“I didn’t mean to startle you.” I bent down to pick up the box, and she launched herself at me.
Sarah was pretty graceful most of the time—a side effect of having served drinks while wearing murder heels for so long—but this was no smooth move on her part. She ended up swatting the box out of my hand, and the contents scattered across the floor.
“What’s this?” I gestured to the scraps of paper.
“It’s nothing!” She scrambled around, trying to collect them.
I dropped into a crouch and picked one up. I recognized the printing as my own, the words BITE ME scrawled on the Post-it. She plucked it from my fingers. Her face was beet red, which meant I now needed to know exactly what else was in that box.
I grabbed a handful of the papers.
“Don’t crumple them!” she yelled.
I held them over my head. “Don’t try to take them, and I won’t.”
Sarah plunked down on the floor and gave me a dirty look, apparently resigned to the fact that I was going to get what I wanted. Which I’d discovered was typically the case since I’d moved in. Sarah was kind of a pushover, but only when it came to me, thankfully.
I sifted through the handful. They were all notes from me. I remembered writing some of them. A few were basic instructions, like EAT ME, or BLEND ME for those times when she’d showed up at my place in the middle of the night, likely to be unfed. Others were a couple of sentences about how she looked when she slept, or how I wished the night had more hours in it.
“Is that whole box full of these?”
She cradled it to her chest protectively. “Yes.”
“Are all of those notes from me?”
She nodded. “I usually keep them in the closet, but they got shifted around when you moved in. I thought maybe they’d accidentally gotten thrown out.” Her eyes went the kind of glassy I associated with tears as she cuddled the box. “But I found them, so it’s okay now.”
“So you’re hoarding old Post-its? How long have you been doing this?”
“I’m not hoarding.” She sifted through the box until she found an old, tattered napkin. It had my cell number on it. I’d left it for her at The Dollhouse the first night I’d met her.
“You kept this?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I kept all of them.”
“Why?”
“They were sweet, and you have pretty handwriting.” She unfolded a short note. “They made me feel like you cared.”
“That’s because I did.” I stroked her cheek with my thumb. “And I always will.”
Sarah climbed into my lap.
“What’s going on, sugar?”
She pulled her shirt over her head, revealing a lack of bra. “What does it look like?”
“You don’t want to wait until after the tattoo session?”
“I’ve been waiting for you all day. I think you should love me now so we’re not distracted when you’re putting that pretty tattoo on me.”
“This is why you’re the brains behind this operation. So smart.” I ran a finger down her side considering how good that tattoo would look beside her left breast, where no one but me would get to appreciate it. “You know, if I put the key right here it might be tough to wear a bra for a few days.”
“You sound broken up about that.”
“I am. Totally broken up.” I cupped her breasts and dipped my head to kiss her nipple.
She arched and sighed. “So that’s your motivation for the location? My not being able to wear a bra? And here I thought it was because it would be close to my heart.”
“That, too.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Sarah pulled my shirt over my head. “And maybe because you’re the only one who gets to see it?”
“I’m pretty transparent, aren’t I?”
“I like you transparent.” She picked up a handful of Post-its and sifted through them until she found a few she liked. She stuck a BITE ME to her neck and a KISS ME to her chin, grinning cheekily.
“These are quite useful, aren’t they?” I peeled off the paper, letting it flutter to the floor, and followed the directions.
We made love among the reminders of our beginning as we created another new memory that would build our future.
THE END
NYT and USA Today bestselling author of the PUCKED Series, Helena Hunting lives on the outskirts of Toronto with her incredibly tolerant family and two moderately intolerant cats. She's writes contemporary romance ranging from new adult angst to romantic sports comedy.
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PUCKED SERIES
Pucked (Pucked #1)
Pucked Up (Pucked #2)
Pucked Over (Pucked #3)
Forever Pucked (Pucked Book #4)
Pucked Under (Pucked Book #5)
AREA 51: Deleted Scenes & Outtakes
Inked Puckers (A crossover novella)
Pucked Off (Pucked #6) (Coming Early 2017)
THE CLIPPED WINGS SERIES
Cupcakes and Ink
Clipped Wings
Between the Cracks
Inked Armor
Cracks in the Armor
Fractures
STANDALONE NOVELS
The Librarian Principle
Shacking Up
(Coming Spring 2017)
CLIPPED WINGS
By
HELENA HUNTING
1
Hayden
My head ached. A night of piss-poor sleep had turned the mildly irritating into infuriating. Between the droves of freshmen who had been passing through the shop recently and the naïve girl currently in my chair, I’d had it.
I rubbed my temple to ease the dull throb that had developed over the course of the day. Ten more minutes and I’d be done with the design if I could stay focused. I was having difficulty winning the battle, because I was preoccupied. Once I completed the unicorn tattoo, there were no more appointments scheduled and more than an hour before closing. If I was unlucky, I would get stuck with another college brat walk-in who wanted a cartoon character slapped on their skin.
The preferred option was to finish with my client so I could duck across the street to my aunt Cassie’s used bookstore and café. Coffee runs to Serendipity had become my new favorite pastime over the last four weeks, ever since Cassie hired the new girl. She was the reason I was so distractible. I hadn’t seen her lately even with my increase in caffeine consumption, and I was looking to rectify that, stat.
I swiped a damp cloth over the fresh ink. The girl in my chair had been relatively quiet since I started shading in the outline, which was fine. I wasn’t in the mood for idle chitchat. Instead I focused on the hum of the tattoo machines. The sound never bothered me. It soothed, like good music.
It was the superfluous stuff that irked: the inane chatter of teenagers, the nervous tapping of a shoe on the polished hard- wood, and on the flat-screen, the loud drone of a newscaster as he spouted off the devastation of the day. The nasal timbre of his voice annoyed the hell out of me. Yet I couldn’t stop listening, drawn in by the desire to know that other people’s lives sucked more than mine.
“Can you turn that down?” I called to Lisa, our resident book- keeper and piercer.
“Just a minute.” She waved me off but palmed the remote.
The other artists in the shop were also working fixedly on clients. I seemed to be the only one with attention issues. The bell over the door tinkled, saving me from further irritation. Lisa changed the station and heavy rock beats filled the air, the bass vibrating the floor. She turned the volume down to a reasonable level.
Pausing, I glanced over, praying it wasn’t another insipid college girl looking to flirt with deviance. The next client would be mine. Then I’d never get to Serendipity before it closed.
Any potential aggravation evaporated the moment I saw Cassie’s new employee. She clutched a pile of books to her chest like a shield, her
long hair windblown around her face. Her eyes darted away when she caught me looking at her.
Her name was Tenley. I didn’t know this because we’d been formally introduced—even though I had spoken to her a few times—but because Cassie imparted the information upon my re- quest. Cassie, fountain of information that she was, also informed me that Tenley came from Arden Hills, Minnesota, and was in a master’s program at Northwestern. She didn’t act like one of those typical Ivy League type snobs, though. She seemed pretty down to earth based on what little she’d said to me. Which, admittedly, wasn’t a whole hell of a lot.
The first time I saw her was almost a month ago. I went over to Serendipity to visit my aunt and buy coffee, which wasn’t unusual. However, the new addition to Cassie’s store was. She was tucked behind the counter with a textbook on deviant behaviors propped in front of her, so only her eyes showed. She was so immersed in what she was reading that she didn’t hear the door chime, signaling my entrance.
I scared her when I asked if Cassie was around as an excuse to get a closer look. Her textbook toppled over and her half-full coffee went down with it, dousing the page in beige liquid. When I offered to help clean it up, she stammered a bunch of nonsense and almost fell off the stool she was sitting on. She was gorgeous, even though her face had turned a vibrant shade of red. Cassie appeared from the back of the store to see what all the commotion was. That put an end to interaction number one.
The next couple of times I went in she was either holed up in the basement sorting through the endless boxes of acquisitions or hidden in the stacks shelving books. Cassie didn’t dissuade me when I went to the philosophy section to see if there was anything of interest there, besides this Tenley girl. I found her sitting cross- legged on the floor with a pile of books at her knee, arranging the volumes alphabetically before she shelved them. I was in love with her organizational skills already.
I made a point of clearing my throat to avoid surprising her this time. It didn’t help. She gasped, her hand fluttering to her throat as she looked up at me. She was stunning; her dark hair al- most brushed the floor it was so long, her features were delicate, eyes gray-green, framed with thick lashes. Her nose was perfectly straight, her lips full and pink. It didn’t look like she was wearing makeup.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” I said, because it was true. I was also staring. “I’m Cassie’s nephew, Hayden.”
Her eyes moved from my feet up, pausing at the ink on my arms, taking it in before lifting higher. She unfolded her long, lean legs and used the shelf for support to pull herself up. She flinched as she did so, like she’d been sitting for a long time and had gotten stiff. She was far shorter than me, all soft curves and slight build.
“You own the tattoo shop across the street,” she replied. “That’s right.” I nodded to the shelves. “I’m looking for The
Birth of Tragedy.”
She gave me a curious look and trailed a finger along the spines as she scanned them. “I haven’t seen any Nietzsche lately, but if I find a copy I could bring it to you . . . to Inked Armor, I mean.”
I smiled, liking the idea of her in my shop. “Sure. You could stop by even if you don’t come across a copy.”
“Um . . . I don’t . . . maybe.” Her eyes dropped and she bent to pick up the remaining books on the floor. “I should put these away.” Her hair fanned out as she turned away. The scent of vanilla wafted out as she disappeared around the corner, reminding me of cupcakes. Interaction number two was moderately better than interaction number one. I was intrigued, which was unusual for me. Not a lot held my attention.
It was a while before I ran into Tenley again. This time, when I walked into the store, she heard the chime. She was sitting behind the register. There was a sketchbook flipped open in front of her.
Beside her was a stack of books with a plate of cupcakes perched on top. In one hand she held a black Pitt pen. In the other was a cupcake. I had a penchant for that particular dessert item.
I caught her mid-bite; lips parted, teeth sinking into creamy icing. She let out a little moan of appreciation, a sound I might at- tribute to a particularly satisfying orgasm. At least that was what my imagination did with the noise. Her eyes, which had been closed in a familiar expression of bliss, popped open at the sound of the door. She hastily set the cupcake down, her hand coming up to shield her mouth as she chewed.
“Sounds like it’s good.”
I grinned as her face went a telling shade of red. Her throat bobbed with a nervous swallow, and she swiped her hand across her mouth, eyes on the counter. I glanced at the open sketchbook. A single feather, rendered in striking detail, covered the page. Fire licked up the side, consuming it, tendrils of smoke drifting up as it floated in the air.
“You’re an artist?”
She flipped the book shut, pulling it closer to her. “They’re just doodles.”
“Pretty detailed doodles if you ask me.”
She stored the sketchbook in a drawer under the counter. Her shoulders curled in and she peeked up at me, the hint of a smile appearing.
“Tenley, can I get a hand?” Cassie called from the back of the store.
“Coming!” Her eyes shifted away. “I still haven’t found your Nietzsche, but I’m keeping a lookout.”
“Thanks for thinking of me.”
“It’s nothing, really. Feel free to help yourself.” She motioned to the plate of cupcakes, then disappeared into the back of the store with a wave.
There was no way I would say no to cupcakes, so I took one and devoured the frosted dessert in three huge bites. It was incredible. I nabbed a Post-it, scribbled a note, and stuck it to the plate.
When it was obvious she wouldn’t be back anytime soon, I cut through Serendipity to get coffees from the adjoining café. I came through the store on my way out, but Cassie was at the desk instead of Tenley. I took another cupcake because they were that good.
That was five days ago; hence my impatience with the client under my needle. It looked like I didn’t need to worry anymore now that the distraction in question was standing in my shop looking anything but comfortable.
Her nervousness gave me ample opportunity to check her out again. She wore a long-sleeved black shirt and dark jeans. Lean lines gave way to the soft curve of her hips and slender legs, which stopped at a pair of ratty purple Chucks, like she couldn’t be bothered to care by the time she got to her shoes. As usual, she was untouched by artifice. I wanted to know if she was hiding anything noteworthy under her clothes. If the way she hovered near the door was any indication of her unease with the environment, she was probably an ink virgin.
“Tenley!” Lisa’s excited greeting captured her attention, giving her somewhere safe to look. “Did Cassie tell you I ordered in new jewelry?”
A genuine smile lit Tenley’s features as she approached the desk where Lisa sat. It bothered me that she could hardly look my way but she was all cheer and pleasantries with Lisa.
Ironically, every time Lisa went over to Serendipity to get coffees, Tenley always seemed to be available, based on Lisa’s recent reports. The two of them appeared to have struck up a friendship. It was easy to understand how that might happen.
Lisa’s cotton-candy pink hair and ’50s attire never failed to make an impression. She was like sunshine in human form, with a nose ring, a Monroe piercing, and a half-sleeve. June Cleaver fused with a Suicide Girl. Lisa tended to keep a tight circle, which meant it was difficult for her to escape some of the girls from her past. They weren’t the best influence. Most of them were still immersed in the world of drugs she’d managed to get free from. A new friend couldn’t hurt, and Tenley seemed normal enough, if a little edgy.
Tenley set the books on the counter, the spines facing me. It looked like she found my Nietzsche. I was in for some heavy reading.
“I’m just dropping these off for Hayden.”
Tenley didn’t look at me when she said my name. I wanted her to. Her sultry voice paired with
her smokin’ body resulted in immediate discomfort below the waist. It was inconvenient, but unsurprising, considering how attractive I found her, not to mention captivating.
This wasn’t the first time she’d stopped by the shop. Cassie had sent her over the day following the cupcake interaction with a couple of books for me. Unfortunately, I’d been busy with a cli- ent in the private tattoo room, so I’d missed her. Now that she was here, in my space, I wanted to talk to her. Maybe get her to throw me one of those smiles she had for Lisa. That was probably asking a bit much, though; I didn’t exactly exude warmth.
“I’ll be done in five if you want to wait,” I told her, hoping she’d take the bait.
Tenley’s eyes settled on my arms, pausing at the exposed ink. She never made it above my mouth. Yup, I still made her nervous. She thumbed over her shoulder. “Cassie’s expecting me back.”
“I’m sure she can live without you for a few minutes.”
Tenley looked across the street. Through the windows I could see Cassie sitting behind the register, bent over what was likely end-of-day paperwork. As if to drive my point home, the neon closed sign blinked on. She turned back to Lisa. “I guess I could have a look at the jewelry.”
The answer might not have been directed at me, but I would take it. Lisa linked arms with Tenley and guided her to the piercing room before she could change her mind. I watched them disappear through the doorway and resumed my work.
After Tenley’s last visit I’d gone over to Serendipity to thank her, but she’d already left for the night. Cassie had promised to relay the message. She’d also told me when Tenley worked next. Not that she’d needed to. I’d memorized Tenley’s schedule. I couldn’t fathom Cassie setting the poor girl up with someone like me; I’d eat her for breakfast. At that, I imagined what she might look like naked, spread out on my kitchen table. I liked the idea.
Despite the distractions, I finally finished the design for the girl in my chair. It looked as good as it could for what it was. Once complete, I explained the aftercare process, strongly suggesting she stay out of tanning beds for the next few months. She hadn’t arrived at the artificial shade of Oompa Loompa orange by simply hanging out in Chicago in late September.
Fractures in Ink Page 26
