by Amiee Louise
She has an older brother, Remy, who is three years older, and he served in the military. I lost my virginity to Remy at the age of seventeen, and we were close until he joined the army at the age of twenty. He and Ruby were once estranged due to their parents, Pearl and Ray, favouring Remy when they were younger. Previously, this has caused epic arguments, and I have been a shoulder to cry on on many occasions. Remy moved to America six years ago after he lost his leg below the knee due to a roadside bomb. Despite her former estrangement with her brother, she still keeps in contact with him via phone and Skype and visits him when she can. She is extremely stubborn and refuses to admit when she is wrong.
She is also the worst timekeeper and has a very annoying habit of taking at least an hour in the bathroom every morning. I have to be up early if I want to get in the bathroom before she starts her daily routine.
Ruby is like clockwork; you can literally set your watch by her. She wakes up to her alarm of ‘Dance with the Devil’ by Rancid Vengeance and bounces out of bed at six-thirty AM with such enthusiasm for the day ahead before going to the kitchen to switch on the coffee machine. While quietly humming a random tune, she pads across the floor, trying her hardest not to wake me up before my alarm goes off at seven thirty AM Next, she heads to the bathroom, turns on the shower, and her routine begins.
I love her to death, but she is such a colossal pain in the arse! Especially when we have to be somewhere, whether it’s work or a social thing. I very often have to go across the hall to our neighbour, Danny Debonair, who is one of my best friends and the loveliest flamboyant, gay drag queen—also known as Debs on the weekend—just so I can get my morning shower and get to work on time.
“Give me ten minutes, sweetie.”
I roll my eyes to myself. Here we go again.
“It doesn’t matter; I’ll go to Danny’s. I’m going to be so fucking late.”
Irritated, I turn to stomp out of the flat in my pyjamas. I hate lateness with a passion; it is one in a long line of my many pet hates. The bathroom door flings open, and I am slapped in the face with a haze of perfume-filled steam, the remnants of Ruby’s morning routine.
“It’s all yours, babe.”
She blows me a kiss, and she knows I can’t stay mad at her for too long. It takes me less than half an hour to shower, get dressed, style my hair, and apply a little make-up ready for the day ahead. The flat is filled with the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee—my favourite smell in the world. I don’t have blood running through my veins, I have pure caffeine! I don’t function if I don’t have my morning coffee fix; it is an essential way to start my day. Ruby leans casually against the doorframe of my bedroom sipping her steaming mug of coffee.
“Do you want to meet for lunch today, babe?”
Ruby works in advertising. Her boss, Isaac Carter, lets her do what she wants, when she wants, and she is paid substantially for it. Mainly because she is fucking him. She takes two-hour lunches and takes full advantage of the company credit card. She calls it ‘entertaining clients’. She has him wrapped around her little finger and right where she wants him, usually between her thighs.
“Yeah, why not? I’m not sure what appointments we have today, but I’ll call you if anything comes up.”
She smiles sweetly.
“You know Seb loves you. I’m sure he’d let you take two-hour lunches if you asked him.”
I laugh. God, I love this girl. I admire her ballsy attitude and the fact that she uses her assets to get exactly what she wants.
“Seb so does not love me, Rubes. He is one of my best friends; that would just be plain weird!”
We both giggle like a pair of schoolchildren.
“Seb and Peyton sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
I throw a rolled up pair of socks at her. She is always meddling in my love life; I give her an A+ for persistence. The truth is, I’m happy being single at the moment. I never have any luck with men. Especially after the way my last relationship ended.
My ex-boyfriend of three years, Callum, cheated on me. The worst thing about that was the fact I caught him cheating on me when I let myself into his flat. He was banging her like a shit house door on his kitchen worktop. When I walked in, he didn’t stop, he carried on defiantly. She was screaming like a porn star in the throes of passion, and I was screaming, shouting, and throwing things around like a crazy person, but he still didn’t stop. That image will be forever burned into my retinas and my consciousness for as long as I live. I’ve had a couple of one-night stands as a way to get over him—call it blowing off steam—but I find it so hard to trust guys after what he put me through.
I grab my bag, kiss Ruby on the cheek promising to meet her at lunch, and leave for work. My beloved restored and imported, 1967, electric-purple, Chevy Camaro SS is in the garage being repaired, so I have to grin and bear the stuffy, crowded tube journey from Camden Park Road into work. I plug my iPod in and put my earphones in. I’m instantly transported to my own little bubble, which makes the twenty-minute ride more endurable.
When I get to the shop, the familiar calming smell of disinfectant greets me. Seb is there before me as always with my morning pick-me-up; a cup of Starbucks’ finest coffee waiting for me at my workstation—my usual: a large espresso macchiato, one sugar, easy on the milk. Seb is six foot six inches tall, well-built and very muscular from his short time in the S.A.S and work as a doorman. He has tattoos on every inch of his body, except for his face, head, and hands. He has dark, intense blue eyes, he has dark hair but always keeps it shaved bald and a crooked smile that makes his harsh features seem softer. He is oddly sexy in a rugged kind of way, and I could possibly fancy him if we weren’t as close as friends.
“Mornin’, honey bunny!”
Seb always greets me with the same bright and breezy phrase every morning. Even though it is from the film Pulp Fiction, it warms my heart that he thinks of me so affectionately.
“Morning, pumpkin!”
We both laugh at the Pulp Fiction reference as I take the lid off my cup of coffee.
“How are you today?”
I take a welcome sip of my coffee, and he nods while setting up his workstation.
“Great, babe. In fact, I’m more than great; I’m pretty fan-fucking-tastic, actually!”
His smile is infectious, and I am grinning like a Cheshire cat just watching him. He is so animated and fun to be around. Especially when he gets excited about something.
“Have you heard of the band Rancid Vengeance?”
Yes, I think to myself. Ruby wakes up to their music every single fucking morning. I am beginning to get sick of hearing the same opening guitar riff. I keep my thoughts to myself as I reply to his question.
“Erm … yeah. Ruby is obsessed with them, especially the guitarist, Flash.”
Seb laughs and rolls his eyes as if to say, ’Why does that not surprise me!’
“Well, their manager, Johnnie Diamond, called me earlier.”
We both smirk at the sheer ridiculousness of the way the name Johnnie Diamond sounds.
“The band wants me to tattoo them. No, actually, correction, they want us to tattoo all four of them today.”
My eyes widen. Ruby would literally faint at this piece of information, and she would insist on showing up at the shop or just make up an excuse to drop by. I nod coolly, trying to take in the fact that we will be tattooing four of the most famous rock gods in the world.
“Are you sure you’re up for this, Peyton? Rockers can be very demanding, especially world famous ones.”
I take a sip of my steaming cup of coffee, take off my leather jacket and my black and white skull scarf, roll up the sleeves of my shirt, and shrug nonchalantly.
“’Course I’m up for it Seb. I can handle a bunch of rock stars; how hard can it be? Bring it on!”
Seb gives me his bright dazzling smile and winks.
“That’s my girl,” he says enthusiastically, twirling me around and pulling me in for a big bear hug. He sme
lls of musky cologne and pure masculine Seb.
Ruby and my parents always tease that I should get together with Seb because we are perfect for each other. We’re always innocently flirting, and we feel so comfortable around each other. However, it would be weird; Seb is like a big brother to me, and I actually love my job, so I want zero awkwardness between us. I certainly do not want to ruin our great friendship and amazing work rapport. He releases me from the embrace, and I let out the breath I didn’t know I was holding.
I walk over to my workstation and start to get prepared and set up for the day ahead. The shop is a fairly large and open space, decorated in a simple black and white, with black and white floor tiles throughout. There is a large work area, split into three sections for Seb, Parker, and me. Each station has a leather chair that folds down into a bed, a small desk for drawing up designs, a sterilising machine, and each has a large shelf with various inks and a drawer section which holds spare needles, tubes, grips, tips, machines, and latex gloves. At the front of the shop, there is a reception booth with a large desk, a comfortable, leather office chair, iMac computer, printer, and telephone. There is a small waiting area with a small leather sofa and a coffee table in front of it with various tattoo magazines and design books neatly piled up. The walls are adorned with various tattoo designs which customers can choose from and a few large professional photographs of our best work taken by my dad.
“What time is the band getting here?”
Seb looks at his watch.
“Around ten, babe. They’ve requested for us to cancel and reschedule all of today’s appointments, which I’ve already sorted, so we can focus solely on them. I figured we can split the four between us and do two each, split a morning and afternoon session, seeing as Parker’s taking some time out.”
Parker Mitchell is the other tattooist in the shop. He is Seb’s sister’s fiancé and is an amazing tattooist specialising in black and grey and portrait tattoos, and he is really close to Seb. He is a little on the serious side and extremely shy. The minimum conversation I get out of him is a casual nod and “Good morning Peyton.” Seb’s sister Riley, who has become a very close friend of mine since I started working here, is pregnant—a few months away from giving birth to twins. Parker is on paternity leave and spending as much time with her as possible. There is just Seb and me in the shop for the time being until we can find some temporary cover.
“Are you good with that, babe?”
I nod.
“Yep all good with me, honey, bring it on!”
We smile at each other. His deep blue eyes lock onto mine, and I can sense there is more to come. He talks quickly.
“Are you okay to work through lunch? I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
I roll my eyes. He looks at me with the cutest puppy dog eyes, and he knows I can’t resist. I sigh loudly, and he smirks. He knows I’ll give in in the end.
“Yeah ‘course, it better have plenty of chocolate and alcohol involved.”
“Dinner and a movie, with all the chocolate you can eat.”
My eyes widen. Was Seb really asking me out on an actual date?
As if he reads my mind, he says, “Not like a date or anything, just as friends.”
We both instantly relax, but the air around us is charged with something more.
“Dinner and a movie sounds awesome as long as I get to pick the movie!”
We both smile at each other.
“Okay, none of that soppy bollocks, though. Chick flicks are banned! I’ll even throw in hour-long lunch breaks, and I’ll break your station down at the end of the day, so you can get home early for a whole month.”
I move across the shop towards him and reach my hand out to him.
“It’s a deal, it’s a steal, it’s the sale of the fucking century!”
We love quoting movies at each other; it is kind of our thing—sad, I know!—Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels being both our favourite film. We are cut off by the sudden eruption of screaming girls and camera flashes outside the shop. Seb and I look at each other with our arms folded, eagerly awaiting our famous customers.
“I think it’s safe to say the band is here.”
3
Peyton
The shop door swings open, and there he is. This Adonis of a man, a tall, muscled, tattooed God. Seb pushes my chin up and whispers, “Pick your jaw up off the floor babe you’re starting to drool!”
He looks in my direction, smirks, and winks. I can feel a flush creep up my neck, and my face feels like it is on fire. I’m not sure if I’m hot, embarrassed, or just burning for him. He and five other men walk casually into the shop one by one. There is definitely way too much testosterone in the room at this precise moment. Subsequently, the tattooed God’s eyes lock onto mine as he takes off his aviator sunglasses, and I can’t look away. He is what a Ken doll would look like if there were a rocker version. Chiselled, masculine, and so handsome it’s devastating. He has black hair styled into soft spikes, which I am itching to run my hands through, and a beautiful dazzling smile. Which, I don’t doubt he uses to get his legion of female fans to drop their knickers for him. He has his stage name, Bolt, tattooed on his knuckles and black and grey skulls on the back of each hand. He has a small tunnel in his right ear, his lip and eyebrow pierced—a definite turn on for me in a man. He smiles the cutest crooked smile that brings out the infamous dimples that Ruby is always talking about. He is toned, lightly tanned, and has the most mesmerizing green eyes which remind me of sparkling emeralds.
“Hey, beautiful.”
His voice is husky, and the way he utters those words sounds like honey and drips pure unadulterated primal sex. I instantly feel the heat between my legs. He is wearing the tightest leather trousers that leave nothing to the imagination and a black vest top with a leather waistcoat over the top, which shows off his rippling tattooed muscles. My mind starts to wander, and I begin imagining what his strong arms would feel like wrapped around me while he is on top of me mindlessly fucking my brains out. I quickly snap myself out of that fantasy and regain some sort of composure. I try to convince myself that underneath the image and persona is just another customer I have to tattoo. I must remember to repeat the mantra, ‘He is just another customer.’
“Hi, and I’m not beautiful, I’m Peyton.”
As I say those words, I see something flash in his enticing green eyes. I don’t know whether it is surprise, disbelief, or pure lust. His bandmates all erupt with laughter, and I extend my hand out to him. He takes it, and as he touches my hand, I feel electricity run through me. Something tells me by the expression on his face that he feels it too and he clears his throat.
“I’m Bolt, but you can call me Sam.”
He smiles shyly and reluctantly lets go of my hand, not taking his eyes off me for one second.
“You got owned by a girl, Sammy!”
His bandmates are equally as beautiful as he is. The guitarist that Ruby is so enamoured with extends his hand out to me and plants a gentle kiss on the back of my hand.
“I’m Jax. Any girl that can shoot down our Sammy is definitely the girl of my dreams!”
I laugh at his introduction. He is shorter than Sam by at least a couple of inches; he is lean, tanned and has collar-length, spiky, dirty-blonde hair that sticks out in all directions and looks perfectly mussed. He also has a goatee beard, and as he speaks, I see the light glint on his tongue stud. He is wearing combat shorts, a black Nirvana t-shirt with the infamous yellow symbol on the front, and has full leg, arm and neck tattoos covering his body. He has the cutest, wide, deep-hazel eyes, and he instantly reminds me of a small puppy. Definitely a Labrador!
“I’m Peyton,”
Seb comes to stand protectively next to me.
“We should get started, babe; you take Jax and Sam, and I’ll take Brody and Lucas, is that all good with you?”
I nod.
“Yep, that’s all good with me, Seb. Do you have designs, or do you want me to draw so
mething up?”
Sam casually saunters forward, and Jax rolls his eyes.
“I’ve got a rough idea, but I think I need a second opinion.”
Jax pulls a face behind Sam’s back, and I try to hide my smile.
“Okay, that’s all good with me. Jax, what about you?”
