then. I’m still a bit wobbly, but I’m getting there. Being in love has nothing to do with that.”
Caliph looked like he might argue, but she cut him off.
“I’ve spent the last year living on my own. Can I do it? Yeah, sure. I just don’t want to. I loved being married and I looked forward to growing old with someone. It’s not something I need, Caliph. It’s just something I want. A man to talk to about my day, to eat dinner with, to fight over the remote with. His side of the bed, my side. Twice the laundry and dishes. Sharing the bills, splitting dessert in a restaurant. The good and the bad. I miss it.”
He smiled at her. “You might be the first person on earth to actually make marriage sound good to me.”
She laughed. “So you’re really not a fan of marriage at all?”
He shrugged. “Not sure I’ve ever considered it one way or the other. I’ve always been pretty happy with my status quo.”
Jennifer felt a twinge of envy. She hadn’t enjoyed much about her life for the past year. No, it was more than that. If she was being honest, she’d been just as miserable and bored in her marriage to Marcus as her ex had been with her. Only she’d been too afraid—or was it lazy?—to do anything about it.
“Well, I’m certainly not looking to get married again right away. That’s a plan for some distant future. For now, I’m hoping to find a way to shed some of my inhibitions and have fun. I started the year vowing I would go wild. Unfortunately, I sort of suck at it.”
Caliph tilted his head and studied her face. He had a way of looking at her that made her feel like he could see straight through her. “Think of it like this, Jen. You’re a blank canvas. Beautiful, clean, white. The colors are all there inside you. You just need to set them free.”
She swallowed heavily as she glanced at her shoulder. She couldn’t see the pretty shades of her tattoo yet, but she knew they were there.
Today she’d taken the first step and grabbed a new beginning. The heaviness that had weighed her down for so long lifted and a spark of joy flared.
Colors.
Set free.
Yeah.
Chapter Two
Caliph leaned back and admired his work. After Jennifer explained the daisy, their conversation slowly faded away as he lost himself in the art. He’d taken his time with this tat, putting special care into every single line. The design was simple, honest, elegant. It reminded him of the woman lying in front of him, the beauty who was going to wear his art for the rest of her life.
He was always flattered, even a little humbled, by the people who put so much faith in his abilities that they allowed him to draw on their skin with permanent ink. It was a gift countless clients had given him even though he’d never admitted such to them.
Jennifer was different from the usual Midnight Ink clientele. She didn’t want the tattoo to hide past scars. Many people—male and female—used body art to conceal terrible wounds, physical and emotional. Caliph understood their reasons, felt their pain, and always prayed his art would somehow help them find peace again.
Neither was she trying to draw attention to herself, to appear tough or in-your-face or cool, which, sadly, seemed to be the reason for getting a tat amongst a lot of the younger clients. Caliph suspected Jennifer spent most of her time trying to blend into the background. Which meant her trip to his chair had taken a great deal of courage on her part.
No. Jennifer wasn’t trying to hide from her pain or make a big flashy statement. Instead she was incorporating her past failures into the picture, including them as a part of the canvas in an effort to make her stronger, smarter.
He thought about her ex-husband. He had the insane urge to find the asshole and beat him to a pulp for the way he’d damaged Jennifer’s self-esteem. It was clear she was a compassionate woman and it pissed him off to see her feeling badly about herself. While she put up a tough front, pain still lingered in her eyes. Her trusting nature as well as her faith in herself had been shaken. Hard.
“You like jazz?” he asked.
She grinned. “Isn’t that sort of a prerequisite for living in New Orleans?”
Caliph chuckled. “I know plenty of people who hate it. Tasteless bastards. You ever heard of the Jazz Parlor?”
“In the French Quarter?”
“Yeah. There’s a guy playing there Friday night, Jeremy ‘Trombone’ Lionel.”
“Let me guess. He plays the trombone.”
Caliph rolled his eyes. “He’s one of the best I’ve ever heard. You wanna go?”
“With you?” Jennifer winced as soon as the question passed her lips. It was an endearing expression that he was starting to become accustomed to. Her mouth seemed to kick in before her brain at times, treating him to her real thoughts. It was refreshing, nice. With Jennifer, you got what you saw. That wasn’t true of most women and he found he preferred the unfiltered view.
“Sassy is coming and my brother, Justin, too. So you don’t have to worry about me putting the moves on you.” For a second he thought he saw a flash of disappointment in her pretty blue eyes. The look encouraged him to add, “Much.”
Her smile reflected pure, genuine happiness and Caliph struggled to catch his breath. Something strange stirred in his gut. It was like he’d been sucker punched, but he didn’t feel like hitting back.
“I’d love to go. Thank you for the invitation. Should I just meet you here? Friday night?”
He nodded slowly, pleased by her quick response. She didn’t employ any of those female games where she had to pretend to think about it so as not to appear too anxious. Jennifer didn’t even try to hide the fact she was excited. “Yeah. Eight o’clock work for you?”
“Yep. It sure does.” She was still lying on the table, though he’d put the tattoo gun down, his work finished. She bit her lower lip nervously. “Can I look at it now?”
Caliph had been purposely stalling. Not that he thought the tattoo looked bad. In
his opinion, it was some of his best work. Knowing what the flower represented to Jennifer had encouraged him to enhance the original drawing, making sure the image would allow her to find that strength and love she was seeking.
“Of course you can.” He placed a firm hand on her arm, not mistaking the slight shudder his touch provoked. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt her tremble under his fingers. At first, he’d blamed it on fear—he was used to women’s frightened responses to him, he was no pretty boy and he knew it—but Jennifer’s trusting eyes and flushed face made him wonder if her response was based on something far different.
His stomach clenched again and this time he recognized the cause. Lust. Pure. Unbridled. His cock thickened slightly despite his attempts to will it away with deep, steadying breaths.
Jennifer sat up slowly, hastily tugging up her tube top. Her modesty was cute. It made Caliph want to peel her clothing away slowly, revealing one creamy inch of skin at a time. Her body was sumptuous, though he suspected she probably considered herself fat. Society had done a real number on women with curves in the last fifty years, trying to convince them that stick figures were desirable. Fuck that. As far as he was concerned, Jennifer’s generous hourglass was the standard for true feminine beauty.
She followed as he led her to the large mirror hanging against the back wall. He placed a handheld mirror in her hands, watching nervously as she studied the reflection.
“You didn’t bleed very much. I have an A and D ointment here that I’ll put on before I cover it. Sassy has flyers on her desk that will give you instructions for aftercare. I want you to follow them to the letter.” Caliph stuck his hands in the back pockets of his jeans and forced himself to stop rambling. Her silence made him nervous. Christ. He never got this worked up over a client’s reaction to a tat. According to Shep, he had more than his fair share of cockiness when it came to his work. Unfortunately that confidence was on shaky ground at the moment.
Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. “Jen?”
She looked at him—that was when he noticed the tears in her eyes. Oh hell, did she hate it? He’d seen clients cry before, overwhelmed by their first tattoo. But he couldn’t stand the thought that maybe she was genuinely upset.
