Surrender of a Tattooist: Obsessive Dark Romance Alpha Bad Boy (Tattooist Series Book 2) (5 page)

Pixie skipped into the apartment well after dawn. She’d worked until three, and then gone out for pancakes and coffee with the other people who worked there. Her body was trembling with energy and her spirits were high.

Joy wasn’t there. She spent most of her time at Hawk’s lately, and when she was home Hawk was usually here too. That, or Joy was busy working on her architecture projects. The girl didn’t need to work because of money; she did it because she wanted to.

Pixie surveyed the empty apartment, and her spirits crashed. She did love Joy. She was her best friend and they respected and cared for each other a great deal, but Pixie also knew she didn’t always hold up her end of that friendship.

Joy didn’t mind her not having money to pay rent, or when she got into trouble and had to use her money to get out of some small stupid charge, but Pixie was beginning to.

She went to the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of juice and carefully poured a little into a glass. She did want to do things differently, but she was having an identity crisis of sorts, and had no idea how to handle it.

She’d fought very hard to be allowed the freedom to be who she felt herself to be, and now that she had that freedom and she was getting older, she was having trouble shedding the things she no longer wanted.

Pixie gave in to self-reflection. She knew she was just maturing, and it was well past overdue, but she found the idea of doing things differently a little overwhelming.

She loved her tattoos and her bright hair, and she didn’t want to give it up. Those things were a part of who she was. She needed to be realistic, though. She needed a more grown-up job and to get her act together, but what if in doing so she had to shed the things that made her?

She wasn’t sure she should could do that.

She sighed and headed for her bedroom. She had to work at her nail tech job in a few hours, and she needed some rest. Cliff’s lovemaking had energized and exhausted her, and she knew if she didn’t get at least a few hours of sleep she was going to be worthless.

She stripped and crawled in between her sheets. Her thoughts wouldn’t let her sleep. They kept slipping to Cliff.

He was so very different from any man she had ever met. He didn’t try to get her to eat meat, but neither was he vegan. He didn’t want to tell her about GMOs or inhumane farming like the vegans and vegetarians she dated. Pixie didn’t eat meat because she had seen her father slaughter hogs, and she hated the memories and the way that that had made her feel. She didn’t really care about the rest of it. For her it was a personal thing, and every time she tried to go near bacon that memory hit her again and reduced her to tears.

Cliff had surprised her with a date so beautiful, and yet so unplanned that it had left her shaken. He was a complex and complicated man, and one she wanted to get to know better.

He was also a man she could fall in love with if she wasn’t careful. She couldn’t let that happen. 

Pixie rolled over and slipped her legs through the cooler sheets. Her roommate, Joy, had been wounded by a past love. Hawk had helped heal some of the residual aches left behind by her ex and her unkind parents, but what had happened to Joy had been nothing like what had happened to her.

She and Joy had clicked as friends because they
got
each other. Pixie had often been the target of bullies. Unlike Joy, who was rounded and rich, Pixie had been picked on because she was skinny and the daughter of a farmer. She had gone to school in a place sharply divided by agricultural differences and class differences, and her longing to express herself had manifested itself in her dress and appearance. She knew that too made her target, but she never could back down; something in her just would not let her.

Pixie and Joy had been friends through all the turmoil that carried them through college. Joy knew exactly what had happened with James, as did Hawk. They understood her without pity. Pixie couldn’t handle empathy, and Hawk never offered it. That’s why he and Joy were her best friends.

Cliff seemed to get her, but how could he understand all the hurt and mistrust she had under her skin? What if, once he discovered it, he saw her differently?

What if she got a regular job and stopped doing so many of the things people expected her to do? Would that change the attraction he felt for her? He seemed to see her as this little fire-bug. Something unique to behold. Would he lose interest in her if he knew she wasn’t special? Just something made up?

The clock went off and she turned her head to it, astonished to see that she had lain there for hours, thinking.

She climbed out of bed and trooped toward the shower, her entire body aching. It was going to be one hell of a long day.

*  *

She had found herself swamped with women and men who needed their nails done right then. She gave manicures, applied gel and acrylic nails, shaped finger and toenails, massaged hands and feet and calves.

By the time she left the nail salon she was beyond weary, literally dropping with exhaustion. She got to her apartment’s parking garage just in time to see Cliff stepping out of his car, holding a half-dozen of the prettiest lilies she’d ever seen.

Her exhaustion didn’t flee, but a little energy flooded back and she walked toward him, a smile on her face.

Cliff held out the lilies and smiled. “You’re beautiful all the time, but you look beat. You didn’t tell me you had to work all day too.”

She shrugged and tried not to yawn. “Yeah, and I stupidly stayed out too late. Someone offered me free pancakes and I’m a sucker for pancakes.”

“I’ll remember that.” The small gold stud in his ear glinted in the dimness, and his white teeth gleamed as he smiled.

The smile nearly stopped her heart. It lit up his entire face. She’d already figured out that the sardonic, sarcastic grin he usually wore was just a cover, and she was glad that he smiled when he was around her.

Cliff shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “I asked Hawk and he said you should be home right about now, so I figured I would take a chance and see if you wanted to get some dinner.”

“I’d love to.” She grimaced and added rather reluctantly, “But I’m really beat. Even my hair hurts.”

“Ouch.” He regarded her a moment. “What would you say to ordering food in and I’ll rub your aching tootsies?’

Her giggle echoed off the garage’s walls. “I’m sorry, did you just say
tootsies
?”

He grinned. “Yeah, I did. I was kidding. I mean, I’d be happy to rub your shoulders or whatever, but feet freak me out.”

She stared at him. “What?”

He shrugged. “I know. It’s weird. I have this thing with feet.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice to a whisper, as if he didn’t want anyone to hear what he was about to say, “When people come in wanting to get tatted on the top of their feet, I tell them I’m too busy and send them to someone else. Now, mind you, I have put tats in the cracks of asses, so feet shouldn’t be such a big deal. But feet are just… weird.”

She doubled over laughing. “You’re joking!” she gasped out. “I can’t even.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

She wheezed out, “I did about a dozen pedicures today.”

“You’re joking!”

“Hell no.” She laughed harder. “I can’t argue on that one. Feet stink. One lady had the toes of a possum. Like long and skinny and able to grip…”

“No! Stop!” He threw his hands up and backed away. “Maybe I could have those flowers back?”

Pixie saw the teasing in his eyes and grinned. “Okay, so you don’t like feet. That’s cool. It just means when I pick out shoes I don’t have to worry about whether you will find my toe cleavage deep enough.”

He looked flummoxed. “Did you say cleavage?”

She couldn’t resist teasing him, “Yeah, you know, when the toes are in shoes and they form a sort of valley like the one women get between their breasts. Some people dig it. It’s a real turn-on.”

He made a face as he shook his head. “I can’t believe that’s a real thing. I can say with all honesty I don’t care how much toe cleavage you have or don’t. Wear whatever shoes you want.” He waved his hand. “Maybe just cover those toes.”

“Good to know.” She slipped her arm through the crook of his and pointed with the flowers. “Look, there’s the elevator! We’d better grab it. Sometimes people hold it up because they want to get on and they’re waiting for someone else, and it can be forever before they decide to stop being dicks and holding it hostage.”

The doors wheezed open and several young women, all former centerfolds who were currently living together while trying to get their big break, breezed out in a puff of perfect blond hair and skinny leggings. Cliff didn’t even give them a second look, something she definitely took note of.

One of them stopped and squealed, “Oh! You’re Cliff! You did my tattoo! Look, Lori, that’s the guy who did my tattoo!”

Jealousy smoldered through Pixie. It grew worse when the woman lifted her top to reveal creamy tanned flesh and a flash of underboob. She pointed a finger at her ribs and said, “See? Right there!”

It was a cute little fairy on a stalk. Pixie smiled and said, “Yes, he does great work, doesn’t he?” in as neutral a tone as she could manage.

Cliff smiled, the perfect professional tattooist and polite guy. “I hope to see you back in the shop soon. I’m working at Hawk Reynolds’ place now.”

“The one who had the celeb show?” The girl nearly squealed as she tapped her high heels against the floor. “I’ll definitely be back, Cliff.”

“Great!” He smiled again and then reached for Pixie’s hand. “If you’ll excuse us—”

“Wow! You sure have
a lot
of ink!” The blonde pointed up and down the length of Pixie. “Did Cliff do any of them?” She leaned forward and giggled. “Or just the ones you can’t show in public?”

From the way the bimbo flashed half her breast, Pixie tried not to imagine what she considered not proper for public viewing. She opened her mouth to toss something not so pretty at the perfect blond, but Cliff tugged her hand and pulled her towards the elevators before she could say anything. She hated that Cliff’s hands had been on that woman, his palm probably resting on her breast. Cliff hadn’t done any art on her yet. He probably didn’t even want to. Pixie fought back her jealousy. It wasn’t her style to be jealous, and certainly not over something like ink.

Cliff was a tattoo artist. He touched breasts and other intimate parts of people every day. It was part of what he did and she knew it. She just hadn’t considered what that would mean to her if she dated him. Like a doctor. Sort of… She chuckled at the comparison.

They got out on her floor and headed into her apartment. Cliff used his cell and ordered food delivery from a local vegan place.

She laughed as she watched him. “That on speed dial for you?”

He grinned and shook his head. “Nothing that Siri can’t find for me.”

She laughed. “You do know if you want a steak you can have it.”

He shrugged. “And if I want one, I’ll get one. Look, I dated women who ate meat when I didn’t and vice versa. I hate it when people don’t respect things I believe in, and when they try to adapt to my things without ever really embracing them. So how about we just say that if I get a craving for meat, which I do, I’ll have it and we won’t make a big deal out of it, and if I don’t feel like meat, we don’t make a big deal out of that either?”

“I’d say that sounds about perfect. I won’t make a big deal of me eating vegan, either.” She winked, unable to resist.

He took a seat and said, “Give me your hands.”

She gladly stretched them out. His fingers were firm and warm as he massaged the soreness away and she said, “I’m glad you don’t feel the same way about fingers that you do about toes.”

He chuckled. “I don’t know where that came from. Maybe as a baby my mother liked to put her toes in my face. I have no freakin’ clue. Don’t you have some weird quirks?”

“Oh hell, I have so many I wouldn’t even know where to start.” She tilted her head and stared up at the ceiling a moment. “I hate people saying ‘like’ when they’re talking to me, unless they’re using it properly.”

“Ah, the good old filler word.”

She groaned. “I hate it. People who lie. People who drive slow. People who complain. People who waste. People who don’t recycle. People who think their opinion is the only one that matters. People who only like to listen to the sound of their own voice. People who don’t listen when others are speaking. People who never shut-up.” She grinned suddenly. “So how was your day?”

His lips twitched. “Have you ever heard of April Showers?”

“The singer?”

“The very same.”

“Yeah, when I was younger she was my idol, then she went all commercial and I stopped listening to her.”

“So did everyone else,” Cliff said. “I never listened to her music. I got to tat her today.”

Pixie raised her eyebrows, clearly impressed. “Yeah, what was she like?”

“She has to be one of the most self-involved people I have ever met. And she said ‘like’ at least a thousand times, that and ‘um’. In a way I feel sorry for her. She’s still young, what…maybe thirty? She was pushed into the music business as a kid. She never really had much of a shot at growing up in a normal way, I suppose. Still, after listening to three hours of ‘like’, ‘um’, and ‘you know’, I was ready to throttle her.”