Draw Me In (6 page)

I gave a quick knock to my studio door before gently pushing it open. My client was lying on the tattoo chair, her fingers laced through her girlfriend’s. They looked up from what seemed to have been a pretty intense personal conversation to smile at me.

“Ready?” I kept my tone gentle, calming. The client gave a nod. Her partner moved up, standing by the head of the chair and scratching her fingers along my client’s scalp. I tried not to feel like a fifth wheel while pulling on my gloves. There was a lot of emotion floating around. It seemed odd to be in that room, with a pair so devoted to each other. I hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time with loving couples. It was kind of a foreign concept, one that left me vaguely nervous and uncomfortable. A whispered conversation started up as I moved my equipment into place, and I wasn’t sure how to approach things. So I did what I always did. I inked my machine, bent to my work, and let the worries fly away on the backs of a thousand angry bees and the beauty of art on skin.

Hailey

I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the dark ceiling of my dorm room, wishing I’d brought some of those glow-in-the-dark stars from my old bedroom at home. When things were bad, and my parents’ arguments played out in the middle of the night, I would stare at those stars and wish to be a grown-up, far away from there.

I hadn’t known that distance wouldn’t solve the problem.

I’d stayed in the art building until security had tossed me out at eleven, but even though I’d had two hours of uninterrupted art therapy, I wasn’t close to feeling better. Lily and Courtney, had done their damnedest to get me dressed and out to the clubs, but I’d refused. They’d finally gotten the message and left without me. As much as I hated disappointing my friends, I would have hated ruining their night even more. I’d have been a complete misery at the club. No way could I go out and party tonight. My heart just wasn’t in it.

I let my lids slide closed, trying to empty my brain. It wasn’t working. Everyone’s faces swam in front of me one at a time. First Mom and Dad, then Dr. Fields. Then my friends. Tasha. Neill.

I flung my arm over my eyes, trying to make the image go away.
Neill
. God, why did he have to be so freaking gorgeous? And he was sweet. He’d been so nice every time I had run into him today. He’d brought me a bottle of water, showed me where things were, even reached for a clipboard that was on the top shelf, too high for me to reach. Simple stuff, really. Nothing I should even remember. But his eyes said much more than his lips had. His eyes said he was interested in me.

“And that’s dangerous,” I whispered into the darkness. “I don’t need this complication.”

But something deep inside me wanted it. Bad. Worse than I’d ever wanted anyone else, including the few guys I’d briefly dated and thought I’d loved. In fact, they really didn’t compare at all.

Groaning, I rolled over and stuffed the edge of the pillow in my mouth.
Shut up, Hailey. Go to sleep, Hailey. You have to wake up in . . .
I checked the glowing green numbers of my alarm clock.

“Shit. It’s three a.m.”

Rising, I shuffled to the suite’s shared bathroom and pulled open the medicine cabinet. Grabbing the bottle of Benadryl with the handwritten label “Hailey” on it, I tapped out one of the little pink and white pills and swallowed it with a handful of water from the tap. I should be able to sleep it off before work.

I leaned over, peering through the gap in the cracked door. The narrow beam of light spilling from the bathroom fell on Jackie’s rumpled bed.
Still empty
.

Clicking off the light, I made my way back to bed. Just a few more hours and I’d see Neill again. Huh. I shoved my feet under the covers, rubbing them together briskly to try and warm them. I shouldn’t want to see him again. Even though looking at my hot boss might take my mind off my troubles.

I curled around my pillow, concentrating on breathing deeply and emptying my mind of everything, including my hot, tattooed boss. Within ten minutes, I couldn’t open my eyes anymore.

The fog of allergy medication had barely cleared when my alarm blared at eleven a.m. I slammed my fist down on the button, blinking blearily at the brightness of the room. Yawning, I propped myself upright on one arm and ran my fingers through my tangled mop of hair, which seemed to be stuck to my left cheek.

Jackie’s bed was still empty. That wasn’t unusual. Jackie spent most of her weekends out with friends, getting stoned out of her brain and making bad choices. She’d invited me a few times, but that really wasn’t my thing. Small groups were good, large numbers of strangers? Not so much. It was good that Sinful Skin was a small business, and so friendly that I kind of already felt like I belonged.

Speaking of which
. . . I grabbed my clothes and made quick work of a shower, scrubbing my hair and conditioning the ends. Low voices came through my suitemate’s door to the bathroom, indicating that they were awake. Normally, I’d open the door and we’d all go down to the dining hall together, but today there wasn’t time. With one eye on the clock, I dressed with care, making sure to wear my nicest jeans and a sage-green tank with a deep V-neck. After blow-drying my hair and doing a quick makeup job, I grabbed my bag and hustled toward the bus stop.

My worry of the previous night returned as I passed Adams. I kicked at a leaf, resenting the memory. I just didn’t understand where he was coming from. What was so wrong with my having a job? Was Dr. Fields just some super-conservative guy with a tattoo vendetta? He hadn’t seemed that way in our conversations before. Maybe I’d read him wrong, and he truly was concerned about me stretching myself too thin. I leaned against the bus shelter, my bag covering up a big green flyer about auditions for the drama department’s production of
The Trojan Women
. Dr. Fields had never said a word about my social life, though, and we’d had lots of conversations about it. Sometimes I thought he knew more about my circle of friends than I did. Wouldn’t social activities have had a bigger effect on my grades than being responsible and working?

The bus squealed to a stop and I climbed on, glad to leave the wondering behind. I could figure all that out later. For now, I was looking forward to spending more time with the artists at Sinful Skin and learning my job. Tasha would be gone in a few days, and I’d be working the front desk by myself. I wanted to believe that this job was the best thing for me, and even if I wasn’t totally convinced, I wanted to do my best.

It was a beautiful day, and I couldn’t help but be cheered by the bright sunshine and puffy white clouds that flew by my bus window. As luck would have it, when I got off the bus onto the sidewalk outside Sinful Skin, Neill’s motorcycle rounded the corner. My heart did a funny little skip. I waved as he turned down the alleyway that ran alongside the building. Gravel crunched under my feet while I followed him around toward the back door of the shop. I crossed my arms and waited for him to park in the small gravel lot.

“Good morning.” Neill’s smile flashed as he cut the bike’s engine, and my stomach flipped.

“Hey.” Adjusting the shoulder strap on my bag, I returned the expression. I gestured toward the shiny black . . . well, Harley? Or something else? I wasn’t sure. “Nice bike.”

He kicked the stand into place and swung his leg over. “Thanks. She gets me where I need to go.” Removing his helmet, he revealed a brilliant blue bandana that held his dark hair away from his face.

I crossed my arms tighter in a vain attempt to keep the butterflies still. The little bastards ignored me, thumping against my belly and ribs like they were cage fighting. I followed Neill to the door, where he pulled it open and waited for me to enter, bowing like a gentleman.

“Thanks,” I said, biting my lip as I walked into the darkened shop. Neill hit the light switch on the wall behind me. Apparently, I’d gotten there earlier than I’d thought; we were the first ones there.

I stood to the side, waiting for Neill to flip the locks and enter the room. It smelled of cleaner, a pungent reminder of the late-night scrub it must have endured. He shut the door behind us and then made his way to his studio. I wondered for a split second if I should follow him; then I shook my head and walked quickly to the long front counter, dumping my bag in the cubby beneath. Though I tried to ignore Neill’s presence, I couldn’t stop the acute awareness that prickled my skin as he moved around in his studio. I pictured him putting his helmet away, organizing his equipment in the small room just across the lobby from the counter’s edge, heavy steps as he entered the break room and grabbed a bottle of water. His voice floated up my way. “Hey, can I get you anything while I’m in here?”

I shook my head, burying myself in a stack of consent forms. “Nope, I’m good.”

He appeared a moment later and leaned against the wall behind the counter. I dragged a deep breath through my nostrils. How could I smell him from there? It wasn’t like he was wearing more than a touch of cologne, from what I could tell.

My heart did a skippy dance as I straightened the pile of forms for the third time. Why was I ignoring him so hard? We were alone. And I was glad, even though my nerves were stretched tighter than piano wire. What should I say? Should I thank him again for the job? The idea brought Dr. Fields’s disapproving face to mind, and I winced. I’d wanted to stay positive today.

“Hey, are you okay?”

I turned to answer Neill’s question, but the concerned slant to his brows sort of obliterated any lame reply I’d halfway concocted, and I just stayed there, quiet as a pet rock.

Neill

I waited for Hailey to answer my question. I wasn’t sure what was up with her this morning, only that she seemed hesitant and kinda nervous. Keeping my distance, I let my gaze pull her in as much as my arms wanted to.

She looked good. Really good, in fact. She was dressed nicely, her hair shiny and clean, just a hint of makeup on her naturally tanned cheeks. Her tank stretched over her breasts, her jeans clearly defined her shapely hips and thighs. Jerking my attention back up to her face, I cleared my throat when it became obvious that she wouldn’t—or couldn’t—reply. Maybe it was me. Yeah, probably. Having your new boss hover over you wasn’t exactly the most fun thing ever.

“Listen, I’ll let you get to it. Just yell if you have any problems, okay? Tasha should be here in a minute.”

Bobbing my head in what I hoped was a friendly, nonthreatening gesture, I turned and booked it for my studio. God, she made me feel like a kid again. All nerves and too-long legs and desperately wanting to be able to shave my face every morning to impress that one special girl.

Once I was safely inside, my fist landed dully on the arm of the tattoo chair. I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I was a man, a business owner, and I didn’t need some college girl wrecking my concentration. Gritting my teeth, I grabbed a sketchpad and a micron pen. I needed to chill, and the best way to do that was to crank some tunes and lose myself in lines and swirls and beautiful colors.

As I popped my iPod into the dock, I wondered if that was her therapy, too. She loved art, she’d said so. I settled at the counter, and then the tip of my pen glided across the textured paper, soft lines and thicker ones wrapping around one another. The sound of the back door swinging shut barely registered as the fever of creation descended on me. When laughing voices outside my door threatened to intrude, I pushed up the volume on my iPod and let the thundering drums cover the sound.

I hunched over the sketchbook, pen moving as though possessed by a demon. Maybe it was, I couldn’t tell. It wasn’t for several long moments that I realized whose face was laughing up at me from the page.

“God-fucking-dammit.” I sighed as I straightened, the stool squeaking softly in protest. I was staring down at a two-dimensional Hailey Jakes. I hadn’t meant to do that.

A soft knock on the doorjamb made me jump, and I turned, ready to give someone hell. Roger stood there, jeans riding too low on his slim hips and his trademark cigarette tucked behind his ear. “Hey, man, Tasha just called. Sounds awful, said she’s sick.”

“Jesus.” I groaned, the fight leaving me as quickly as it had risen. I slammed the sketchbook closed and tossed it on the counter beside me. “Someone’s going to have to pull double duty.”

Roger tilted his chin, indicating behind him. “The kid’s out there, can’t she handle it?”

I stood abruptly, about to chew Roger’s ass out for calling Hailey a kid, but I stopped before the words could spill out. He hadn’t meant anything by it, and I guessed to forty-year-old Roger, she
was
just a kid. It was hard for me to see her that way, though.

“It’s her second day, Rog. Give her a break. We’ll all have to pitch in, okay?”

Roger nodded and jammed his hands in his pockets. Whistling, he turned and disappeared across the lobby and into his own studio space.

I shoved a hand through my hair, realized my bandana was still tied around my head, and yanked the blue fabric free. Finger-combing my hair, I left the safety of my little room and crossed the empty lobby, heading for the counter. With Tasha out, someone had to spearhead Hailey’s training, and as much as being close to her both excited and worried me, she was still my employee.

“Hey,” I said as I propped my arms on the upper portion of the counter. “Almost ready to open?”

She stopped shuffling the forms in front of her and looked up at me, a worried gleam in her hazel eyes. “I guess. Roger says Tasha isn’t coming in?”

I shook my head, hating that she looked so nervous. She’d been so awesome yesterday; I knew she could handle this. I had to build her up. “Don’t worry. You’re going to be great. Just do what you did yesterday and you’ll be fine. We’re all going to help you out up here between clients, so you won’t really be alone.”

Her heavy breath moved her shoulders up and down. She nodded, thrusting her jaw out determinedly. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

I chuckled to myself as she swished past me and unlocked the front door with a decisive click. She was something, my Hailey.

“Shit,” I muttered aloud, glaring down at the countertop. She wasn’t
my
anything.