Inked on Paper (5 page)

Chapter Six

Presley

My morning started with a trip over to Different by Design to give Charlie my keys since she had accidentally left hers at home and I lived closer, saving her an hour trip there and back. I spent a few minutes chatting with her while she smoked a cigarette and told me about the hot guy she’d met last night, before I had made it back to my condo on Fifth Street. Then, after a quick elevator ride up with an older woman and her little dog, I got out on the seventeenth floor, smiling back at them as they both glared at me suspiciously.

I didn’t think much of it, since I frequently got some strange looks. It was the tattoos, probably all the piercings, and maybe the pink hair that generally garnered me more attention than I needed, but I didn’t really give a shit. As I usually did, I shrugged it off.

I was who I was. No amount of beady eyeballs staring holes in me was going to change that.

When I stepped inside my condo, I ran smack into a wall of bacon. Well, the smell of bacon, anyway. Scrunching my nose, I pretended not to notice that Gil was making breakfast. Or rather, what he considered breakfast, which normally consisted of some strange concoction made from random shit he found in the refrigerator. The only consistent ingredient was bacon.

I pushed the hood off my head and peered around the open living area. It was relatively clean compared to what I’d witnessed last night. “Please tell me some half-naked chick is
not
gonna waltz out of your bedroom and make this uncomfortable,” I said, relocating my sketch pad from the bar to the stool.

Gil’s face lit up with a magnificent smile. His rusty-brown hair—shaved completely on the sides to show the many tattoos that decorated his head—was spiked on the top, as though he’d merely run a towel over it when he’d gotten out of the shower, which went with the disheveled theme accentuated by the two days’ worth of red-brown stubble on his jaw and the tattered T-shirt. “She left earlier.”

“She? As in not plural?” Last night there had definitely been more than one.

Another grin. “Gav took three of ’em, but I think he kicked ’em out before he crashed.”

Great.

At least they were gone. I couldn’t count how many times I’d come into the kitchen to find some petite little brunette—they were always petite, always brunette for Gil—rummaging through the refrigerator wearing one of Gil’s T-shirts and nothing else. Gavin wasn’t quite as bad because he frequently sent his packing before he went to bed. I’d only encountered one of his over the years.

“Did you get this one’s name, at least?” I asked, trying to sound as though I were joking. I wasn’t.

“Angie,” he said quickly.

I watched him closely, noticing his frown.

“No, wait. Amanda. Or was it Ashley? No… Shit.”

Gil had the decency to look sheepish when his dark brown eyes strayed back to me.

“You are such a man whore, Gil Garner.”

“Guilty as charged,” he belted out, loud and proud.

I shook my head, meeting his gaze. “About last night…”

“I know,” he said. “Sorry. It just happened.”

“How does it
just happen
?” I couldn’t understand how one man could bring home four women. It was absurd.

Gil shrugged, not looking at all apologetic. “It’s the tattoos. Women love that shit.” He held up a spatula. “You want me to make you somethin’ to eat?”

Ignoring the fact that he’d purposely changed the subject, I shook my head. “Thanks, but no.” Not only because I didn’t eat meat but also because I didn’t trust anything Gil cooked. The man was known to toss whatever ingredients he could find into a skillet and call it a meal. “I’ll just take a bowl of cereal.”

“Your loss.” Gil grabbed my favorite bowl from the cabinet, then retrieved the soy milk and the Corn Pops, setting all three down on the bar. “Any luck with the drawing?”

I frowned as I climbed up onto the barstool, pushing my sleeves up my arms. “Nope.”

“Well, don’t get too freaked out about it.”

Easy for him to say. Gil worked in the same tattoo shop I did, but he didn’t have any problems coming up with great art these days. I, on the other hand, had spent the last few weeks taking all of the newbies looking for flash art pieces, because no matter how hard I tried, the inspiration just wasn’t there.

I had been working as a professional tattoo artist for going on seven years. I’d even managed to establish a consistent clientele, but these days, I feared someone coming in and asking for something spectacular because I knew I wouldn’t be able to deliver.

Not only that, but I’d been earning residual income over the years by entering art contests. The next one I had on my radar was looming in the near future, and I knew I didn’t have a chance in hell of making a dime if I didn’t come up with something soon.

Pouring cereal into the bowl while Gil passed a spoon over to me, I watched as he wrapped whatever he’d just made into a tortilla and shoved half into his mouth in one bite.

“You workin’ today?” he asked around a mouthful of food.

I shook my head. “Blaze is covering for me tonight and Charlie’s over there this morning.”

Saturdays at Different by Design were busy. And because of the silly mental block I was dealing with, I’d opted to trade for a slow Sunday afternoon when most people had appointments, and as for any walk-ins, I could take their information and call them back.

“You?” I asked, spooning cereal into my mouth.

“Yep. Got two appointments. One this afternoon and one tonight.”

“What about today? Any plans?” I asked, propping my head up with my hand as I spooned cereal into my mouth.

“Gonna head over to the shop and chill for a while. Helpin’ Shawn if he needs it.”

Shawn Green was DBD’s main body modification artist, known to most as a piercer. Gil had been doing an apprenticeship under Shawn for the past eight months. Though Gil claimed he still preferred to ink, he’d become quite enthralled with the body mod, and Shawn was hoping Gil could help out from time to time.

“Did you get your training class done?” I asked. Gil had mentioned some special class, along with a CPR certification he needed to take care of.

“Next week,” he said before downing half a glass of chocolate milk. “And then, just think…” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then revealed a disturbing grin. “I’m that much closer to piercing your clit.”

I snorted, nearly shooting soy milk out of my nose. “Not in this lifetime,” I rasped, choking. “You will
never
be allowed near my clit. With a needle or otherwise.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

The man was incorrigible.

I finished off my cereal and pushed my bowl away. Gil grabbed it, along with the skillet and his glass, rinsed them all, and tucked them into the dishwasher.

“What’re you doin’ this morning?” Gil asked.

“I’m gonna head over to the coffee shop,” I told him, grabbing my sketchbook.

“Is it on the way to the shop?”

I nodded.

“Come on then,” he said. “I’ll walk you.”

A few minutes later, I stopped at the coffee shop, said a quick good-bye to Gil, then made my way to the counter to order my usual sugar-free vanilla soy latte. The woman behind the counter smiled kindly but didn’t say anything other than the usual pleasantries. I paid for my coffee, then waited patiently while she made it. With a quick thank you, I took the cup, wound my way through the tables, and found an empty one near the front window.

Dropping into the chair, I forced myself to flip open the book, found a blank page, and stared at it.

Until an idea formed in my head.

Chapter Seven

Jake

Eight minutes after I stepped off the elevator, thirty seconds faster than the last time—because, you know, my life had become so fucking routine that I’d started timing that shit—after enduring the record-breaking, twenty-seven-degree low—
hey, this was Texas
—I stepped into the coffee shop around the corner from my condominium building, inhaling the scent of homemade blueberry scones and freshly brewed coffee.

“Mornin’, Jake,” the young woman behind the counter greeted as I approached, her smile friendly, her gaze inquisitive.

“Morning, Kim.”

“The usual?” she asked, looking up at me, one hand cocked on her hip.

Staring into the glass display case, I perused the items momentarily as though I might actually choose something different than
the usual
. For the past six months, I’d been coming to the coffee shop at least once every two or three days, ordering a blueberry scone and a strong, black coffee—not exactly the thing that would help my bad boy image. Then again, I was kind of a simple guy. Perhaps I kept my order uncomplicated because the rest of my life was chaotic enough. Whatever the reason, I didn’t see change in my near future.

Looking back at Kim, I smiled. “Yeah. The usual.”

As Kim rang me up, her dark eyes darted down to the notebook in my hand. “That’s new. What happened to the laptop?”

I followed her gaze down to the leather-bound book. “Thought I’d try something different today.”

Kim laughed. “But you still ordered a blueberry scone and black coffee.” It wasn’t a question. She cocked her head. “Sounds about right.”

Passing her my credit card, I shrugged. “Can’t step too far outta the box. Wouldn’t wanna get hurt.”

Kim gifted me with another laugh, handed back my card, and went to work on getting my order ready. While I waited, I glanced around, looking for an empty table. There was only one left—in the far corner near the window, which would be perfect provided I could get to it before anyone else did.

“Here you go,” Kim called out. “Go wild.”

Everyone loved to do the play on my last name. Rarely did I ever hear anyone come up with something unique, but I’d learned to play along. “Funny.”

“I try.” Kim waved me off with her fingers. “Now go write something. We’re all waiting for the next masterpiece.”

Yeah, so was I.

I secured the notebook under my arm, grabbed the scone, a napkin, and my coffee, then weaved my way through the people scattered about. Careful not to run into anyone, I was about to give myself a mental pat on the back for making it all the way through without any mishaps, right up until…

Shit.
“Sorry,” I muttered when I bumped the arm of a woman who’d been hunched over one of the round tables. At least I thought it was a woman. Too small to be a man, but thanks to the hood covering their head, I couldn’t be sure.

Turning, I slid into the chair at the table in the corner, dropping my load before lifting my gaze to see who I’d bumped and if they were ready to burn me alive with a scathing glare.

Definitely a woman. But she wasn’t scowling back at me. In fact, she wasn’t looking at me at all. Instead…

My eyes dropped to the notebook in front of her. “Are you … playing tic-tac-toe?” I found myself blurting before I could think better of it.

The woman’s gaze lifted, and I was then staring into eyes the color of storm clouds, such a mesmerizing shade that I was momentarily stunned, my hangover all but forgotten.

Damn, she was pretty.

And I’d never been more grateful that I’d stopped to take a shower than I was right then.

A lock of hair peeked out from beneath the thin white hoodie she wore, and my attention drifted down to her shoulder as I tried to decipher the color. Pink? Orange? I know, being an author, I should’ve said something along the lines of magenta or salmon, but
seriously
. Being a guy, I didn’t give colors fancy names. Regardless, I wasn’t quite sure what the color was, but I was fairly certain that it wasn’t natural.

“Yeah,” she said softly, the labret piercing beneath her lip twinkling briefly before she returned her attention to her game.

“Who usually wins?” I asked, dropping my eyes back to the paper, then up again as I pushed the hood off my head, secretly hoping she’d do the same.

She didn’t.

Those gray eyes raised to meet mine once more, and this time one of her eyebrows lifted, and if I wasn’t mistaken, the corner of her lip curled slightly. Interesting. Her lips… I tried not to stare, but it wasn’t easy. Not only did she have a piercing beneath her lip, she had a ring that circled her plump bottom lip twice (or appeared to) on the right side, as well as a diamond stud in her nose and a barbell in her left eyebrow. Even with those distracting me, I couldn’t help but notice her glossy mouth matched the color of her hair.

As did her eyebrows. Did women actually do that now? Color their eyebrows?

“I normally do,” she said, and I assumed she was referring to winning the games, not coloring her eyebrows. Unless of course she was a mind reader, then … well, if that were the case, then I probably needed to censor my thoughts, because yes, more than once since my ass had hit the chair, I’d pictured her naked.

Small, curvy … fucking naked.

Another smile flirted with the corner of her coral-pink lips. (Yep, I went there—
coral
. My new favorite color.)

“Well, congrats,” I offered, forcing my eyes to meet hers. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

Opening the notebook, I stared down at the blank page while I tore off a piece of my blueberry scone. I looked from the pen to the paper, back again. Then I got distracted, looking at my phone, the clock on the wall, the woman next to me, the old guy in the corner. Back to the pen and paper. I must’ve done it a hundred times, because the next thing I knew, the blueberry scone had disappeared, as had half of my large coffee.

“Shit,” I muttered, wiping my hands on a napkin.

“Try playing tic-tac-toe with yourself. It’s good for your ego,” the coral-haired woman beside me said, her husky voice drawing my attention her way once more.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. At least it works for me. Usually.”

I really liked the sound of her voice. And the sweetness of her face. And the color of her eyes, accentuated by the dark liner circling them. The perfect curves of her mouth. The slight dimple in her chin. And … I let my eyes drift lower.

Again, I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help but notice her hands. She had slender, elegant fingers but no fancy fingernails glued to the end like most of the women I knew. Then again, her fingernails weren’t what caught my attention. No, the credit for that went to the intricately detailed tattoos that covered each of her hands.

On the right one, she had a light pink and white rose with delicate petals wrapped in what appeared to be barbed wire that snaked down her index finger. The design was done so well that the flower looked almost real, the shading causing the petals to practically stand up. On her other hand was a vibrant turquoise candy skull with dark blue eyes in the shape of hearts, a matching upside-down heart for a nose, and pink teeth that tied in with the random designs throughout.

I forced my eyes away, concerned she’d caught me staring—which honestly wasn’t something I tended to worry about—but when I looked up, she seemed more interested in the
x
and
o
she was jotting down on the most recent tic-tac-toe board she’d drawn. My attention was snagged by a napkin tucked beneath the sketch pad, part of which I could see had a colorful design on it, but I couldn’t tell what it was.

When she turned her head, peeking out from beneath the white hood, I quickly turned back to my notebook, pretending to be…

Shit, I couldn’t even pretend. I had no idea what the fuck I was supposed to write.

So I started with …
Chapter One
.

Kind of pathetic, but it was a start.