by Tia Louise
“I faint at the sight of blood.”
“At least you share the pain.” I teased, hoping to diffuse the remaining tension. “But let’s try and avoid that drama with me.”
“So you want me to do it?” She walked around the counter, and I got the full view—including the shoes. Her skinny jeans ended at black and brown, needle-thin stripper heels.
“Those are some shoes,” I said. “How tall are you for real?”
A little color appeared in her cheeks, and it softened her looks so much, I wanted to make it happen again. “Five foot.” She pulled out a sketch pad and wrote Stacy in almost the exact script of my arm.
“You’d make a good forger.”
The pink stayed on her cheeks, and in five more quick strokes, she’d turned it into a design that was completely unrecognizable as a name. Then she turned the pad toward me.
“Damn, girl. You’re good.”
Bingo. Red flooded her face, and she was all softness, defenses down. She looked really pretty. “I’ve been at it about six months.”
“Let’s get started.”
She nodded and led me back to a chair with a table attached. An assortment of inks was arranged on a rack, and she picked up the gun and a few tips. “I didn’t ask if you wanted color.”
“Plain black is fine.”
She nodded and went to the cabinet, pulling down a narrow-headed, disposable razor, alcohol, and a cotton ball.
Carl’s voice snapped from the back where he was working. “Kenny.” He didn’t sound mean, but definitely stern. “You forgot the paperwork.”
She dropped the cotton ball, and her hand pushed the short side of her hair back. “Oh my god, I never forget that.” It was said more to herself, so I didn’t answer. Truth was, I’d forgotten it, too.
“I’m sorry.” She quickly went back to the desk. I couldn’t believe how fast she could move and still stay upright in those shoes. In a flash, she was back with a clipboard, pointing to the different paragraphs as she spoke. “It’s basically a standard consent form. You verify you’re not intoxicated, don’t have HIV to your knowledge, the basics.”
“No problem.” I signed on the dotted line, and she took it back then returned to pick up where she’d left off.
“I’m going to shave your arm here,” she said, smoothing two fingers over my forearm. “It won’t be as noticeable since your hair’s pretty fine anyway.” With a gentle, but firm touch, she turned my arm over and ran the razor across my skin.
“How long do you think this will take?”
This girl was not my type at all, but still I hoped she’d say it would take a while. I liked looking at her.
Slim, dark brows pulled together. “An hour? Maybe two?”
“Sounds good.”
She returned my smile at last, and I noticed a cute little dimple piercing her left cheek. “I need to make the stencil.”
Quickly she took a carbon and removed the brown protective layer, then just as fast, she traced the sketch she’d made on top of the papers. In two moves, she’d pulled it out and applied it to my skin. As she leaned over me, I caught a light scent of sugary perfume, and again my stomach tightened.
“You shouldn’t tell anyone you’ve only been doing this six months,” I said.
The dimple was back, and her cool blue eyes met mine as she pulled on black gloves and screwed the ink onto the gun. “Do I look like a professional?”
“Yes.”
She took out a sterile pad, cleaned my skin, and got to work. Her gaze was steady, and it only stung a little as she quickly made a stroke, followed by a quick wipe. Stroke, wipe, stroke, wipe. The repetition continued as the braided design took shape and my past disappeared.
“Does it distract you if I talk?” I said, watching her.
She only paused a beat to smile up at me, shake her head, and then blink back down to my arm.
“Were you planning to be a tattoo artist when you finished school?”
Dimple. “No, but I like the work. Carl’s a good boss.”
“But no ink for you?”
“Oh, I have a tattoo. A couple, actually.”
I immediately wanted to see them. “Are they hidden?”
She did a final swipe and put the gun down. “The first one’s here.” Pulling the latex glove down half-way, she opened her palm, and I saw a small teardrop in the center. My thoughts derailed at the sight of it and what I knew to be the meaning.
Now my brows pulled together as I studied her face. Despite the heavy, cat-eye liner and deep red lips, I didn’t see it. She seemed too young and innocent to have a teardrop tattooed in her hand. So I played dumb.
“Does that have a meaning?”
Restoring the glove, she barely nodded and resumed her work. The original guard was back in place, and now her expression contained a new emotion—sadness.
“You said Carl hired you after.” My voice was low. “After what?”
Another stroke, another swipe, before she answered. “After college. What else?” This time the smile was fake, no dimple.
I nodded and dropped it. To my knowledge, Derek hadn’t called before I came, so she didn’t know what I did for a living. “Your name’s Kenny?”
Her eyes briefly met mine, then she nodded.
“Is that short for something?”
“Kendra.”
“Kendra…?”
“Woods.” She paused before turning my arm to finish the other side. “What do you think?”
“I think it looks really good.” A slight pink puffiness was around the woven lines, but her work was clean. “And I like that it’s original art.”
That brought back the dimple. “I’ll call it ‘Removal of Long-Story Stacy.’”
“Would you go out with me?”
What the hell? I’d said it without even thinking. At the same time, it made a lot better sense for me to be with her than with Nikki.
Actually it made no sense, but I’d go with it.
She laughed, high and sweet. “You’re asking me out? You?”
I couldn’t help being a little offended. “What does that mean?”
“We do not go together.” She shook her head. “You’re like… Captain America or Mr. Bingley…”
“I prefer the former.”
“Good, because I’m no Jane Bennett.”
“Could you be Peggy Carter?”
Again her brow creased. “Who’s that?”
“Captain America’s…” Shit. I wasn’t about to say girlfriend. I wasn’t even sure why I’d asked her out. Fucking curiosity, I guessed. “Nevermind. Let’s get a drink.”
“You shouldn’t drink alcohol for twenty-four hours. You could bleed.”
“Tomorrow then. It’s Friday. I’ll pick you up after work.”
The dimple was joined by the pink cheeks, and she looked down. “You can buy me a drink tomorrow after work, but you need to know I’m leaving.”
“After one drink?” My thumb was at her forearm, and I lightly slid it along her skin. “Maybe you’ll enjoy my company more than you think.”
Strangely, my touch didn’t seem to bother her as much as the eye contact. “No, Princeton. I’m leaving town, moving back to Bayville next week.”
“Okay.” That could actually work in my favor, depending on what happened. “We’ll make it your last night on the town.”
She seemed confused, but she agreed. “Whatever you say.” Putting the gun down, she leaned back and stretched. Her skinny torso lengthened, and I couldn’t help thinking of a cat. “All done.”
Holding my arm up, I twisted it around. “I like it. Thanks.” We walked back to the front, and I handed her my card to pay. “So I’ll pick you up here tomorrow night at… what?”
“I should be finished here by seven-thirty.” She handed my card back with a receipt and the standard after-tat directions and care kit. The look in her eyes was interested but still cautious, which was fine. The feeling was mutual.
I signed the pap
ers and gave her a wink. “See you tomorrow.”
Chapter 3 – Dangerously Sweet
Kenny was a different person on Friday. Well, she was dressed similarly to the day before in a filmy blue top over a black tank with skinny jeans, but the resistance seemed gone. She teetered out on blue-suede stilettos that let her toenails (also painted black) peep out, and she greeted me with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, sending that sugary perfume all around me. She was like a licorice pixie stick in heels.
“Nice shoes,” I said.
She narrowed one eye as she continued past me. “I’ll see if they come in your size.”
Her smart remark caught me by surprise, but I liked it. Feisty was always a win in my book. It usually translated to hot sex, which was potentially somewhere on the table for tonight.
“I’ll take it that’s your way of saying Thank you.” I helped her into my waiting Charger before going to the driver’s side. “You’re too skinny. I’m buying you a pizza before the night’s over.”
She shook her head. “Lactose intolerant.”
“Then we’ll hold the cheese.”
We were headed to O’Harry’s pub, a microbrewery a few blocks away. I figured it was neutral enough for starters. We’d see where it went from there. She was right about one thing, we were an odd couple.
“Is it possible to get pizza without cheese?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll find out.”
Inside the pub, we were two of a handful of patrons, but it was early. I ordered us each a beer before Kenny cut me off. “I’ll have a frozen margarita.”
“I don’t think—” Her black-tipped finger pointed to a swirling frozen drink machine hidden in the back corner. Shaking my head, I had to laugh.
“There are actually people who don’t like beer,” she said in that tone. “Can you believe it?”
It was like I was back in college, buying frozen drinks for underage girls. “How old are you anyway?”
“So we’ve passed the pleasantries and gone straight to rude.”
“Hey, you started it.”
“I’m twenty-four.” Her chin lifted, but I shook my head.
“Baby.” I lifted my beer and took a long sip.
“And you’re…”
“Older than twenty-four.”
Thirty wasn’t that much older, but my conversation with Nikki had me feeling a little superior. She took a hard pull from her straw, and I couldn’t tell if she got any of the frozen drink. I took another easy sip of beer.
“I like this version of you better,” I said. “Yesterday you acted like you either wanted to run or punch me in the mouth.”
“I did not.” That blush was on her cheek again, and I turned on my stool to face her.
“Yes, you did. So why the switch?”
She took another hard pull on the straw, and with a little growl, she pulled the top off the cup, drinking a large mouthful that way. I couldn’t help but grin as she repeated the process and then sat straighter, pushing the long side of her hair over her shoulder.
“After you left, Carl told me you work with Derek, which makes you a good guy.” She cocked a dark brow at me. “But with that body and those hazel eyes, you’re too good-looking. And you know it.”
I exhaled a laugh and turned back to the bar, lifting my beer again. When I glanced back, her expression had changed. Now she was studying me like I was the puzzle. “So what’s your story? Why are you here with me?”
“I could say the same to you.”
She shook her head and took another mouthful of frozen margarita. “Not on your first night.”
I nodded. “I agree. Moving along. Explain this Bingley thing.”
Her head ducked with her laugh, and that dimple appeared. “Bingley is a character from Pride and Prejudice. He’s all Mr. Sunny, rich and handsome. The perfect nice guy.”
My jaw clenched, but I let her continue.
“Compared to the dark and brooding Mr. Darcy.”
“I take it you’ve met Derek.”
“Only once.” She poked the frozen drink with her straw. “He has a really good reputation.”
I waved over the bartender, who pointed at my drink. “Another beer?”
“No—vodka. Neat.”
Kenny’s eyebrows rose.
“I’m in the mood for something stronger.”
“Make that two,” she said before our server left.
“You’re mixing?”
“I’m in the mood for something stronger, too.”
Two vodkas later, we were filling in all the blanks.
“God, I fucking don’t want to go home,” she said, resting her forehead on her hand.
My brow creased. “Then why do it?”
She exhaled and churned her straw in and out of the margarita that now only had two frozen chunks left. “It’ll be better.” She didn’t look up. “Once I face all the jerks who told me not to leave with him in the first place.”
I lifted the beer I still had and took a sip. “It won’t be so bad. Everybody has to leave home. So what if you’re going back?”
“It’s the way I left.” She shook her lop-sided hair. “Everybody hated me with Blake. My mom called crying every day after we moved here.”
I set the mug down and slid my finger along the frosted side of the glass. “What was he, an ex-con?”
“Only if juvie counts.”
“Okay,” I turned in my seat and caught her left hand, opening her palm to expose the teardrop. “What’s this about?”
She shrugged. “I wanted to remember him somehow. I cried for so long after he died, I put a tear in my hand.”
“But you know that’s prison code for murder.”
“Yes, Carl already told me. I’m a dumbass.” She pulled her hand back and examined the little black drop. Her voice grew quieter. “But it makes sense to me.”
“He was killed in a barfight?” I’d done a little snooping back at the office.
She nodded, still looking at her hand. “Professional fighter beat him to death. Derek helped put the guy away.”
We were quiet then. I wasn’t sure what to say to her, if she needed comforting or if that would make her feel awkward. She put on a tough show, but I wasn’t buying it. Her easy blush for one gave away how young she still was.
The sounds of the bar were louder now that the after-work crowd was growing. More groups of guys were forming half-circles, laughing and shouting, while televisions blasted a soccer game from somewhere else in the world.
Kenny suddenly dropped her hand and looked up at me. “Let’s go dancing!”
“What?” I shook my head, sitting up straighter. “I’m no dancer.”
“Come on.” She hopped off her stool and grabbed my arm. “There’s a club across the parking lots. It’s pretty much a wannabe rave, but it’s better than this sausage fest.”
With an exhale, I stood and fished out enough cash to cover our tab. Her story had mellowed my fight, and I didn’t feel like just sitting and drinking anymore. “You really want to dance?”
“Yes,” she took a long sip, squinting as she polished off the margarita. “I’m tired of being sad.”
* * *
In less than five minutes we were in the dark club. Electronic music blasted, and black lights illuminated plastic glow-stick accessories and anything white. Kenny went straight to the floor, rotating her hips and moving her arms in time to the music. I went to the bar and ordered another beer. For a while I watched her. Her eyes were closed, and her tiny body twisted gracefully in those crazy shoes. She seemed lost in the repetitive song. Then it morphed into something new, and her eyes opened to meet mine.
She walked to where I leaned against the bar and took my hands, placing them on her hips. “Why aren’t you dancing?”
Her hands went to my shoulders, and she swayed in front of me. In the flashing lights of the bar, all I could see were her blue eyes. She smiled and that dimple appeared.
“Your story beats mine by a
longshot,” I said, unsure how I wanted to feel about her. The whole fact of us here, together, touching each other this way seemed out of left field. But at the same time, it wasn’t a bad thing out of left field.
Her eyes closed as she leaned into my ear. “What’s your story, Bingley?”
I shrugged. “Cheating fiancée. Fucking a guy in my building, and I caught them.”
Her voice was still at my ear. “Bitch.”
“Yeah,” I said, the alcohol making me talk. “She wanted something different, said I was too safe… whatever the fuck that means.”
Pressing my shoulders, Kenny leaned back, and her blue eyes held mine. “You’re not safe. You’re dangerously sweet.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
She smiled and ran a finger across my chest. “I bet you get any girl you want.”
My efforts to get Nikki crossed my mind. “Not always.”
“Buy me another drink.”
“I think you’ve had enough.”
“Fuck that.” Her hand returned to my shoulder. “Let’s both be dangerous.”
My lips pressed into a frown, but I waved the bartender over and ordered a vodka for me, another margarita for her. She sipped from the salty glass, watching me with those round eyes, but I looked away. She was leaving in a week.
* * *
Another hour, another vodka, and I was dancing. We were both on the floor, and Kenny went from twisting in front of me with her arms around my neck to turned away from me, her skinny ass scrubbing against my dick. It was just fucking dancing. I wasn’t trying to get turned on, but I was never sure how that dance was supposed to be interpreted.
For the first time in a while, my insides didn’t ache, that residual sting had disappeared. It was like the last reminders of Stacy were gone, but I knew it was just the alcohol. I’d been here before, and the pain always came back. When the song ended, I was ready to call it a night.
I caught Kenny’s waist and pulled her to me, speaking in her ear. “It’s late—let’s take off.”
