“How was the funeral?” he asked softly, not looking up.
“You didn’t go?” I asked, surprised. I hadn’t seen him, but I hadn’t really been looking to see who was there, either, mainly concentrating on Dee Dee, who was having a very hard time. She’d squeezed my fingers so hard they’d turned white. My dad made a big show of comforting her, but I knew it was fake. So did she. They did not get along well, at all.
“No.” He sighed heavily, sounding regretful. “Funerals aren’t really my thing. I prefer to remember people how they were, alive and well.” Glancing up briefly, he locked eyes with me. “Does that sound bad?”
I shook my head. “Everyone grieves differently.” I paused, watching as he returned to his project. “The funeral was nice, but Tommy would’ve hated it, I think. He would’ve thought it was . . . bogus.”
“Really? Why?”
“Everything the Mayor does is all for show. Don’t you know that?” I didn’t wait for a reply. “If the service was truly to honor Tommy, it would’ve been a big barbecue with a keg of beer and a bunch of guys talking about restoring cars—not some fancy church overloaded with flowers and a bunch of rich people who had no idea who he was.”
A slight grin tilted the corner of Six’s mouth. “I agree with you. That’s how come Tommy and I started hanging out. Did you know that?” He glanced up again. “He came in for a tattoo and started talking cars. I told him about the one I’d been restoring with my granddad and he had to see it. He even helped work on it.”
“The red 1970 Jaguar, right?” I asked, and he raised his hand away from me, genuinely smiling.
“You know it?” He seemed truly surprised.
“It’s parked out in the lot,” I replied with a laugh.
His features fell a little. “Oh, yeah.”
I hated seeing his smile disappear. “But yeah, I know it. It’s kinda of hard to miss a hot—,” I broke off, realizing I was about to say “a hot guy in a hot car.” “. . . Car.” He eyed me carefully for a minute, and I was positive he could see the raging, heated blush spreading across my face. “So, did your grandpa give it to you when you finished restoring it?”
He chuckled, returning to the tattoo, and I had the feeling he wasn’t fooled at all. “No. It was willed to me when he passed away.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I paused. “I mean about your grandpa, not that you got the car.”
“I knew what you meant. And thanks.” Once again, the buzz of the needle was the only sound between us.
“I’ve seen your girlfriend driving the car around a couple of times,” I said, trying to fill the silence.
He gave a soft grunt. “That must’ve been at least a couple months ago, then. We broke up.”
“Oh, sorry,” I said again, even though I was secretly thrilled with that revelation. I didn’t like her. She was too snobby—well, at least she seemed that way to me. I didn’t actually know her.
“Quit apologizing. It’s not your fault. Besides, I’m glad she’s gone. I’ve had my eye on someone else for a while, but things are a little complicated in that area.”
And instantly I was disappointed, again. I didn’t know why, though. Sure, I had a crush on him—me and probably every other girl who knew anything about him—but I was just some kid to a guy like him. Still, my heart felt a tiny tinge of envy for the girl he’d set his sights on.
I saw him out with his previous girlfriend one night—on the Fourth of July, last year, actually. He was on the football field, which was covered in fair booths and games to entertain people while they waited for the local fireworks show to start. His girlfriend was laughing about something and I remember watching as he stood behind her, wrapping his arms tightly around her, picking her up slightly off the ground. He was wearing a white wife-beater tank top and the muscles in his arms had rippled when he’d lifted her. She laughed louder, and when he put her down, she turned to face him and kissed him full on the lips for everyone to see.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away, caught up in the moment with them. I wanted a romance just like that—with a guy just like him. I wanted someone to look at me the way he’d looked at her. As if he’d heard my thoughts, he glanced in my direction and I quickly turned away, embarrassed.
The memory was still so fresh in my mind, I could almost smell the grass we were standing on. I couldn’t count the nights I’d lain awake, dreaming of having a relationship like that. It was always his face there with me, too. Yes, he was older than me, but I liked that about him. He was such a . . . man. Not some wannabe like all the silly high school boys who surrounded me on a daily basis. He’d become the guy I judged all other guys against, and found them all sadly lacking.
It really wasn’t fair of me, either. I barely knew anything about Six—not enough to reasonably use him as a comparison, that is. For all I knew, he could be a classic, number one jerk; but I didn’t believe that, either. A jerk wouldn’t be restoring cars with his grandpa, taking his girlfriend to fairs and fireworks, or staying after closing to give some girl he barely knew an illegal tattoo.
“So, you’re graduating this year, right?” he asked, breaking the silence this time.
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound very excited.”
I sighed. “I’m not really. My dad wants me to come help out at his campaign office full time after graduation.”
“Yeah, I saw that he’s running for State Senator.”
“Heaven help the state if he gets it.”
Six laughed. “I’m guessing he doesn’t have your vote?”
“No. I’ll be eighteen by then, though, and he’ll expect it.”
“Good thing for you that voting is private then, isn’t it?” He winked at me and my heart fluttered.
“He’ll still ask me if I did.”
“He can’t force you to tell him.”
I snorted. “You obviously don’t know my dad.”
He paused again. “Does he hurt you?” I could tell he was dead serious. And, for a moment, I was lost in the intensity of his stare, before I shook my head.
“No. Not like you mean.”
He continued to stare at me and I felt like he was weighing the truth of my words before he looked down again, and went back to work. “You know, if you ever need someplace to go and get away from everything, you’re always welcome to come hang with me.”
My mind went completely blank. I truthfully couldn’t think of one thing to say in reply. A couple of long minutes passed, and then he was finished, setting the gun down on the metal tray.
“There you go. What do you think?” He wiped the area down and extended his hand, helping me up so I could stand in front of the mirror and look at it better.
“I love it. It’s perfect,” I said as I stared at it, tears coming to my eyes. “Tommy would like it, I think.” Glancing up, I saw him standing behind me staring, too. He seemed pleased with his work.
“I think he would, too. Let’s cover it for you, real quick, so you can get your pants buttoned back up. Goose bumps rose on my skin when he placed the thin, see-through, film over it. “Leave this on until tomorrow morning, then you can take it off. Be sure to keep it moist with some antibacterial cream and no swimming for at least two weeks.”
“Got it,” I said, as I buttoned up my pants. “How much do I owe you?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. This one’s on me.”
“No! I can’t let you do that. You stayed open late for me and everything.”
He pulled off the latex gloves and reached out, resting a hand on my bare shoulder. “This is for Tommy. Okay? It’s my way of paying my respects to him.”
Tears sprang into my eyes and I simply nodded, unable to form the words to reply, caught off guard by his gift.
“Here.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a business card, flipping it over and writing something on the back before handing it to me. “My cell number. I’m serious. If you ever need to escape somewhere, give me a call. We’ll grab a burger or som
ething and swap Tommy stories.”
I accepted the card in awe; unable to believe he was being so generous. “Thank you,” I said, softly, looking at his handwriting scrawled across the card. “It means a lot.”
Another pregnant pause passed between us as we both stood staring at each other. He gave a small chuckle. “I guess I better get this cleaned up.”
“Yeah, I need to go, too. I’m supposed to be spending the night at my friend’s house.” I moved into the hallway.
“Let me get the door for you,” he said, following after me. Hurrying ahead, he flipped the lock and opened it for me. I reluctantly stepped through, hating that I had to leave. I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again.
“Thanks, again,” I replied as I stepped toward my car.
“Anytime.” I felt his eyes on me as I walked toward my car. “Don’t be a stranger,” he added, and I flashed him a smile over my shoulder before sliding into the driver’s seat. “Hey, wait!” he called before I shut the door and I leaned my head out so I could hear him better.
“Yeah?”
“I know it’s late, but there’s that all night diner across the parking lot. Want to grab that bite, now?”
I was pretty sure my jaw was gaping. “I . . . uh, don’t you have to finish cleaning up?” Lame. That sounded so lame. Not to mention is sounded like I was trying to ditch him.
“Yeah, but I can do it after.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. I just thought we could visit. I didn’t mean to keep you.”
He started to step back. “No! I mean, yes!” I was such a bumbling idiot. “I mean, if you have time, I’d like that. I just need to text my friend and let her know I’m going to be later than I told her.”
A wide smile spread across his face. “Great. You do that while I go turn the lights off and lock the place up.”
I watched him enter the shop before digging into my small purse to retrieve my phone. My hands were shaking as I punched out a text to Bailey.
Going 2 B gone longer than planned.
The phone vibrated. Is everything okay?
Yeah. I’ll tell U everything when I get there.
Okay. C U in a bit.
Sighing, I couldn’t help the little thrill that went through me. Was this like a date? Did he just want to talk about Tommy? Was he simply hungry?
I didn’t care what the reason was. I was going to get to spend more time with Six. Wild dogs couldn’t drag me away from this moment.
Chapter Three
Six
She was nervous. I could tell from the way she fidgeted restlessly with the napkin wrapped around her silverware, bending and straightening a corner of it repeatedly. I waited for the waitress to finish taking our order before I slouched back against the booth, stretching my arm across the back.
“So, did you survive getting your first tattoo all right? Not too painful?” I asked, trying to casually get the conversation rolling between us. I was totally killing my whole self-imposed “too young” restriction at the moment because, for some reason, watching her walk away and not knowing when I might be able to see her again just seemed too much to handle. I was greedy. I wanted more time with her, even if this was the only time we ever had.
Smiling softly, she appeared to relax a little more into her seat, as well. “It was different than I thought it would be. I mean yeah, it hurt, but it was kind of . . . therapeutic. Is that weird?”
Chuckling, I shook my head. “Not at all. For me, when I’m getting one, it kind of makes me feel more centered. Like my thinking clears and I focus on whatever reason it is that I’m getting the tattoo.”
“I like the idea that’s it a way to display a permanent expression about something. In my case, it makes me feel like I’ll always have a piece of Tommy to carry with me.”
“I think it’s a very nice tribute to him. He would’ve liked it.”
The waitress returned, bringing drinks and setting them down between us, before disappearing again. Since the restaurant only had a few other patrons, I assumed the smells coming from the grill were for us.
I watched as Brooklyn lifted her water, her plump lips wrapping around the straw as she took a sip. It should be illegal for someone to make drinking from a straw look that sexy without even trying.
“So, what will your next tattoo be?” I asked, attempting to distract myself from the direction my thoughts were headed.
“My next tattoo?” She raised her eyebrows.
I grinned. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you about the tattoo curse? You can’t ever get just one.”
“And why is that?”
I shrugged. “Who knows? But, for whatever reason, once you get the first, it seems like it opens the door for more to follow.”
She pondered this for a moment. “Maybe once people get past the initial fear of it, it makes them not so afraid to do it, again.”
“Maybe,” I replied. “So, what would your next one be?”
She laughed, and I enjoyed the sound. It was a beautiful, melodic laugh. “I have no idea. I’ve never thought about it. What would you suggest?”
“Oh, I’m sure you could pull off pretty much anything you wanted, but promise me one thing.”
“Okay. What’s that?”
“Never, and I mean never, get the name of a guy you like tattooed on your body.”
She laughed. “All right. And why not?”
“Because that’s always the relationship that won’t work out. Trust me when I say a guy doesn’t like to be in bed with a girl who has another guy’s name tattooed on her for him to stare at.”
Laughing again, she blushed as she shook her head. “It sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Hmmm.” It was all I offered, as I took a hefty swig of my own water, memories flitting back to a girl named Sandy I’d been with. It didn’t last long. She’d been nice enough, but I couldn’t stand seeing the name “Steve” in the middle of her tramp stamp every time I did her from behind. It bugged me enough to send her packing. “Just trust me. Don’t do it.”
“Got it. No names . . . unless it says Trey or Six, right?” She laughed, again.
Damn. The girl had no clue that her innocent joke had just struck a flaming torch in my pants. The image of bending her over and seeing . . . yeah, I was real happy this table was in between us right now. I chugged more water. It didn’t help.
“So, how long have you been doing tattoos?” Brooklyn asked, and I was grateful for the subject change.
“A while.” I studied her face as I spoke, enjoying the chance to be close enough to see the different flecks of brown in her honey colored eyes. She really was stunning; and it was so effortless. She had no idea how beautiful she was; or if she did, she didn’t care. “Would you believe I gave my first one at the age of fourteen?”
“You did?” She looked shocked and I grinned.
“It’s really not as impressive as it sounds. It was on a grapefruit.”
“A grapefruit?”
“Yeah. Inked Edges is owned by my uncle Eddie, or Edgin’ Eddie, as he prefers to be called. I told him I wanted to start doing tattoos, like him, and he made me start practicing on different fruits. When I proved I had a knack for it, he bought me some fake skins to practice on. He also insisted I do my first “real person” tattoo on him. So yeah, I made sure I knew what the heck I was doing. I didn’t want him stuck with a bad tattoo from me for the rest of his life. Once he gave his approval, I started giving them to others, friends of mine. I wasn’t an employee of his shop, so I did them elsewhere—at my house, or even a few parties. I started working at Inked Edges after I turned eighteen.
“Now that we’ve worked so closely together for a few years, we’ve been talking about the possibility of me buying the shop from him, eventually.”
“Wow. That would be awesome. And a nice way for him to keep the business in the family. Will you change the name?”
I shook my head. “No. Everyone knows Inked Edges by reputat
ion. I want to keep it that way.”
Brooklyn, smiled. “And you can add another satisfied customer to your list.”
“Thanks.” Returning her smile, I reached for my drink once more and thought of other ways I’d like to make her a satisfied customer. Leaning forward, she flipped her hair over her shoulder. That didn’t help me one bit, seeing the tip of one of her nipples head lighting through the thin, loose sweater top.
Ice, I needed more ice.
Thankfully, the waitress appeared, carrying our food right at that moment. “Can I get some more water, with some extra ice?” I asked as she set our plates in front of us.
“Sure, no problem. Anything else I can get either of you?” she asked, glancing between us.
“Can I get a side of ranch dressing?” Brooklyn asked.
“Absolutely. I’ll be right back with both of those.”
“I’m never going to be able to eat all of this,” Brooklyn said, staring at the buffalo chicken sandwich she’d ordered, plus onion rings. “This is enough food for three people.”
Laughing, I agreed with her. “Sweetheart, that sandwich is almost bigger than you are. Box up what you don’t eat and save it for later. Or take some home to your friend.”
“That’s a good idea. Bailey would probably like it. She’s going to flip when I tell her where I’ve been.”
“Does she like eating here?” I asked.
“Uh, no.” She glanced around. “I don’t know that I’ve ever actually eaten here. I meant staying to eat with you, actually.” The blush was back.
“So is this “flipping” she’s gonna do a good thing or a bad thing?” I took a bite of my green chili burger. Every guy knew that to have a chance at the girl required best friend approval. My own thoughts caught my attention. Is that what I was really wanting? A chance with this girl? Sure, she’d been in my head a lot—more than a lot—over the last year, but that didn’t change the fact that our age difference was less than desirable. She was still young.
Allure Page 2
