Love Is More Than Skin Deep (A Hidden Hearts Novel Book 4) (2 page)

I start to let my eyes drift shut, but the analytical part of me rears its ugly head and I pop my eyes open and ask for clarification, “Any ol’ random thing or just stuff I like that’s related to the tattoo?”

Rogue chuckles and responds, “I’ll get more specific later, but right now I just need to know what gives you the warm-fuzzies.”

I draw a deep breath and let it out as I do when I’m meditating. I choose a dragonfly wind chime which is hanging from the ceiling as my focal point and try to clear my mind from everything negative. When I first started this stuff, it sounded really hokey to me, but it kind of works. I take a deep breath and try to flood my brain with all the things that I like. “My favorite thing in the whole wide world is old worn Levi jeans, warm from the dryer. I love lilac trees and kids finger-painting during summer vacation. I like tie-dyed shirts, Skittles and blowing big bubbles with bubblegum. I like walking through fields and blowing on dandelions.”

The bell over the door rings and jolts me out of my happy bubble. An arresting man with short-cropped black hair and an angular face acknowledges me with a nod and a brief smile. For a moment, I actually forget how to breathe. Apparently, it’s not just me. Rogue notices my reaction and grins. “I don’t know about you, but if it were me, I would put that man on my ‘happy list’”

“It would be nice if we could just go shopping for them that way, wouldn’t it?” I concede with a smirk. “Unfortunately, love has to be a two-way street and guys like that are rarely, if ever, interested in me. Most of them think that I’m the kid babysitter from down the street. I just graduated from my Masters program — that’s why I’m celebrating with a tattoo. Most guys like that are already situated in their careers. They want someone far more successful than me.”

Rogue actually laughs out loud as she empathizes, “I used to think that way too, until I accidentally married a software mogul.”

“How did you accidentally marry him?” I puzzle, trying to figure out what she means.

“Wait, I didn’t actually mean that the way that it sounds. I didn’t accidentally marry him — I accidentally fell in love. When we first met, I wasn’t even sure he wasn’t scamming me because he was trying to tell me that I was somebody I wasn’t or at least I thought I wasn’t. Then, he was trying to give me money and expensive gifts all the time,” she explains. “Who does that? It took me a while to figure all that stuff out but by the time I did, it was too late, I was already head over heels in love with him. So, that’s how I fell in love with a software developer who has more money than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“Were you rich too?” I ask, my curiosity getting the better of me.

“Oh, Geez, no!” Rogue exclaims. “I grew up on food stamps and visiting the food bank. My mom tried incredibly hard, but she was a single mom and sometimes the ends just didn’t meet.”

“Was it hard to get used to your new lifestyle?” I ask, fascinated by her rags-to-riches story. I’ve read books with this storyline and seen it in movies, but I’ve never actually met someone who experienced it.

Rogue gives me a small smile and admits, “It definitely grows on you.”

Rogue tears a piece of paper off the tablet that she’s been working on and holds it up for me to see. I didn’t even realize that she’d been drawing the whole time we’ve been talking. It’s like she pulled the picture out of my imagination. Her drawing is better than anything I brought in — it’s floaty and free with movement. It’s simply perfect.

“How do we get that from there to here?” I inquire, pointing to my back.

“I’ll make a stencil for the rings, and freehand the rest. How ticklish are you?”

“I don’t really know. I haven’t really had to rate myself against other people. I guess my ribs are a little tender,” I answer with a shrug.

“I suppose we’ll see,” Rogue remarks. “Do you need to go to the changing room?”

“I think I’m good,” I reply as I shrug off the jean jacket to reveal my leather halter top. It ties at the neck and at my waist leaving my entire back bare. Although it used to belong to my mom in the late 80s, it leaves a great deal to be desired in the modesty department. I cross my arm over my chest as I sit up, mindful of all of the alarmingly handsome guys that tend to wander around the tattoo shop. However, a quick look around confirms that none of them are paying me any mind. I have a quick mental laugh at my own expense. I should’ve expected as much.

Rogue returns to the chair with a tray of colors and brightly colored gloves on. She studies me quickly and queries, “Ready?” She gestures for me to lie down on her bench. “Lie face down, please. Your arms can be in any position you’d like until I ask you to move. Any questions?”

Suddenly, an attack of nerves hits and I blurt, “On a scale of one to ten — how bad is this going to hurt?”

“Pain is an individual thing, I’ve had really young women in here do just fine with traditionally tough spots like ribs and the top of the feet and I’ve had big tough biker dudes practically fainting from pain over a run-of-the-mill tattoo. DJ said you were a real trooper with your ankle tattoo, so I don’t expect you to have any trouble with this one.”

“Okay, I’ll try to focus on something other than the pain. I’m just being a wimp, I know.”

“Don’t beat yourself up too much, back pieces are daunting. Marcus is all kinds of upset with me because I don’t have one yet. Everybody here thinks it’s funny that I’m a tattoo artist, but I don’t have any substantial work yet. Before I was married, it was because I used to do modeling on the side and having no tattoos made it easier for me to book work, but now it’s just because I’m waiting for the perfect inspiration to strike me.”

I climb on the table and lie face down before I mumble into the pillow, “Wow, that surprises me. I thought everybody who worked at a place like this was covered in tattoos — but I understand what you mean about inspiration. My pieces mean something specific to me.”

“You mentioned you were celebrating good news?” Rogue probes.

I smile as I brag, “Yeah, I just received confirmation today that I’ve officially earned my Masters Degree in Elementary Education with an emphasis in Mathematics and Special Ed.”

A wave of sadness overtakes me as I realize that Rogue, a perfect stranger, is the first person I’ve actually told my good news to. I have no one else left. Wow. I mean, I guess I knew that. Still, to put it in such stark terms, that on the happiest day I’ve had so far in my life, I’ve got no one to share it with except a random stranger who’s going to draw pretty pictures on my skin. That’s just sad.
Good way to bum yourself out, Shel.

I’m confused and a little embarrassed when Rogue hops up on her chair and announces in a loud voice, “I have good news over here at Station Four! What do we do at Ink’d Deep if someone has good news?”
 

Everyone in the whole tattoo place starts to whistle, applaud and stomp their feet as they answer, “We celebrate!”

“What’s the good news, Ro?” a guy covered in tattoos asks.

“Marcus, I’m glad you asked. My extremely bright client — who incidentally I share with DJ, is going to teach math to elementary school kids. She just earned her Master’s degree. Let us ring the bell of prosperity and success.”

Marcus reaches above his head and rings an old firehouse bell.
 

“I’m ringing this three times for good luck,” he explains. When he finishes, everyone in the place stands up to give me an ovation. I’ve never had a standing ovation before. Ever.

During all the chaos, I managed to sit up and wrap a towel around myself. I am looking around the shop in absolute amazement as everyone is still clapping and smiling at me. The guy with the movie-star-good-looks is watching me intently. When I catch him studying me, he smiles at me and gives me a small salute.

Rogue hops down off the chair and grins at me as she declares, “That was fun. I haven’t had a chance to do that in a while. Last time I used the bell, a woman was letting her husband know that they were expecting triplets. He wasn’t so sure it was good news.”

“It’s definitely the first time anything like this has ever happened for me. When I graduated from my undergraduate program, I just got my diploma in the mail. Nobody knew it except me. It was kind of a bummer. I just ate a frozen TV dinner by myself in my apartment watching reruns of
Millionaire Matchmaker
.”

“Next time you have good news, you’ll have to stop by here. We do good news justice around here—” Rogue suggests.

“I’m not sure what’s next, I’m going to do a traveling teaching program for a little while. I’m headed to the Ninth Ward in Louisiana for a couple months this summer. I don’t know if that’s going to turn into a job; I suppose it could. I just don’t know if they can afford to pay me and I need to eat and pay back student loans.”

“Oh, I so understand where you’re coming from. Before I met Tristan, I was doing college on the one-course-at-a-time plan. I’m still working on finishing my degree.” She pauses for a moment before asking, “Do you mind if I call a colleague over? I’m having a little bit of trouble with positioning your stencil.”

“No, go right ahead. I’m just going to grab a little bit of water,” I respond. I’m confused because Rogue seemed so sure of herself, she didn’t seem at all timid like Delaney Jane. I saw her portfolio on the website. I know she’s not a beginner by any stretch of the imagination.

When I see them walking in my direction, I lie back down and stretch out. I’m a little disconcerted by the grim expression on Rogue’s face. The mirth and lightheartedness from a few moments ago has vanished. I wonder if I said something to offend her, I can’t imagine what it would have been. She didn’t seem upset that I was going to Louisiana.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, I’d like Jade to take a look at your back, if that’s all right with you,” Rogue explains. “This is Jade, my boss.”
 

“Oh, I wasn’t really waiting all that long. I used to spend longer than this in tanning beds. It was nice to have a moment to myself. I’ve been so busy with graduation that I haven’t really had a chance to even stop and think about things. I’ve got so much to do before my trip to Louisiana
 
that my head hurts even thinking about it.”

Suddenly I realized I was babbling and I went silent.

“Shelby, do you mind if I look at your back?” Jade asks.

“I don’t have a problem with that. Go ahead and do whatever it is that you need to do.”

Rogue uncovers me and begins talking about me, “I noticed the area right above where her bra strap would be. That’s the most acute, but she’s got a few others with inconsistent texture. They don’t appear to be painful because I touched them with my stencil pen and she didn’t seem to react,” Rogue tells her boss.
 

Jade changes out her gloves to another set of neoprene gloves. I can feel her running her hands over my back. Eventually, she looks over at Rogue and nods slightly.

“What does that mean?” I ask, my panic level rising. “It’s usually not this hard for me to get a tattoo. Is it because I chose a dream catcher? Is there some sort of religious prohibition against it?”

“No, not that I know of,” Rogue replies, in that weird tone that parents use when they’re about ready to give you bad news. “Shelby, based on our experience, we think you should see a doctor about your back. There seems to be something unusual going on.”

“What do you mean, ‘based on your experience’? What happened? I thought you hadn’t even started tattooing yet.” I hammer them with a barrage of questions.

Jade shifts, uncomfortably and it seems like she’s not going to answer my question, but then she says, “We see lots of skin every day and we see a lot of different stuff. We just think it might be a good idea to play it safe and have it checked out. Hopefully it’s nothing.”

“Are you saying you can’t tattoo the dream catcher on my back?” I repeat, still bewildered.

“I think perhaps what she’s saying is right now the timing isn’t right,” Tall Cute Guy interjects.

“You don’t even know me. What could you possibly know about my life?” I ask, somewhat rhetorically, stunned that he would have an opinion about my life.
 

“I know nothing — except that you can’t change what will be,” he pronounces with scary authority.

I REALLY WISH I WOULD'VE stayed in bed this morning. Oh wait, I couldn't because the TV was blaring loud enough to drown out jet engines on a military base.
Damn, why couldn't those wireless headphones work for Ketki?
It's always so hit-and-miss with her. She had one set of headphones that didn't seem to bother her, but after those broke, I've been sorry-outta-luck. I even wrote to the manufacturer of the crazy things to see if they could help me locate some more. They wrote me a form letter telling me that their stock was limited to what they had on hand and they helpfully included a coupon for newer models. Newer models don't help me. Clearly, they don't understand what it's like to be a single parent of a child with autism.

My day continued to deteriorate rapidly. After I got to work this morning, I found out that we lost a case that we should've won on summary judgment because the new associate I’ve been mentoring missed a filing deadline. Garrett Treadwell may think he is God’s gift to the legal community, but he might want to nail down the basics first. The person we were representing was in dire need of those years of back pay.