“I’m good.” I got out of the car, ending the potential train wreck of a conversation.
Jamie and Lisa lived in an old two-story detached home complete with white picket fence and elaborate gardens. The front porch was painted a vibrant red with black accents because Lisa was in charge of the color scheme. Her imprint was stamped all over the interior as well. Their fridge was one of those ’50s era aqua blue vintage jobs, and the furniture looked like it had been stolen from the set of Leave It to Beaver. It was like standing in a time warp. Except without the plastic covers on everything.
“Beer or liquor?” Jamie asked as he crossed through the living room to the kitchen.
He left his shoes on. It made me cringe. I unlaced mine and arranged them on the mat at the door, beside Lisa’s yellow army boots.
“Beer’s fine.”
I traveled the perimeter of the living room, taking the long way around to check out Jamie’s newest art. He always had one wall in each room on the main floor painted as a mural. The living room boasted a view of a dirt road lined with summer-full trees. The one in the dining room was a work in progress, but it looked like it was going be a full-size portrait of Lisa. Jamie passed me a beer when I came through the kitchen.
“Thanks.” I took a swig. “I’ll be right back.”
“Sure thing.”
He didn’t comment when I bypassed the bathroom on the main floor. There was always a mural in the one upstairs, which gave me the perfect excuse to check out the second floor. I felt better when I knew all the rooms in the house were safe. Residual shit from when my parents died. I flipped on the hall light and climbed to the second floor. The stairs near the top creaked, and a shiver traveled down my spine. As I passed the office and the bedrooms, I reminded myself that Lisa was out with friends. All the rooms were relatively tidy except the master bedroom. Lisa’s clothes were strewn all over the bed like she couldn’t decide what she wanted to wear tonight. It would have driven me insane, but if Jamie was fazed by it, it didn’t show.
I headed for the bathroom. Inside was a huge claw-foot tub. The wall behind it was painted to make it feel like the room was underwater, with vibrant fish swimming toward the ceiling. The white floor was pristine, but the teal and black hand towels sat askew on the rack. I fixed them so they hung parallel to each other. When I was done admiring the art, I turned off all the lights, save the one in the hallway, and returned to the kitchen, beer in hand. Chris had arrived while I’d been upstairs. He was almost finished with his first beer, a second one waiting for him on the counter.
“Everything good, man?” Jamie asked.
“Yup.” I clinked my bottle against Chris’s in greeting.
We headed down to the basement. The walls were covered in old movie posters, and a set of decked-out recliners arced around an oversized flat-screen. On the other side were a pool table and a dartboard. The space was perfect for beers and watching action flicks. Chris racked the balls, and I chalked a cue.
“So what’s the deal with Tee?” he asked as he removed the triangle and I set up to break.
It annoyed the crap out of me that he had a nickname for her. I tamped down the emotion and played dumb. “You talking about the ink?”
“I guess. You’ve got a thing for her and now you’ve agreed to that huge back piece, so you can’t do anything about it. It must be driving you crazy.”
“I can handle myself.” I lined up the shot and broke the balls with a crack, scattering them across the table. A stripe went into the corner pocket.
“If you say so,” Chris said, “but I’m willing to bet my left nut you can’t make it until the end of that tattoo to get into her pants.”
“She’s not just some chick I want to fuck.” I jumped the white ball, and Chris caught it before it hit the floor.
“Whoa, simmer down.” He put the ball back on the table. “I didn’t mean it that way. Tee’s a cool girl. It’s not a bad thing that you’re into her.”
“She’s different.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Chris rounded the table and clapped me on the shoulder. The apology went much further than the comment about Tenley. “Now try that shot again.”
He dropped it, but that didn’t mean I could stop thinking about her.
It was close to one in the morning by the time Lisa came home. Chris was too wasted to drive, so he took over their spare room. I wasn’t tired, and I generally avoided sleeping anywhere but my own bed, so I walked home as planned. Besides, Tenley’s design was sitting on my drawing desk, waiting for me to finish it.
Once inside my condo I flicked on the hall light, shed my coat, and unlaced my boots. Out of habit, I hung my jacket in the closet and arranged my shoes neatly inside. Tension made my stomach clench as I walked down the hall. I checked each room, turning on lights, leaving the bedroom for the end. The bed was as I’d left it: slate gray duvet folded down, navy sheets pulled tight and tucked in, pillows arranged against the headboard. The normalcy eased some of my anxiety. Retracing my steps I shut off all the lights, save the one in the kitchen. I grabbed a glass and the bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and poured a hefty shot. Downed it. Filled. Repeated. Some days the OCD got out of hand; today was one of them.
I wandered around the condo to make sure everything was in its place before I worked on Tenley’s design. Drink in hand, I sat down at my drafting table and pulled out the original. Typically wings were symbolic of freedom, but with Tenley’s, the consuming fire and decimation of the wings would make flight painful. As though gaining freedom had been the cause of great agony. But even through the pervasive darkness, there was still a hint of light. I wanted there to be balance in the design, because right now it felt like the darkness was winning. I understood that only too well; most of my tattoos reflected the same theme.
I still didn’t feel right about putting such a beast of a tattoo on her back without at least attempting to persuade her to start with something small. I pulled out a fresh piece of paper and set to designing a separate piece I could use as a bargaining chip when she came by on Monday. Afterward I worked on the wings. They were already adapted to fit my vision, so all they needed now was color.
I made a copy of the completed design and sketched the outline of her body, including a side profile of her face, as if she was peeking over her shoulder at me. The dip in her waist and the swell of her hip completed the piece. Distracted and no longer capable of working, I put the sketches into her folder. It was after three in the morning, but I still wasn’t tired.
Instead of bed, I headed for the shower and rubbed one out under the hot spray. It took the edge off, but my balls still ached from the off-and-on erection I’d sported every time I’d thought about Tenley today. My brain wouldn’t move on from the seminaked images of her now that I’d drawn the stupid sketch.
I threw myself on my bed. Eyes closed, every perverse fantasy I concocted over the course of the past few weeks got airtime. Tenley, in the bar, in the antiques store, in my chair, naked in my bed. It didn’t take long before my body locked down and I was groaning through clenched teeth. She was like a damn tornado, throwing everything into upheaval. Whatever was happening to me was unsettling. Control was how I functioned. Everything made sense with order and consistency. But there was none of that in this situation.
It reminded me in some vague way of the aftermath of my parents’ death, when my life was in turmoil. Unable to cope, I drowned myself in booze and drugs. Narcotics were the great escape. Damen was an excellent provider in that capacity. I was looking for anything that would dull the pain and take away the nightmares. The relief was short-lived, though. Even when I started in on the body modification—first the piercings and then the ink—the release of pain was never enough.
The downward spiral went on and on. At twenty I developed what quickly became a problematic coke habit. I didn’t kick it until I left Damen’s shop and opened Inked Armor. Being fucked up all the time wasn’t a good way to run a business. Chris and Jamie
put up with a lot of shit while I got mine together. By that time I’d traded one addiction for another. Sienna offered me a new release; sex with no boundaries. The coke had been bad, but Sienna was worse. Eventually I kicked that bad habit, too. It took almost four years.
In the midst of all the chaos I found a way to manage the pain. Order had a calming effect. There was peace in perfection. Ultimate control over everything in my life, from the way my condo was set up to the people I chose to affiliate with, made living bearable. There were times when the isolation was difficult to handle, but it served a purpose. I decided who got close and by how much. But that wasn’t working with Tenley. She was the new variable, defying all my boundaries. No matter how much I controlled my environment, it did nothing to stop the storm raging inside me.
11
TENLEY
On Saturday, Hayden showed up at the store, unshaven and unkempt, looking more beautiful than any man covered in tattoos and piercings had a right to. His hair was an insane mess. He ran his fingers through it, which did nothing to force it into submission.
He rounded the desk to peer over my shoulder at the pile of books I was cataloguing. The titles would have been just as visible from the other side of the counter.
“I had a dream about you last night,” Hayden said conversationally, making goose bumps rise along my arms.
“Really?”
“Mm. Really.” His voice was liquid smooth.
“Are you going to tell me about it?” I asked, sounding embarrassingly breathless.
He leaned in, and I could feel the warmth of his breath as it caressed my neck. “I’m not sure you’d be able to handle it.”
I sucked in a sharp gasp when his lips touched my cheek. I wasn’t as good at this game as Hayden was. He was dangerous seduction, and I was limited experience.
He chuckled and skimmed the shell of my ear with a fingertip. “I like it when you wear your hair up. The industrial looks hot on you.”
I didn’t say anything as he walked away because I wasn’t capable of speech. It took me a minute to recover, and when I did, I left the protective cover of the desk and started shelving new books in their appropriate aisles. I stayed close to the front so I wouldn’t miss any customers. My location also gave me a decent view of the café where Hayden was ordering coffees.
On his trip back through the store Hayden spotted me, half hidden between the stacks.
He looked smug as he muttered something about skittish kittens and headed for me. He set the coffees on a shelf and leaned against it. “I forgot to tell you, I’ll have your design ready sooner than I thought. We could move our date up from Monday if you wanted.”
“Tomorrow?”
“After your shift?” he suggested.
“Definitely.”
“I’ll pencil you in.”
Overcome by the impulse to touch him, I took a step toward him. I faltered, though, and my eyes dropped to the floor. “Thank you.” I was so close to him; he smelled like cologne and art supplies.
“Hey.” His hand move in my peripheral vision. His fingertips drifted up my arm and skimmed my throat until he was cupping my face in his palm. He tilted my head up, and when I met his gaze, his eyes blazed with a hunger as acute as mine. His thumb brushed across my bottom lip. “You don’t need to thank me. My motives are entirely selfish.”
Turning my head to the side, he dropped a kiss on my cheek, the hard steel rings a stark contrast to the softness of his lips. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I watched him disappear through the door and across the street.
Once he was gone I returned to the desk and sank into the chair. My sketchbook sat on the counter. I’d forgotten it at Inked Armor when I’d been there last. I’d been too afraid to go back and get it. A tiny white box was perched on top. Inside was a chocolate truffle in the shape of a cupcake.
* * *
On Sunday morning, I woke in my closet, cowering between my photo albums and the boxes I had yet to unpack. I dreamt I was being crushed between the seats of the plane. It marked a new low for my nightmares. On the upside, I wasn’t screaming, since I jammed my fist into my mouth, biting hard enough to leave marks. I shook off the residual anxiety and got ready for work. Later today I would get to see both my design and Hayden. That alone helped me push through the fatigue.
I left my apartment for Serendipity, noting a dip in temperature. The alley leading to the storefront became a wind tunnel, whipping my hair around my face. With each exhale a puff of breath hung suspended in the air before it disappeared, a fading reminder autumn had arrived and winter was on its heels.
Cassie was rearranging things in the window display when I arrived. A gust of wind followed me as I hurried in from the cold. Her hands went to her hips, and she glared at me as I shrugged out of my too-light jacket and stepped up into the display with her.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked, running through the closing procedures from last night. Everything on the list had been checked off.
“We have an issue,” Cassie said.
“What kind of issue?”
“Why am I hearing from Lisa that Hayden agreed to work on you?”
“Oh.” I exhaled in relief. “That. You weren’t here on Thursday when he agreed.”
“I was here Friday,” Cassie pointed out, adjusting a place setting on a drop-leaf table.
“For all of five minutes before your hot date picked you up. Was your mini-vacation fun?” I asked.
I’d met her husband, Nate, a few times now. He was an attractive older man and easy to talk to. Neither characteristic was a surprise, considering whom he married. Cassie was the most genuine woman I’d ever met. Aside from my own mother. She had the same altruistic personality. Her intentions were always good and her motives pure.
Cassie blushed and waved her hand around to hide how flustered she was. “It was nice, but that’s beside the point.” The weekend must have been more than just nice, judging from the color of her cheeks. “So the cupcakes worked?”
“Oh, they worked, all right. A little preemptive warning might have been helpful. I would have worn battle armor if I’d known.”
Cassie grinned mischievously. “I told you he liked cupcakes.”
“Serious understatement, Cassie. He almost bit off one of my fingers.”
“What?”
“You should ask him to tell you the story. I’d be interested to hear what his version is.” I arranged a centerpiece in the middle of the table. “Anyway, I’m meeting with him after work to see what he came up with.”
“I’m glad. He comes off as abrasive, but he’s quite the pussycat under all that pretense.” Cassie unclasped the watch encircling her wrist. Beneath was a thin band of tattoo in black and pale blue, letters twisting together in delicate swirls.
“It’s beautiful.” I ran my fingers over the lines of ink. She didn’t have to tell me it was Hayden’s design; it bore his mark. “Eleanor?”
“She was my sister and Hayden’s mother.”
I read the dates embedded in her skin. “She passed away?”
“She did. Hayden was young when she died.”
“What happened?”
Cassie refastened the watch; it covered her tattoo perfectly. “I’m sure he’ll tell you at some point. It’s been difficult for him. He requires special handling.”
“Don’t we all?”
“Him more than most.”
Maybe that was where the connection came from: we were linked through the pain of loss.
* * *
It was a slow afternoon, so Cassie closed up early and I headed over to Inked Armor just before six. Chris was busy tattooing a terrifying-looking man with mammoth arms and a scruffy beard. Dimples appeared when he laughed at something Chris said, turning the scary down.
I didn’t see Hayden anywhere. Jamie, however, was hard to miss. He wasn’t in his usual jeans and T-shirt uniform. The guys typically wore shirts bearing the Inked Armor logo,
but not today. Instead Jamie wore gray pin-striped pants that hung precariously low, a deep V of muscle on display. Lisa’s name was scrawled over his lower abdomen. The view was compromised by a black vest secured with one button. There were several more tattoos peeking out, but most of them were partially covered. On his right arm was a pinup version of Lisa, her hair light brown instead of pink.
“Hey, Tenley.” Jamie gave me a warm smile. “Hayden’s around here somewhere.”
“Thanks.” Too anxious to sit, I checked out the wall of designs, deciding what ones belonged to which artist in the shop.
“You’re earlier than I expected.”
Hayden stood behind his desk, the hint of a smile on his lips. He pulled out the chair beside his own and I crossed the room, my stomach twisting with a combination of apprehension and excitement. I took a seat.
“So, the sketch . . .” I began, but I trailed off as I met his intense gaze.
Hayden leaned back and swiveled in his chair, hands laced behind his head, showcasing solid biceps and taut forearms. I could see more of his tattoos. The body of the fish wrapped around the inside of his arm. Water splashed violently around the tail, giving the impression the fish was fighting its way upstream. A silver ball popped out from between Hayden’s lips, sliding back and forth to click against a ring.
“Here’s the deal. I’ll show you what I’ve got if you agree to get a small tattoo first.”
“We’ve already been over this. I know what I want,” I replied, annoyed.
He unlaced his hands and rested his forearms on his knees, his fingers grazing my thigh. He was so close I could feel the energy radiating from him. It reminded me of an oiled dirt road in the middle of summer, the waves of heat rolling off the ground to create a haze in the air. “Yes, you’ve said that, but there are some good reasons for you to get a small piece first.”
“I don’t—”
He cut me off. “—want a small one. I know. But we don’t know how you’ll react to the ink. Some people have problems with red, and there’s fire in your design. If you react to it on a small scale, you’ll need to take an antihistamine. If you have a serious reaction, we might need to modify the color scheme. We also have to find out what your pain threshold is.”
Clipped Wings Page 10
