Chapter 2
SHADE
The buzz from the tattoo machine travels up my arm as I start on the final patch of skin I’ve been working on shading for the last three hours. Besides a couple of short breaks, the guy slung over the back of the chair has been pretty fucking solid for me today.
I resist the urge to stretch my fingers out until I need to wipe the ink away from his skin. Back pieces aren’t always as smooth to maneuver as today’s has been, and I owe that all to my client. Sitting in that position can be a pain in the ass, and he hasn’t complained about it.
“We’re just about done,” I tell him, rolling my stool to the left.
My elbow rests beside his spine as I lean in and press the needle back into his skin.
Moving in small sweeping motions, I bring the teal to the shark’s fin, watching as the sketch turns into a piece of art.
This is my favourite part of the job. The journey of turning an idea into something beautiful.
My client, a beefy dude in his early forties named Owen, nods and asks, “You got a mirror for me to take a look?”
Across the shop, I hear a low laugh come from the only other artist I’ll ever work with.
My closest friend is a tidal wave of a woman who gives me a run for my money every day here.
She’s almost as talented as I am with a tattoo machine, and that’s why she’s here, sketching up a design for a client at her station.
“You got something to say, Bryce?” I call, using my paper towel to dab away the extra blue ink.
“Nope.”
“Did I say something funny?” Owen asks.
I shake my head, even though I know he can’t see me. “I don’t take breaks to show incomplete work.”
“Right. You mentioned that.”
“It’s distracting for both of us, that’s all,” I clarify.
Bryce ventures over and hovers, her brutally honest gaze dragging over my work. “He just doesn’t want to risk you telling him something looks like shit.”
Owen tenses, and I pull the needle back before finishing the tail.
“She’s just fucking around,” I tell him before elbowing Bryce’s thigh. “And now, she’s going to take the garbage out back for me.”
Bryce rolls her eyes. “It looks good, Owen. You came to the best.”
“Bye, Bryce,” I say before getting back to work.
Her boots clack against the floor while I put the last sweep of blue on the piece and push away. The instant relief in my wrist when I set the machine down is almost as euphoric as my first full look at my latest design. The burst of pride in my chest never gets old.
“Alright, give me a minute to clean you up here before I bring the mirror over. You can stretch out a bit.”
I’ve been setting up my station the same way for the last thirteen years, so reaching for the proper supplies is instinct.
I get Owen cleaned up quickly and then spread my favourite healing gel across it, making the colours appear brighter.
With the mirror in my hand, I angle it just right and tell him to look back.
The approval that floods his expression is a high unlike anything else I’ve ever felt.
“Holy shit, Shade. You’re insane!”
With a chuckle, I move around on my stool and grab the camera from my table. “I’ll bring you over to the wall of mirrors once I grab a photo of this.”
“You got it.”
The lighting in the shop has already been tweaked to my preferred brightness, so snapping a good picture is easy.
Once I’ve finished and helped him up from the chair, I stay back while he checks himself out in the backlit mirrors.
The ache in my fingers is almost comforting as I get to work on cleaning the chair and tossing the used needle.
“I’m almost too scared to ask what your availability looks like for me to get another piece done,” Owen says on his way back.
I smirk. “Depends on what you want to do. A full piece like this . . . you’re looking at about a year. Something smaller, I can cut that in half and squeeze you in somewhere.”
“Christ.”
“Or I could hand you over to Bryce. She’s almost as good as me, just a lot less handsome.”
“Thanks for that,” Bryce calls from the back.
“She’s not as friendly either, but if you’re after skill, she’s got it in spades,” I say, quieter this time.
Owen nods thoughtfully, glancing down at his bare bicep. “She’s good?”
“All that ink on her skin may be from me, but a little less than half of mine is from her.” To prove my point, I yank the hem of my shirt up to under my pec, exposing the scorpion piece on my ribs. “This baby is all her.”
“I’m in,” he agrees instantly.
Chuckling, I slap his hand and guide him back to my station to finish with the aftercare.
“I’m going to wrap this for you, but you can take it off in a couple of days. This bitch is going to ooze for a bit here, so just make sure you keep it clean once the wrap comes off. Unscented soap, unscented lotion, all that shit. If anything starts looking funky, just give the shop a call.”
“You got it.”
Bryce comes over and hands him the debit machine. She snags the camera and starts looking through the photos.
“Got you a new client, Bryce,” I say.
“Oh yeah?” She looks him over, searching for skin bare enough for her to work on. “Bicep?”
“I was thinking that, yeah. You’re up for it?”
She stares at him, expression flat and giving nothing away. “Do you have an idea for the piece or just interested in me coming up with something?”
Owen looks to me for help, but I just wink, printing his receipt off.
“How about you come up with something? I’m sure you have quite a few ideas in your head already,” he says, inspecting her ink now.
There’s a fuck ton of it to look at, and once again, it’s a head rush.
Bryce tips her chin. “Yeah, alright. Shade has your contact info?”
“I do,” I answer for him.
“Okay. I’ll reach out with more info once I have a look at my schedule.”
“Thank you. It’s been a blast today, guys,” he says after taking his receipt and starting for the door.
“My pleasure, man. See you.”
Bryce leans back against the front desk, her head slightly cocked at me once he’s gone. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“Do what?”
“Hand him off to me.”
“I didn’t hand him off. Not like that. He wanted another piece, and you know how far I’m booked. Why not let him get something done by the second best?”
Her nod is stiff, but it doesn’t worry me.
Bryce is . . . Bryce. She’s not much for talking, even if you’re one of the lucky ones she’s let into her so-called frozen heart.
Her circle is small, and I’m just grateful to be included in it.
Her fiancée, Daisy, is the only one who has the ability to really pry her voice box open.
“Owen was my last appointment today, so you should head out,” I say.
“You don’t want me to close up tonight?”
“Why would I?”
She blinks slowly. “Don’t you have plans tonight?”
“Oh, that. Yeah, but I’m not in a rush.”
“What time is your date?”
“It’s not a date. But we’re meeting at nine.” After tucking the card reader away, I lock its drawer.
“And why are you so curious?”
She jostles a shoulder, eyeing me curiously. “I’m not.”
“Yeah, right. You have a worse poker face than you think you do.”
I’m a naturally tidy person when I’m working, so cleanup is quick.
Everything has its proper place, and I’m incredibly anal with making sure I keep organized.
After so many years in this industry and getting as busy as I am, not knowing where something is leads to delays that I can’t usually afford when I’m in the middle of an appointment.
I spray disinfectant on my chair and table before starting to wipe it away.
“You can’t just not answer me and think that changes anything,” I tell her.
Bryce huffs and stands beside me, hovering. “You’ve been extra busy after work lately.”
“Are you worried about me?” I tease.
“Worried about you catching something from all of these women you’re seeing, yeah.”
“I haven’t had sex in months, actually. But I appreciate your worry.”
She grits her teeth, struggling to get her next words out. “If you’re chasing something, I could . . . help. Get you on a real date.”
“Oh, Bryce, you’re sweet, but I’d rather poke my eyes out with a dirty needle. I’m doing just fine.”
“You’re not twenty anymore.”
My smile is tight, lips touching. “Don’t piss me off when I’ve had a good day, Bryce.”
“Fine. I’m going home.”
With her hands up, she turns away and heads to her station. With her bag over her shoulder, she walks past me on her way to the door.
“Tell my little devil that I miss her. She can come here any day,” I say.
I can hear the eye roll in her voice. “She’s not your little anything.”
“See you tomorrow.”
“Condoms, Shade. Don’t forget them tonight.”
“You’ve got my word.”
She leaves without another word, and I let out a breath.
Slowly, the high from having a tattoo machine in my hand is settling, leaving me antsy.
That’s why I’m going out again tonight. To help soothe the boredom that’s started to grow like a fungus in my brain.
I can’t stay here day and night, so I keep myself busy during the day and find someone to help entertain me at night.
Not having sex is a choice I didn’t consciously make but wound up doing automatically without a real reason.
I don’t need Bryce’s approval on my life choices. I’ve been single for damn near my entire life, and I plan on keeping it that way. Unlike her, I haven’t met anyone who’s made me consider changing that, and I’ve grown to accept that if there was, I’d never find her.
Not going to make it! Please let me make it up to you another time! xxxx
I stare down at the text for a second longer before locking my phone and slipping it into my hoodie pocket. The same beer I’ve been nursing since I got here tonight is growing warm, the dew evaporating from the bottle.
I’m never the first one here, so maybe I should have pieced it together myself that she was going to bail.
Peakside isn’t busy outside of Saturday nights, so I knew it would be a safe place to grab a drink.
It’s usually my number one place to take a girl out, but I won’t lie and say it isn’t a pain having to drive the half hour to Cherry Peak.
Oak Point is too small a town for a bar, so this is our only alternative for a night out.
The town’s residents have been coming to the town over for as long as I can remember, and it almost feels like home at this point.
To Bryce and her group of friends, Cherry Peak is home.
I’m the lone wolf, having been born and raised in Oak Point.
Swiping a hand through my hair, I spread my knees and lean forward on the bar. I tap the bottom of the bottle against the wood surface and debate heading out already. It’s dead in here tonight.
Decided, I pull my wallet out and drop a twenty for the bartender. I’m nearly off the stool when the door flies open.
I debate blaming the wind for it when nobody comes inside. It wasn’t bad when I got here, but—
Not the fucking wind.
She’s more like a tropical storm, all soft curves and bright colours, like she doesn’t belong anywhere near a place like this.
Strands of blonde hair slip free from whatever careful style they were in, her gauzy white dress is wrinkled, mud clinging to the bottom of it, and the high-top sneakers beneath it match.
Her lips are slightly parted like she’s trying to catch her breath, and the energy coming off her is restless.
She’s trouble, but the sweet kind you almost want to let wreck you.
Caught in the net she’s cast, I slowly lift two fingers and signal the bartender to send me another beer. I’ve got no fucking clue if she likes beer—not looking like that—but I’m up to the challenge of figuring out what she is into.
That’s why I keep my stare open as I focus on her and wait for those pretty eyes to find me. And once they do, I wait for her to come over, another kind of buzz replacing the one from earlier.