Draw Me In (13 page)

The rage built in my chest, mixing with pain and burning through my heart. I slammed my eyes shut against the traitorous part of me that missed her. But it wasn’t really her. It was that desperate longing to be loved, the one that had kept me imprisoned with a user for too damn long. I’d fought it with my dad, and then with her, but I’d be damned if I ever did it again.

“Gretchen, get this through your fucking head. No. No. Not ever,
ever
again. You have fucked me over too many times. Last time I saw you, you were buck-naked, shit-faced, and naked on top of another man. I’m done with this, I’m done with your crap.” I suddenly realized I was roaring into the phone. I hoped it hurt. “For your sake, I hope you can pull your shit together before you end up dead in a ditch somewhere, but I don’t think you can. Don’t call me again.”

As I removed the phone from my ear, her thin voice came through the speaker. “Neill, wait!”

I cut the call anyway, and threw the phone against the blank green wall. It clattered to the floor, probably broken. I didn’t give a shit.

I cradled my head in my hands. Every breath was a fight, every thump of my heart seemed to echo through my brain. I sat there like that for a long time, until the anger and the hurt had subsided, easing down into a dull, cold lump at the back of my heart. The lump that was always there, just waiting for a chance to flare back to life.

I sat up and glanced over at the phone. It lay facedown on the polished floor. I’d been right. Alone was the best place for me to be. I couldn’t take another heartache like Gretchen. I scooped up the phone and stalked to the door. With my helmet in one hand, I slammed the door behind me.

I made it to the shop right after opening time. Frankie’s car was already there, closest to the door. Shiny black flames licked down the sides of the red sports car. Normally, I’d give Frankie a hard time about his fancy car. Today I clenched my fists as I passed the flashy Camaro. Control. I had to keep my shit together today.

Unlocking the back door of the shop, I pushed through the metal door with one goal in mind. I’d shut myself in my studio, draw until my knuckles ached, then start my shift and get tattooing.

A long, happy laugh interrupted my planning. “Seriously? I can’t believe that.” It was Hailey. Of course it was.

“It’s true!” Frankie was standing at the edge of the counter, pointing to his own crotch. “You practice on yourself.”

“I can understand that, but you pierced your own, well, junk?”

I had been trying not to look over at her, but her cheerfully horrified question was too much. I chanced a quick look as I walked through the lobby.

Her cheeks were deep pink and her eyes glittered with humor as she looked at Frankie. Without meaning to, I began to scowl. Jealousy rose from somewhere deep in my chest, clouding my thoughts and tightening my muscles.

“Well, yeah,” Frankie said with a grand gesture. “How else can I tell my clients that I’m good at this? Now I know how it feels, so I can tell them about it.”

Fuck. I needed to get out of here. My studio door squeaked as I tried to open it quietly. Frankie heard it.

“Isn’t that right, boss? Kiddo here didn’t believe that we all practice on ourselves.”

I dropped my backpack into the studio, placing my helmet atop it before turning to answer Frankie. I could do polite chitchat for a second. “It’s true. My legs have several pieces from when I first got started.”

Hailey stood, and my mouth went dry. Why did her jeans have to hug her in all the right places? It just wasn’t fair.

She took a hesitant step toward me, a bashful smile on her face as she leaned against her desk with one hip. “Can I see?”

I thought about my plans, the surge of memory that carried Gretchen’s phone call leaving a bad taste in my mouth. I’d wanted to draw it out, exorcise the demons of pain in my art. But I couldn’t, not now.

When I didn’t answer, she spoke again. “I mean, if that’s okay. I came in early, thought maybe you could show me some more apprentice stuff? I brought a book to take notes with.”

Frankie looked from Hailey to me, his mouth going slack. “Wait a minute, boss. Is she your apprentice?”

My tight nod earned an incredulous laugh from Frankie. Hailey’s cheeks darkened into a more self-conscious color. I couldn’t stop myself from lashing out at Frankie to defend her.

“She’s my apprentice, and she’s already a mile ahead of where you were when you’d been here six months. So no complaints, Frankie.”

Frankie’s eyes went wide. “Hey, man, your choice. No complaints from me.”

“He’s a great teacher,” Hailey said softly.

I barked a cynical laugh. “It’s been twenty-four hours. How do you know what kind of teacher I am?”

Hailey stepped back toward the safety of her chair. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to . . . Sorry. I know you have stuff to do. I’ll be here, though, if you need anything.”

I sighed with regret. Dammit, I hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings. This was a prime example of why I should stay the hell away from her. “No, hey, don’t worry about it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have been such an ass. Come in here and we’ll go over some stuff. I’ll be happy to show you my practice ink.”

When the smile broke across her face like dawn at the sea, I wondered just how long it’d take to screw her up like I had Gretchen.

It was only a matter of time before one—or both—of us got hurt.

Chapter Eleven

Hailey

I followed Neill into his studio again, clutching my notebook to my chest to try to keep my stupid heart from thumping right out. He’d looked so sad when he walked through the door, strides eating up the floor like he wanted to run away from something. Whatever had upset him had come with him into the studio, I was pretty sure. But now his face had melted from thunderous anger into something like resigned sadness. I wasn’t sure which one was worse.

As I entered the small room behind him, I made up my mind that whatever was bothering him would be a distant memory by the start of my shift. Neill was much too wonderful to walk around looking like his best friend had moved away.

Neill had his back to me, digging through the backpack he’d dropped in here earlier. I cleared my throat. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here so early. I know I’m not supposed to start my shift until three, but I kind of missed my class this morning.”

Neill’s voice was studied, calm. “Why’d you do that?”

I hated to admit it, but I did anyway. “Overslept. Forgot to set my alarm. You know the drill. Figured if I could get in some time learning before my shift, I could make sure to get back tonight a little earlier.”

“If it’s too much for you, just tell me. I know it’s a lot, with classes and work, too. The apprenticeship can wait if you can’t handle it.”

My spine straightened like someone had just laid a hot wire along it. “I can handle it. Don’t worry about that. I made some arrangements to handle it.”

He turned, and I almost regretted answering so sharply. His eyes were shuttered, sad. “Up to you.” He sat on the small rolling stool and bent down, rolling his jean leg up toward his knee.

My pulse pounded. Was I seriously getting turned on watching him reveal his calves? I took stock of my body. Breathing shallow; my breasts felt tight, hot; my lower stomach was throbbing. Holy crap, I was! If I wasn’t trying to keep myself from panting, I might be embarrassed.

He finished rolling, and I didn’t stop myself from looking. His calf was strong, covered with a light dusting of hair. Tattoos lined it on all sides, marching up his shin, covering the outside of his calf. After removing his boot and sock, he propped his ankle up on his knee.

Pointing to a tattoo just below the bend of his knee, he spoke. “This is the first thing I ever tattooed on a living person.”

“Waitaminute, living?” I stared at Neill’s face, worry flaring to life. “Don’t tell me you practice on dead people first?”

Neill barked a laugh, and I wasn’t sure which relieved me more—the fact I wouldn’t be tattooing corpses or that Neill seemed to have lost some of the black cloud that had been covering him since he entered the shop.

“No, we don’t tattoo dead people. You’ll start out on fruit, oranges, melons, that kind of thing. There is synthetic skin that you’ll work on, too, and then you’ll work on pigskin.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Pigskin?”

Neill nodded. “That’s the closest you can get to human skin. You’re not a vegetarian, are you?”

I shook my head, hoping my blush wasn’t too obvious.

“Once you’re comfortable with that, you can move up to tattooing yourself.” He tapped that spot on his leg again, and I moved closer to get a better look. It was a swallow done in the classic Sailor Jerry fashion that I’d learned about last night. It was small and simple but well done.

“It’s great,” I said, and I meant it.

“It’s okay for a first tattoo, but it’s not perfect. Look here.” He pointed to a wingtip. I moved closer, bending low to see. I was only inches from him now. “I went too deep right here. You see how the ink kind of bleeds from the outline there? That’s called a blowout. You want the ink to stay in the upper layer of skin. You hit the layer beneath, and the fat cells there act like straws, sucking up the ink and spreading it out from the lines.”

“I see,” I breathed.

“And here. See how that line is raised? I overworked that section. It scarred, and now the lines are raised.”

I glanced at his face. “Can I touch it?”

He nodded. Tentatively, I reached out a hand and traced the tail of the swallow. Under the crinkly mat of hair, I could feel the thickness of the line he’d indicated. It was subtle but definitely raised. Moving my finger along the whole tattoo, I concentrated on my task, doing my damnedest to forget whose leg it was I was touching.

Blowout there, scarring there. Outlined in black, filled with blue, red accents. A decorative swirl blew below, almost like the breeze carrying the swallow aloft. With the eye I hadn’t been able to ignore ever since I’d been old enough to clutch a crayon in my chubby hand, I thought about what it could mean.

Freedom. Flight. Fleeing something, some past injury. Or being imprisoned and desperately wishing to escape.

It wasn’t until he cleared his throat that I realized I’d been rubbing his leg for what was probably an oddly long time.

“Sorry,” I said, jerking upright. I turned back to the tattoo chair and buried myself in my notebook. “Yeah, I can feel that.”

I scribbled on the white lined sheets, hoping to get my embarrassment under control before he could see. Once I’d finished writing, I looked back up at him. The question danced on the tip of my tongue, and I wondered whether it would make him angry if I asked. I’d been here only a few days, but I knew how intense, how personal, the meaning behind some of this art was. Would Neill be willing to share his ink’s story?

Before I could ask, he spoke again. “And this was my second piece. It’s a Dia de los Muertos skull.”

“Oh yeah, sugar skulls,” I said with a smile, glad to be on familiar ground. “I loved
The Halloween Tree
when I was a kid. I always thought Day of the Dead skulls were so cool.”

Neill cracked a smile at that, looking straight at me for the first time since he’d walked in the door. “Me, too.”

Neill

It was a relief to hide behind the instruction for a while. I pointed at different tattoos on my legs, talking about placement, sizing, detail, color, mistakes, anything and everything I could think of to keep the conversation from turning personal. Hailey seemed fascinated, but I was relieved that she didn’t ask to touch any more of my ink. Dammit, when she’d been there, bending over my leg, so close I could have pulled her into my lap at any second, it had been all I could do to keep myself still.

Even now, an hour later, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to pull her into my arms or ask her to leave. She was playing havoc with my head, and the mindfuck felt too good.

Hailey was bent over the end of the tattoo chair, writing in that notebook with a purple-tipped pen. It was as if every word that fell from my lips was worth something to her. I shook my head in the silence. No way. That was the start of a short trip to being an egotistical maniac, and I wasn’t a fan of that destination.

Frankie’s voice buzzed through the com. “Hey, boss. You’ve got a customer.”

Hailey stood and hastily shut her notebook. “Sorry. I should get out of your way.”

I shoved my socked foot back in my boot, lowering my pant leg. “Nope, you don’t get out of this that easy. Stay. Your shift doesn’t start for another two hours, so you get to hang out with me and watch.”

Hailey’s brows winged high with excitement. “Really?”

I nodded and stood. “Yep. Let’s go.”

It was hard not to feel good at the way she reacted to me. It was hard not to feel special as she followed me from the studio. But I tightened my jaw and remembered the cold lump of hurt that nestled at the back of my chest. This was simply a business arrangement. We could be friends at best, and nothing more than that, ever. It was for her—and my—own good.

“Hey,” I said to the woman at the counter. She was mature but attractive, dark hair with only a couple of gray dashes at the temples. Her tailored casual clothes indicated that she was well off but not stuck up. “I’m Neill.” I offered my hand, and she shook it.

“Hi,” she said with a smile, glancing from Hailey to me. “I’m Jessica. I wanted to get a tattoo, if I could.”

“Sure. What were you thinking about?” Hailey was standing behind me, but I was trying hard not to think about that. I had a job to do.

“I wanted to get a pinup girl. You know, like a Gil Elvgren kind of housewife mishap? It’s my fiftieth birthday next month.”

“Congratulations.”

She smiled and dipped her head, the motion making her look much younger than she was. “Thank you. I did some modeling when I was younger, so I wanted to honor that.”

I nodded. “Where did you want it?”

She turned and dropped her hip, pointing to her side. “Here, along my torso.”

I gave a low whistle. “You know that’s going to hurt like hell, right?”

Jessica lifted her shirt on the opposite side, revealing a lacy-looking tribal swirl. “I know.”