Chapter 35
The humming of his tattoo machine buzzes in the background, but my focus isn’t on the piece he’s doing, it’s on him.
His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, giving me a great view of his forearms. When he tilts his head into the light, I can just make out the faint bluish-purple stain on his neck—it matches the one I have on my wrist, the one that’s been peeking over my latex glove at me all morning, entertaining me with memories from the other night.
We wear our private exploits on our skin not so secretly.
It’s difficult not to glance at him, especially when he keeps looking back.
“Stop staring at me,” he signs.
I grin, moving my hands to reply. “I’m not, I’m checking out that crooked line you just tattooed.”
He shakes his head at me, sticking his tongue into his cheek to keep from smiling, then eyes me up and down. “That skirt isn’t HR appropriate.”
I confirm the client’s lids are closed before signing back. “Good thing I’m fucking HR.”
He glares at me, then roams his penetrating gaze over my body. “You’re asking for trouble.”
I bite my bottom lip. “Do I need to beg too?” This man could bring me to my knees with one look, and he’s all mine. How did I get so lucky?
“Get back to work.”
The bell at the entrance chimes, dragging me from my thoughts.
My client is deaf and coming in for a consultation regarding a tattoo we’ve discussed briefly over email. We’re both stoked about the design.
I really want to do this piece, but I’m still inexperienced when it comes to communicating with my hands. Almost all of my signing is done with Logan, but signing with fluent clients is much more intimidating. What if I sign something wrong? What if he becomes frustrated?
Shaking off the nerves, I step out of my station.
“Psst,” Logan hisses.
I halt my steps at the entrance to his bay, worrying my fingernail. “Hm?”
“You’re going to be fine,” he assures me in a hushed voice. “Just tell him you’re still learning and ask him to sign slower with you. He’ll understand. I’m always here if you need help.”
I nod and give a tight smile. “Thanks,” I say, swallowing down some of the fear. My heart flutters as I continue to the front of the shop.
The thumbnail photo of him in his email makes him easy to spot. He’s over six feet and wearing a white T-shirt showing off a few other tattoos on his arms. I recognize one of them as Logan’s work. “Hi, Will,” I sign in a greeting, then introduce myself—tacking on that I’m slow at signing.
“That’s okay. Thanks for telling me.” He smiles wide, and his understanding floods me with relief.
I invite him back to my station where we sit and discuss the concept of his tattoo a little more thoroughly.
It’s a fierce traditional-style tiger, soaring with tucked-in wings like it’s picking up speed.
In my peripheral, I can tell Logan is keeping an eye on our conversation in case I find myself in a difficult spot.
I hold my tablet and scribble down the technical terms or draw out anything that’s too difficult for me to describe.
I’m slower, but my client is relaxed, which helps keep my thoughts calm.
Will is kind, engaged, and patient above all. After five minutes, I find myself grinning like an idiot at how easily my brain is translating what he’s saying. It’s amazing!
When I edit the rough sketch I had prepared for our meeting, he nods enthusiastically. “You’re very talented. This is exactly what I pictured.”
I remember to express my excitement through my hands and not just my voice because I want to jump up and down.
We discuss placement on his calf and the sizing. It will probably take two sessions based on the work needing to be completed, one session for the outlining, then another for color.
He points to the spot on my wrist. “Paint?” he asks.
Logan snorts from behind me.
“Yeah.” I chuckle. “I was painting last night.”
Will tells me he paints too, and asks if I was working on anything special.
“It’s . . . A-B-S-T-R-A-C-T,” I sign, spelling it out because I’ve forgotten how to sign it. His question catches me off guard and has me stumbling. “Very messy. Lots of texture.”
“Cool,” he replies.
I move off that topic quickly, explaining what our next steps would be, then bring him back up to the front so we can get him on my books. After getting his deposit, we say goodbye.
I return to my station and slump into the chair, clutching my tablet and adding a few extra notes to the sketch with a smile on my face. I did it.
“Told you you’d be fine,” he says. I rotate my chair to find Logan standing in the aisle, leaning forward with his arms folded on top of the wall divider, wearing a sexy smile. “Nice save on the paint question.”
He unfolds his arms to sign, “Proud of you.”
“I like when you say that.” There’s something about his praise that’s hot, even when it’s for something as mild-mannered as a successful ASL conversation.
He waggles his eyebrows, signing, “You like when I do a lot of things.”
My mouth drops open, and he smiles to himself on the way back to his office. Cocky bastard. I’m shaking my head when my phone buzzes, so I glance down at it to see a text from Rosa.
Rosa
Hey! I’m going to be in town for work. Wanna grab drinks?
Oh good! I’m hoping I can introduce her to Thor at some point. She sounded down after we had our conversation about men.
Casper and Thor are single, but Casper at least spends his free time doing things he enjoys, like jumping out of planes or snowboarding off cliffs.
The guy is an adrenaline junkie. Thor, on the other hand, doesn’t do much outside of work.
I can tell he’s lonely, but with his past, he’s afraid to settle down again.
He and Rosa would be a great fit, they both avoid social media and are both stupidly attractive. I bet they’d hit it off.
Yes! Thursday at nine? Where should we go?
Rosa
The Sable has a hotel bar.
The Sable is upscale. I could use a night of fun without Logan around. He has been hovering more than usual. Maybe if she’s got time she can swing by the shop so I can introduce her to everyone.
Perfect. I need a girls’ night out!
I’m cleaning my station after finishing up with a client when Frankie tiptoes over with a vase of roses. The sanitizer nearly falls out of my hand.
“You got flowers,” she whispers, smiling, and sets them on the desk.
My heart hammers in my chest. Are they from my stalker?
Jason? They seem similar to the crumpled ones I found in the trash that day he showed up at the shop.
On occasion, I’ve received flowers from clients after finishing a big piece.
Maybe that’s all this is. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’m that lucky.
Regretfully, I reach for the note. I don’t want to look.
I break the seal on the envelope and prepare myself for those five fucking words I’ve come to hate so much.
Congratulations to the newlyweds. Till death do you part. XX
Relief floods through me. My shoulders sag and I laugh, slipping the card back into the envelope. Just a wrong delivery.
Spinning on my heel, I peer over at Logan, who is cleaning up after a client session, his eyes already fixed on me.
“Who is that from?” he asks, his voice low and threatening as he crosses the aisle into my workstation.
“Easy, killer. Wrong delivery,” I explain, delighted it’s not something from the stalker.
“We should really tell clients you hate flowers.” He reaches for the card. “You always said flowers are for tattoos, apologies, and funerals,” he recalls, huffing a laugh, and sliding the card from the sleeve.
“I love that you pay attention to those little details.” I chuckle and nudge him with my elbow.
“I need to call the florist and let them know they made a mix-up,” I say, bending over in front of him to pick up a Sharpie—not sure how high my skirt goes, but silly me, I forgot my underwear today—getting his hackles up is my new favorite hobby.
Within seconds, his whole demeanor changes, the smile fades away, and every muscle in his body stiffens. “Where did they come from?” he asks. He flips the card over, stamped with the company logo.
“Lakeland Floral,” I read aloud.
He snatches the vase and takes it to his office.
What the fuck?
I follow behind him. “Is something the matter?” He didn’t react at all when I bent over for him.
He scrubs a hand down his face. “Nothing, I’m just going to call the florist and let them know.”
I blink a few times. Okay? Why is he so upset? My head cocks to the side. “If there’s something you’re not telling me—”
“There’s not.”
We stare at each other for a moment, and I search his eyes for a lie, but he relaxes.
“Can you send Casper in here?” he asks, his voice more casual.
“Sure.” Maybe I misread something. “Oh, hey, guess who I got a text from?”
He freezes. “Who?”
“Rosa! She’s in town. We’re going to get drinks on Thursday!”
“No.” He locks his jaw. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard a firmer no. He said it like it’s not even up for debate.
“I wasn’t asking,” I remind him. “I can go out for drinks with my friends.”
“Absolutely not. I don’t want you out with anyone.”
I bark out a laugh. It was one thing to want me to stay with him, but not letting me go out at all? He can’t be serious. “Logan. It’s Rosa. We’ve been texting since the expo.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not Rosa that’s the problem, my issue is with the person who is sending you messages and now gifts.”
“What are you talking about?” I point at the flowers. “Those aren’t even for me!”
He opens his mouth, then shuts it again, knowing I’m right, then takes a steady inhale and relaxes.
“Look, how about you have her over to your house for drinks. I’ll hang out in one of the bedrooms and read.
You won’t even know I’m there, you can still have your girl time, but I’ll be around in case anything happens. ”
I shake my head. “I deserve freedom. I can’t hide forever, ruled by fear. It already feels like it’s taken too much control of my life. I don’t want to be too afraid to leave the house. Besides, I feel safer being out and about. At home I’m a sitting duck.”
Removing the vase from his hands, I place it gently on one of the nearby file cabinets, then spin to face him again and grasp his shoulders. “Logan. I’m fine. I love that you are being so protective. But please don’t put me in a cage and take away my friends.”
He scrubs a palm down his face and hauls me into his chest. “I’m not trying to put you in a cage.”
“Just one night with drinks.”
His eyes dart back and forth between mine. “I want to know exactly where you are going. If either of you gets a bad vibe or notices anybody hovering, you call me. I also want Rosa’s number.”
“Yes, daddy.” I roll my lips together to keep from smiling. He grumbles. “I’m just trying to keep you safe.”
I rise up on my tiptoes, and he dips his head so I can plant a peck on his lips. “Your protective side is really fucking sexy.”
The sound of a growl rumbles in his chest. “You are driving me crazy today, and I think you know it.”
“Good.”
He flicks his gaze upward and sighs.
“Still want me to send Casper in?” I need to leave his office before he changes his mind.
“Yes.”
The moment I turn on my heel and step into the hall, the door swings shut at my back. Jesus, what a grump. I stop at Casper’s station; he’s disassembling his tattoo machine as I peek my head around the wall. “Logan wants to talk to you when you get a sec. Heads up, he’s in a bad mood.”
“He’s always in a bad mood, Junior. What’s new?”
“Well, this time he copped an attitude with me too.”
Casper raises his eyebrows. “Damn. He must really be pissed.”
I shrug and walk back into my bay. “Probably just needs a snack.”
“Are you volunteering?” he asks with a wink.
“I put in my community service last night,” I admit, giggling. “Maybe you should give it a shot?”
“If only,” he says with a sigh. “Pretty sure y’all are the only ones around here getting laid, so if you could take care of his attitude, I’d be grateful.”