Shore Leave (Good With His Hands: Season 2)

CHAPTER 1

THREE MONTHS AGO - FEbrUARY

EMERY

My heart is racing a little as I rush through the doors of The Sanctuary. Even though I’m running late and feeling a little frazzled, I still take a moment and take in the renovated historic church. The original stained-glass window is gorgeous, and worth appreciating. It might be a bar now, which probably has someone rolling over in their grave somewhere, but the restoration is top notch, and the church wasn’t lost to time and the pitfalls of New Orleans weather.

We’ve lost enough while the city has had to endure the battering of Mother Nature. Being able to have something still standing and solid underneath us is a testament to how deep the roots go and how much people love this city. It’s ingrained in us to have pride in it and to take care of it where and when we can.

The pride we have in our city, the deeply ingrained love we have which you can practically taste in the air, is one of the reasons I’ve never considered leaving the city. Where else would I go? It was a question I could never answer and so I stopped asking.

The only time I strongly considered it was when I was thinking about going to art school, but then I started working at a tattoo shop as a receptionist. One job was all I needed to find my passion. The moment I became an apprentice, I never looked back.

It hasn’t been easy, especially since there are so many men in the industry who look down on a woman using a tattoo gun. Hell, there are still people who look down on me for the tattoos I have, and there sure as fuck are men who have a hell of a lot more than I do. I don’t give a fuck about those people since they aren’t my people. From my perspective, it’s a man’s industry, which sucks, even though they have no issues with using women as sexy canvases.

What can I say? My life is filled with navigating double standards.

I’ve had to do it for so long that it almost feels like second nature at this point.

Then there is the sexual harassment men in my industry think is a-okay to heap upon my shoulders. It’s never gone too far, but the way my boss leers at me is not okay. Can I say that to him? Not if I want to keep my chair at his shop.

One I pay for the privilege of using.

At this point, I’m just trying to build up my client base, my social media presence, and my bank account. The moment I can afford to get my own shop, even if it’s small, I’m making my dreams into reality.

It can’t come soon enough.

When a hand rises from the back of the room, I can’t help but smile at the enthusiastic way Amelia Banks is waving at me. I met her a few years ago at one of the biggest tattoo conventions in the country. It’s in Vegas and fucking huge.

I might have been there under the banner of the shop I work at, but I was mostly there to network and keep an eye on the talent in my industry. Amelia isn’t a tattoo artist, but we became fast friends—the kind which can’t be faked.

Meeting her made all my networking dreams come true because she introduced me to her husband, Beckett Banks, and the rest of the artists in his shop. We make sure to catch up when we’re at the convention and keep in touch throughout the rest of the year, but it’s not enough, honestly.

Beckett even asked me if I was interested in making a move to Denver, where they live, because he was more than willing to take me on as an artist or get me in touch with Wyatt James who owns Vibrant Ink in Denver. If only I was willing to leave New Orleans.

Still, if shit doesn’t change where I’m working, I might take him up on the offer.

When I’m close enough, Amelia is out of her chair and wrapping me up in a hug that has peace settling over me. I don’t know how she does it, but it’s something I’ve needed to feel lately.

There aren’t nearly enough people in my corner and everyday the weight of that settles around me a little more with that stark reminder. My parents hate my career choice and they cut me out of their lives years ago because of it. I don’t think it would have been so bad, but between my sister, Jennifer, and I, I was the good girl.

They already felt like she was a lost cause and they put all their hopes and dreams of a successful future on me. Then I told them I wasn’t going to go to art school, which they weren’t fully on board with from the jump and become a tattoo artist. Yeah, they weren’t happy.

At least I have my aunt in my corner. Hell, even my own sister is lost to me. After catching her fucking my high school boyfriend the summer after graduation, even though we were destined to break up and she was two years older than us, I said to hell with her. It wasn’t the first time she betrayed me or hurt me, but it was the last straw. She’s tried to hit me up for cash since then, but I always turn her down and turn her away.

A pang of regret hits me in the middle of my chest with the thought. My own blood can’t have my back and tried to destroy me with their selfishness. Amelia can’t possibly know my thoughts, but she hugs me tighter all the same.

“It’s so good to see you, Emery,” she gushes, the sincerity in her words making tears sting the backs of my eyes.

“I’ve missed you,” I whisper, hating the hitch in my voice as I admit the truth.

There’s just soothing something about her. Maybe it’s her nurturing nature. Maybe it’s the way she can look at someone and see more than what is on the surface. Maybe it’s because she understands how life can be cruel, but also incredibly beautiful. I don’t know and it doesn’t matter because it’s just part of her magic and I’m damn lucky to know her.

Amelia pulls back from me slightly, her hands gripping my shoulders as she looks into my eyes while searching them for… something. “If you need something, you know you only have to ask.” She gives me a cheeky smile and leans a little closer like she has a secret before whispering, “I have a friend who recently met some bikers who are out of New Orleans. I’m sure I could track them down and get their help if there’s someone fucking with you.”

My eyes widen before she wags her eyebrows comically and the weight on my shoulders, which normally feels suffocating, evaporates and my head tips back as I laugh. Fuck. When was the last time I really laughed? Probably the last time I was on the phone with her.

See? Magic.

I shake my head at my friend and then look over at Beckett who has come up next to us. He’s not looking at me though, he’s staring at his woman, his wife, and the other half of his soul. The look of wonder, awe, and love on his face is clear to see and there’s no way anyone could question how he feels about the spitfire of a woman who is giggling right along with me.

“You know we’re in a bar owned by an MC right now,” I tease her, and she looks around quickly, her eyes lighting up.

“Oh,” she bites her lip as she looks at a guy wearing a leather cut who I noticed sitting at the bar when I walked in, “I think it’s the same club, actually. Too bad Lark isn’t here. It only took one meeting and she decided her next romance series at to be about alpha bikers.”

“Maverick was not thrilled,” Beckett rumbles before he flashes me a grin and pulls me gently from his wife’s clutches. His arms are strong and remind me of family as he wraps me up in a hug. There’s not a hint of jealousy on Amelia’s face, not like there should be, as I hug him back. “It’s good to see you away from the convention, Emery,” he mumbles.

I grin up at him before he ushers us over to the table where I notice a drink waiting for me. Amelia winks at me with a casual shrug before I can even ask about it. I should have known; she’s thoughtful like that.

“How are you liking my city so far?”

Amelia lights up and gets a faraway look in her eyes. “It’s gorgeous. I love all the history here. Denver is amazing, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve always had a soft spot for old Southern cities.” She grimaces slightly, “And, while I know it’s a draw, I’m glad we didn’t come during Mardi Gras.”

Beckett kisses the side of her head before resting his large hand at the nape of her neck like he can’t keep his hands to himself. “I’m glad too, Baby. This way we aren’t fighting tourists and can see more of the city.”

I can’t help but smile because they’re still tourists. “And you don’t have to dodge drunken frat guys,” I point out and shudder.

They’re the fucking worst. The number of people who don’t understand I can’t tattoo them when they’re drunk off their asses is kind of wild. I get it, they were dared or they’re over their fear of needles because of liquid courage, but I’m not risking my career over that shit. No fucking way.

Amelia nods sagely as we take a sip of our drinks. “How is it being away from the kids?”

Amelia winces slightly and I get it. It’s clear how much she loves her kids, but not the ones she has with her husband. The rest of the Banks Ink. crew and their extended family--which includes some super huge former military guys who run a security firm and the guys from the band Suburban Outcasts—have a fucking gaggle of kids between them. Not everyone goes to Vegas for the convention every year, but the year I met them they were all there and it was wild. They all love those kids and help each other out; they’re like their own village of a family and it’s sweet as fuck.

“It’s strange. I miss them,” Amelia smiles softly, “but I’m also really enjoying having this time away.”

“Not just from the kids either, I’m sure,” I tease her because some of the adults of the group don’t always act like it.

Amelia’s smile widens and she nods. “I’m surprised we didn’t find Troy in our suitcases when we arrived here.”

I bark out a laugh, knowing that if he could have figured out a way to do it, he would have. Well, at least if Ellie, the wife he shares with his best friend, Walsh, wouldn’t have found him first. When I first met the triad, I was a little shocked, but it works for them. The guys clearly love their woman and their kids, but it’s also clear that the bonds of friendship between Walsh and Troy are strong. The more time I spent around them, the more sense it made.

We fall into an easy conversation about work, life, their vacation, and any antics their family has been up to. It’s relaxing even when their stories pull at a part of me that I wish could be fulfilled in my everyday life. I miss the way they have a family surrounding them. It’s something I haven’t had in so damn long and I’m not sure I’m getting any closer to it with every passing day.

I put so much time into my apprenticeship and then working that I lost touch with a lot of people from school. I doubt those friendships could have lasted anyway, but still. The the guys I work with aren’t my friends. I’ve tried being friends with some of my clients, here and there, but there’s a line in the sand I’ve drawn between us to keep things professional.

While we’re talking, I can feel eyes on me, but I ignore it, even though Amelia’s eyes light up and her gaze keeps going over my shoulder. When it’s my turn to get us a round of drinks, she gives me a knowing smirk before I can head over to the bar.

The moment I turn around, I’m met with aquamarine eyes and a chiseled jaw with a hint of scruff on it. Then there are the muscles the long sleeved henley the man is wearing underneath his leather cut can’t hide from my gaze. It’s the same man I noticed at the bar earlier, but I didn’t look twice at him then. Now I can’t seem to look away.

My legs feel like jelly as I move toward him, not even realizing he’s pulling me in like a magnet. This shit can’t be normal. When was the last time I felt this kind of instant attraction to a man?

I swallow hard and force myself to stand next to him at the bar instead of walking right between his spread thighs. That would be too forward and fucking strange. Right? Yeah, for sure it would be. That would not be normal behavior.

I’m pretty sure.

Honestly, now that I’m standing next to him and take in the leather with a hint of the ocean scent I’m getting from him, my mind is getting foggier with every breath I take. I try and shake it off as I flash a grin at the bartender.

“Darlin’,” the man drawls next to me, and I find myself, again, looking into his eyes. I’m entranced by the color of them and the way flecks of blue and green interact to create something magical, something I’ve never seen before.

When his mouth kicks up into a small smirk, I realize I’ve been staring at him. And for far too long. “Hi,” I squeak and immediately wish I could run away.

His eyes sparkle with something like amusement, but they’re soft like he’s not judging me. He leans a little closer to me, and while I should want to put distance between us, it’s the last thing I want. “I’ve been watching you for a while, Darlin’,” he drawls. “I couldn’t take my eyes off you,” he admits, his voice dropping conspiratorially.

My eyes widen and my cheeks heat with his words. When was the last time I blushed? I’ve hardened myself from reacting to the guys at the shop where I work because they’re crass just to try and get a reaction out of me. One compliment from this man and I’m turning pink?

Holy hell.

I glance at him and take in the name stitched on his cut. Driller. I don’t know if I should scrunch up my nose at his road name or if I should be curious. Probably a little bit of both.

Before I can ask about it, or even come up with something to say, I feel a hand on my elbow. I look over to find Amelia with a knowing smile playing on her lips. “It’s been a long day for us, what with seeing some sights, so we need to call it a night.” I glance over her shoulder to find Beckett eyeing Driller with narrowed eyes, not at all intimidated by the biker. “Do you want to grab a ride with us? We’re grabbing one back to the hotel, but we can drop you anywhere,” she offers kindly.

“How about you stay and have one drink with me, Darlin’?” Driller’s voice is smooth and sultry, causing my skin to break out into goosebumps. Amelia’s smile widens as I bite my lip and look over at him. There’s something like hope in his eyes which has my heart flipping in my chest. “Just one drink, then I’ll make sure you get home safely.”

Amelia gives my elbow a squeeze like she’s encouraging me to accept his offer. I admit, I want to. But I also know she won’t leave me here if I’m not sure.

“One drink,” I agree.

Driller smiles and it feels like I can’t breathe. What the fuck is happening to me?

“Great,” Amelia chirps. She leans in and whispers, “If you change your mind, call me and we’ll be back here in a matter of minutes. But give him a chance. He hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you since you sat down with us.”

When she pulls back, she nods slightly. We say our goodbyes with the promise to meet up for dinner before they leave town. Before they even walk out of The Sanctuary, Driller has pulled my attention back to him. Suddenly, I’m nervous and the only question I have is a simple one.

Now what?