Chapter 14 #2
Harriet groans, pulling her phone out of her back pocket. “His last message said he had dropped the price to $900, but I can talk to him. See if I can get him to accept payments.”
$900… Tight, but doable.
“Yeah, send me his info. I’ll get it set up. Thank you,” I thank her earnestly and kiss her cheek.
“Make sure you get a helmet and one for your girl, too. I won’t be standing over your casket saying “I told you so”, you understand?” she points at me.
“Consider me well and fully threatened,” I say with a smile and hold up both of my hands.
“I’m going to go grab her some stuff,” Harriet declares and I start to interject, but she cuts me off. “Not a lot, nothing crazy. Just girl stuff. Shampoo, a hair brush, tooth brush, tampons, female underwear so she doesn’t have to wear your freaking boxers—that kind of thing.”
I take a deep breath and nod. I hadn’t quite gotten that far, but she’s right.
“Okay. Thank you.” I put my hand on Harriet’s shoulder and pull her in for a hug.
“I want to be the first person she meets though.”
“Oh you will. I promise. After I’m done with this walk-in, I’ll ask her and maybe we’ll stop by at close. Okay?”
Harriet nods once like she’s temporarily placated and cups my cheek fondly.
“Take care of her.”
“I will. I swear.”
Harriet turns and walks out the door, and I watch the girl watch me with a narrowed expression. One that I’m not even going to give any energy into figuring out. Stepping to the side, I grab the tablet we draw our designs on to print them off and get to work.
“Alright, I’m ready for you.” I wave the girl over to show her the design. Exactly what she wanted, and ready to be printed onto a stencil.
“Oh perfect, thank you Ty,” she gushes, putting her hand over mine.
I quickly move it.
“Good. I’ll print it off and we’ll get started. Come on back and get seated. It shouldn’t be a long tattoo, maybe an hour.”
This girl, I’m not even bothering to learn her name, hums like she’s trying to goad me by saying, “We’ll see.”
I walk to the printer, and I hear her push open the saloon door that separates the lobby and the back. Once she’s gone, I start swearing in Spanish under my breath.
This is going to be so fucking bad. I’m already done with her and I have to touch her for an hour. Fuck my life. Fuck my job. Fuck my past, immature, drunk self who thought hooking up would help me get over Roxie. Goddamn it.
“I haven’t heard you let out a string of curses like that in a while. You okay?” Asher steps up behind me, speaking quietly as he reaches for the forms by the printer.
“I just want to get this done with. Is Roxie okay?”
“Yeah, she ate. Nearly fucking bit off my finger when I tried to take a fry, but she ate. Now she’s working on an art piece. She’s talented.”
“I know,” I smirk with pride.
“Um, Ty?” The girl at my station calls out loudly across the room and I do everything in my power to not have my shoulders drop in annoyance or defeat.
I have to be a professional. I have to be a professional.
I cannot tell this girl to fuck off. I cannot tell this girl to fuck off. No matter how much I fucking want to.
“Be right there,” I try to say in a polite voice but it sounds fake-as-shit to my ears.
“You sure you don’t want me to…” Asher says, but I cut him off.
“I got it.”
I take the printed design and head over to my station where she’s sitting on the chair, straddling the seat like she thinks she can lay back at all.
Her long tan legs hang on either side, exposed in the jean shorts she’s wearing.
Thank god she’s already got a tanktop on because I would probably throw her out if she tried to take off her shirt for a shoulder piece.
“You can sit with your back against the seat. It’s not a big deal,” I say, sitting on my stool and pulling clean gloves on, bringing my tray over close where all my ink and stuff is sitting.
“No, that’s okay.” She watches me move, and I can see she’s arching her back so her ass pushes out further. Taking a deep breath, I try my very best not to shake my head. What the fuck?
This might have enticed me a while ago, simply because I was lonely and she’s clearly throwing signs out. But now? No. Hell no. No way I’m entertaining this whatsoever.
Instead, I shut down. Instead of asking her to move, or anything, I just start shaving her shoulder and getting the setting cream on before laying the stencil over top and handing her a mirror to see.
“Good?” I ask monotone as shit.
“Well,” she looks in the mirror, moving her blonde hair over her shoulder in a way that she did that night. And when I actually look at her, I can see that she knows what she’s doing. “What do you think? Is it sexy?”
“It’s not my tattoo.”
“But you could look at it,” she says huskily, “or bite my shoulder again if you wanted.”
“Let’s get one fucking thing straight, okay?” I say with an undertone of anger as I yank the mirror from her hand. “Whatever happened in the past, happened in the past. This naked selfie, loaded innuendos, the touching and shit? Done. There will be no more. Or I’ll kick you out.”
“I’m paying you,” she scoffs, cheeks red like she didn’t expect me to call her out.
“You haven’t yet. And does it look like I fucking care?” I growl, my eyes narrow at her. There’s no doubt that she understands my stance now.
“Ty,” she says softly, scoffing like she can’t believe what I’m telling her.
“Do you understand? Or do I need to ban you?”
Her blue eyes harden and I know that instead of trying to get into my pants now, she’s going to make my life a living hell.
“You don’t even know who I am, do you?” Her tone is icy, angry.
“Nope,” I say with a look on my face that says I’m at peace with my answer.
No worry about her feelings, or that I’ve ‘lost my chance with her’.
I dip my machine into the black ink and turn it on, the familiar, comforting vibration in my hand telling me I’m about to create a piece of art, even if it’s on someone I don’t care for. “Ready?”
“Let’s get it over with,” she snaps and looks forward, her whole demeanor shifting from ‘fuck me’, to ‘fuck you’.
And I can finally breathe easier.
With that I get to work. I get maybe fourty-five seconds in and this chick grumbles and turns to look at me.
“So, what, I was just some hookup?”
I breathe in deeply through my nose, but don’t stop tattooing. I want this chick out of here.
“We hooked up maybe six months ago and I haven’t called, or texted you. Yeah, it was a hookup,” I say the words plainly, not hiding behind anything.
“That’s a dick move.”
I give one burst of humorless laughter and shake my head. “You didn’t seem to complain until you walked in here thinking you could act like a bitch and that I’d fall over myself for you. When, in reality, I don’t even remember your name.”
“You motherfucker,” she snarls, and I take it. I’m a dick and I know it, but I’m not going to hide it. Especially when this little temper tantrum has the possibility to ruin the only thing I’ve ever wanted. Roxie.
“Do you want the tattoo or not?” I ask, giving her one last out.
“Just do it.”
“Good.” I nod and get back to work.
In silence.
Time passes quickly as I’m able to get the whole outline done, before trouble starts brewing.
I see Roxie’s head peak from the door to the backroom and my attention immediately goes to where she’s standing. My breath catches slightly at the sight of her and I hide a smile that she’s here. She’s here.
“What are you smiling at?” the bitchy girl under my hands snaps at me, and my smile drops immediately. Fuck.
Roxie looks around, looking for something, but her eyes land on mine and she smiles. She actually fucking smiles and it takes my breath away.
“Oh god, who is that?” The girl I shall start calling Bitchy Bessie in my head, scoffs when Roxie walks out from the backroom and to the bathroom.
“That’s my girl,” I declare proudly. The words sounding so fucking good coming from my mouth.
“That’s your girl? That beat up tramp?” Bessie rolls her eyes, shaking her head as my entire fucking body goes taunt with tension.
She doesn’t get it. Doesn’t feel it. Because she just keeps fucking talking.
“I didn’t think you were quite that physical, Ty. I guess I didn’t get the ‘fighter special’.” She gives me this disgusting half-nose scrunch, half-pitying smirk, like she’s discovered what she’s going to do. And I grip the machine in my hand a little harder.
“Shut the fuck up,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Or what?” She scoffs, speaking louder, just as Roxie leaves the bathroom. “Are you going to hit me? I might have let you do that when you were railing me, might have made it better. Apparently you like that.”
“Excuse me?” Roxie snaps, her eyes finding mine quickly. I fight my instinct to shut down and throw my guard up, but to try and show her that there’s nothing she needs to worry about with this bitch. “What the fuck did you just say?”
Bessie smiles sinisterly, like she’s gotten the fight she wanted.
“I said, that when he was fucking me, I’d probably have let him hit me had I known he would get off on that, but it looks like you are getting the beatings outside of the bedroom, too.”
I swear to god, everything in the shop pauses. Everything just…stops. I see Asher sitting upright; not even pretending to work and watching the drama unfold, the client on his table looking at what’s happening with both eyes open.
To be honest, I was expecting Roxie to grumble. Maybe get embarrassed and walk away.
But I should’ve known better.
Roxie Westin doesn’t take shit. From anyone.
Instead, her fist snaps out so fast I barely see it, but I definitely hear the sound of Bessie’s nose breaking.
“Excuse the fuck out of me? Want to try that shit again?” Roxie snaps, leaning over the blonde girl who dropped to the floor wailing, and holding her nose. I drop the tattoo gun, barely remembering to turn it off before it hits the tray.