14. Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fourteen
Deacon
I’d made the drive to Laramie plenty of times, but never like this. Sugar and spice spiked the air in my cab, along with grisly details of a serial killer.
Phoebe Kelly had a keen interest in true crime. When she’d hopped in the truck, she’d asked if I’d like to listen to one of her favorite podcasts. I’d had no clue what I’d been in for, but by the time I’d parked my truck outside the tattoo shop, I couldn’t say I wasn’t invested in the story.
I turned off the engine, and Phoebe twisted in her seat. “Well? Did you hate that?”
I chuckled. “Didn’t hate it. Wondering where you hide your darkness under all that pink.”
She looked down at her jeans, dark-pink sweater with the ends of a floral T-shirt poking out the bottom, and pink suede sneakers. Then there were the dainty little rose earrings and floral headband pushing her hair back from her rosy-cheeked face. I would’ve never guessed this woman would enjoy listening to the fine details of a murder spree.
She lifted her head, grinning. “I guess you know my favorite color, but I don’t think I’m dark on the inside.”
“I don’t think you are either,” I agreed. From what I’d gleaned, her core was just as soft and pink. “That’s why I’m surprised you like listening to this kind of thing.”
“I get it. But you know, women are actually the top consumers of true crime. I once read a theory it’s because most women’s worst nightmare is to be taken, hurt, or violated, and learning about true crime is a safe way of understanding the psychology behind the perpetrators so we can protect ourselves.”
When Phoebe spoke, she took care with how she formed her words. Her plush, rosy lips moved with precision, and when I looked into her eyes, I could almost see her brain working. I’d never known anyone who’d expressed their thoughts the way she did. I kept catching myself leaning closer so I didn’t miss anything she said.
“Do you think that’s true?” I asked, wanting to keep her talking.
“Probably. On some level.” She rubbed her lips together like she was revving her engine. “I’m a curious person. Learning about others so inherently different from me is fascinating. And you know what it’s like growing up in a small town. I love most parts, but I’ve been intentional about keeping my world big. It would be too easy to think the people I see every day are all that’s out there.”
Before I could tell her how rare that way of thinking was, especially around here, someone knocked on my window. I whipped my head around, finding a face plastered against the glass.
“Shit,” I muttered. “I wanna keep talking to you, but there’s not a chance he’ll leave us be.”
Phoebe leaned around me to check out the idiot with his cheek smooshed against my window. “I hope you know him.”
“That’s Jett.”
Jett had been giving me tattoos since I was twenty. He’d been just starting out in the business, and I’d had no money at all, so we’d worked out a barter system. I’d built furniture for his shop, and he’d covered my body in art. I’d always thought I’d gotten the sweeter end of the deal, but he’d disagree.
Soon as I stepped onto the sidewalk, Jett swept me into a hug so tight, my ribs creaked. Hugs weren’t something I’d had an abundance of in my life, but I took it even though I wasn’t too sure what to do with my arms or face.
“Happy as hell to see you, man.” He slapped my back hard enough to take my breath away. “Real, real happy.”
When he pulled back, he looked me over, a wide grin on his face. “Dear god, you’re skinny. They forget to feed you in there?”
“Food was shit,” I muttered, aware Phoebe was witnessing our interaction.
“Figured it wouldn’t be great. You need to come around more often and eat Mama’s cooking. She’ll fatten you up on her tamales and carne asada. Mmmm, I’m getting hungry just thinking about it.” He glanced over my shoulder. “You know there’s a pretty girl standing by your truck?”
“That’s Phoebe.”
His brows popped. “Oh shit. Your girl?”
“Friend. Just a friend,” I grunted.
But Jett was already off, shaking her hand with the enthusiasm of a kid in a candy store. And it was no surprise Phoebe was into it. Everyone liked Jett. It was a good thing he wasn’t into women, or I’d probably lose her to him.
Christ, what was I even thinking? I’d have to have her in order to lose her, and we weren’t there. Phoebe wanted to be friends. She’d made that clear. And I wouldn’t have had the first idea of what to do with a woman like her.
I strode back to my truck as Jett draped his arm around Phoebe. She was already telling him about her bakery, clearly having no problem with it.
I did.
I opened the tailgate. “Jett. You want to help me get this out?”
“Oh, yeah, man.” He gave Phoebe a squeeze. “Let’s see what kind of magic this guy has made for me.”
Phoebe followed him to the rear of the truck, both peering in to see what I had strapped in the bed.
I’d built most of the furniture in the shop, but Jett had decided to go with some shitty chrome monstrosity for his reception desk. Just like I’d expected, it hadn’t aged well, so I’d built him a new one. He’d tried to decline, but the man had spent countless hours adding ink to my body. As far as I was concerned, we weren’t close to even.
Jett ran his hand over the smooth walnut top. “Dude. What the hell did you do?”
“Built you a desk, like I told you.”
He blinked. “I was thinking something simple. This is a work of art.”
Phoebe came closer, her soft tits brushing the back of my arm. “Oh my…can I help you guys take it out? I’m dying to see it.”
Jett and I barked, “No,” at the same time. We didn’t agree on a lot of things, but not letting a woman carry something heavy was something we did.
Laughter burst from Phoebe, and she raised her hands. “Okay, I hear you. You guys can do the heavy lifting. I’ll go wait inside.”
Tongue-tied, I watched her strut into the tattoo shop like she’d been there a hundred times. She’d been that way from the first time I’d seen her. Like she knew she’d be welcome in every space she entered. Watching her never failed to fascinate me.
I turned back to the truck, and Jett waggled his brows. “Just a friend, huh?”
“Yep,” I stated.
“I bet you’re hoping not for long.” He nudged me with his elbow. “She’s pretty as hell.”
“I know.” I pushed him toward the tailgate. “Now, are you gonna help me or what?”
In the time it took us to carry the new desk inside, Phoebe had already made a friend in the waiting area. Standing at the flash wall next to a tall, lanky tattooed guy, she was looking at the art. He was looking at her.
She whirled around at the sound of us putting the desk down, her eyes lighting as she took it in. “Oh, wow. Deke…” she whispered, her hands clutched at her chest.
I rubbed my nape. “Yeah?”
She crossed the space, her arm brushing mine. “It’s stunning. I can’t believe you made this with your bare hands.”
“There were a few tools involved too.”
Her laughter was light and tinkling, like a delicate wind chime. “Don’t make jokes. This is gorgeous. You’re a true craftsman.”
Jett clapped a hand on my shoulder. “It’s sick, dude. How in the hell did you brand my logo on the front?”
The desk’s base was built from stained walnut strips. I’d mounted a circular plaque on the front bearing the shop’s branded logo. The top, also walnut, was lacquered to a smooth, glossy finish. It was my first reception desk, and I was pretty damn proud of it. Still, it was nice to know I wasn’t the only one who liked it—even if taking compliments wasn’t my strong suit.
“Trade secret,” I replied wryly. “If I told you, you wouldn’t need me anymore.”
It’d been a lot of work. I’d never done well in school, had never taken an interest, but when it came to woodworking, I always wanted to challenge myself to learn and expand my knowledge.
Jett shook his head. “Nah. Even if you laid it out step by step, I’d never come close to replicating what you do. I’ll stick to the needle, thank you very much.”
“Speaking of needles, you ready to get working on me?”
He jerked, like up until that second, he’d forgotten why I was here. “Yeah. Yeah. Let’s get into it.”
Jett led us deeper into the shop. I trailed behind with Phoebe, pointing out the pieces I’d made years ago. They still looked good. Didn’t seem anything had fallen apart while I’d been locked up.
When we reached Jett’s workstation at the rear of the building, Phoebe hesitated. “Are you sure you want me back here? I can wait up front if you’d rather—”
I caught her wrist before I’d known I was going to reach out, and once I’d closed my fingers around the softest skin I’d ever felt, I wasn’t in a hurry to let go.
“Stay. I’m sure Jett’ll find talking to you a lot more entertaining than just me.” And if she went back to the front, I had no doubt that scuzzy, rat-faced guy would slide right next to her again.
“All right. I’d love to watch.”
I forced my fingers to open and let them slide down the front of her hand. My lungs seized as she rotated her wrist to put us palm to palm. I looked at her. Her eyes were on Jett as he readied his station, but her lips were curved in a small, secret smile.
My index finger twitched, and hers curled, hooking around mine. Her nail grazed the inside of my finger in steady, purposeful movements I felt in my gut, brain, chest…everywhere. Like my nerves had been miswired and she was tripping them again and again.
Felt like I should’ve said something. Or maybe twined my fingers with hers to make her understand just how much I liked what she was doing. Anything other than standing stock-still, staring at the side of her pretty face.
“All right. I’m all ready for you,” Jett announced, prompting Phoebe to let go of her featherlight hold.
Like it had never happened, the moment we’d been having, whatever it was, was done and dusted.