Chapter 4 Hunter
HUNTER
The wind stings my cheeks as I stalk down the street with my hands inside my coat pockets. I’ve lived my entire life in a cold climate, but nothing could’ve prepared me for the frigid temperatures of Chicago.
When I open the door and step inside, ready for my first day of work, I’ve never been more thankful for central heat.
“You’re here,” my new boss says, rising from the chair behind the reception desk.
“Sorry if I’m late,” I tell her as I shiver, throwing off the last bits of chill.
Her eyes move toward the clock on the wall. “You’re not.” She smiles at me, making me feel like I made the right decision to work here.
I’ve worked in some shit places over the years, and walking away from my last job wasn’t easy. I loved the people I worked with and I had an established client base, but I didn’t have a choice because Amira needed me.
“Are you ready for today? You’re booked up, but I kept it light, so you only have three customers tonight.”
“Great,” I say, rubbing my hands together to bring my joints back to life because I’ll need them functioning for the next few hours.
“Hunter,” Timber says, striding out of the back room. “Good to see you again, man.” He holds out his hand to me as he gets closer.
I’ve known Timber and the owner of the shop for years. We’d talk every time we were at conventions, but never in a million years did I think I’d be working with and for them.
“Lookin’ good as always, man.” I shake his hand. “Excited to get started.”
“That’s the attitude I like,” Tate, the owner of Inked, says to me.
“Tate’s awesome, but you already know that.”
Tate stands a little taller, obviously loving the praise. “Don’t stop on my account.”
Timber shakes his head and laughs. “Just sprinkle a few compliments around her every day, and you’ll be good.”
“I’m not that easy,” she says to him with a pointed stare.
“Sweetheart, you are,” Timber says to her with a wink.
“Are you two a…”
Tate waves her hand in the air. “Oh God no. I’m married and not to him.”
“Tate’s not my type,” Timber replies.
“Do you have a type?” she asks him. “Because I think your requirements are breathing and boobs.”
Timber shrugs. “Maybe younger me. But older me…”
“Bigger boobs,” she says, knocking him with her shoulder.
I can’t stop a dumb smile from creeping across my face. I’m glad to know their easy friendship extends outside the conventions where I spent time with them before. I don’t want to work in a place where attitudes collide and there is nothing but drama.
“Brains are more important to me now than they were before,” Timber says, scratching his cheek through his thick beard.
“He’s lying,” Tate says to me. “You’ll see. Anyway, let me show you your area, and you can get yourself settled. You have about thirty minutes until your first client is here.”
“Great,” I tell her, shrugging off my coat, starting to overheat from all the layers.
I follow Tate to the back area of the shop, still as brightly lit and beautiful as the front of house.
She really did an amazing job making the space comfortable and visually stunning at the same time.
It’s very different from every single tattoo spot I’ve worked in previously.
Maybe it’s because it’s a big city and the clientele is expecting an elevated and modern experience.
“Coats and things can go in the back. There’s a closet we all share.” The heels of her boots that look like they’re more for a night out dancing than a snowy winter evening in the city click along the hardwood floor. “Do I need to go over how to keep your area clean and sanitary?”
“No. I’m good there.”
“I figured since you’ve been in the business for so long, you’d know the routine.”
I suddenly feel ancient. Tate’s younger than me, but she’s experienced in the profession and has made a name for her shop outside of her family’s reputation.
The Gallos are known all over the country for their main shop in Florida.
They’ve been featured in every tattoo magazine, and there isn’t a tattoo artist who doesn’t know their name.
“Here you go,” she says as she stops at the spot where I’ll be spending most of my time when I’m at work.
The area is larger than many I’ve had in the past. Plenty of room to move around while working since some of the angles can become more like acrobatics for me and my clients. The overhead light is a nice soft color and won’t leave me with a raging headache at the end of the night.
“I’ve fully stocked you up, and everything else is as you left it when you stopped in this morning before I came in. You need anything else?”
I shake my head. “No. I don’t think so. I think I’m good.”
“Hey, Hunter,” Melanie, another artist I’ve met before, says as she strolls to her station with a roll of paper towels in her hand.
I give her a chin lift. “Hey, Melanie.”
“Where was I?” Tate asks and pauses for a moment.
“Everything else is in the back room, like I showed you when you came to interview and talk to me about a spot. Help yourself to anything in the fridge except what’s marked with a name.
You eat them at your own peril. After work tonight, we’re heading to the place across the street for some pizza and beers.
My family owns it. You’re more than welcome to join us. ”
“I may. Is it good pizza?” I ask as I throw my coat over my chair.
“Best in town, but I’m biased.”
“Deep dish?” I ask.
She wrinkles her nose. “Uh, no. They don’t do deep dish, but it’ll be the best pizza you’ll ever have in your entire life.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” I tell her, but I’ve never had a pizza that has knocked my socks off. They were all just fine and had the same ingredients. Sure, some were better than others, but saying one is the best pizza ever is a lofty compliment to live up to.
“The Gallos know how to cook,” Timber says, rubbing his belly in the chair across from my area. “Just don’t ask for pineapple on your pizza.”
I grimace. “Who in the hell would put pineapple on their pizza?”
Tate touches my shoulder and gives me the biggest smile. “You’re going to fit right in,” she says before she stalks away and heads back toward the front of the shop.
“I’m glad you gave me a call when you decided to move here,” Timber says as he cleans off the chair for his next customer.
There was no decision. I didn’t have a choice of where and when. Natalie made that for me when she moved to Chicago.
“I’m glad you guys had an opening.” I drop down into my chair, testing to make sure it’ll be comfortable enough and not give me a backache that’ll last for days.
“That spot is usually left empty for a guest artist who comes into town, like her family from Florida.”
I love that about this place. Not only do I get to work with great people, but I am able to watch masters in the field when they visit. It’s a win-win in my book.
The next few hours pass by in a blur. Three tattoos, none of them hard or complex. The tips are larger than I’m used to, but everything about Chicago has been pricier, and people seem to be willing to spend more of their cash, even for a service.
It’s nearly midnight by the time we’ve cleaned the shop, and everyone has their coats on and is ready to sprint across the street before our breath has a chance to form icicles on our beards from our breath.
Although I’d been to the shop a few times before now, I’d never noticed the bar across the street. Sure, I’d zeroed in on the cupcake bakery because I knew Amira would love it, but the bar, I’d totally missed.
I glance up at the sign, Hook & Hustle, as we cross through the doorway and enter the bar that’s filled with people, which shocks me since it’s so late at night.
People are eating, drinking, and laughing in almost every seat, and there’s a warmth to the bar that no doubt helps make it a favorite of the locals.
I follow Timber, Tate, Melanie, and another artist, Marshall, to an empty booth that’s nestled into a corner.
“I’m starving,” Melanie says as she pulls off her coat, hanging it on a hook at the end of the booth. “We might need two pizzas.”
“Yeah, especially with Hunter in the mix. One isn’t going to be enough,” Timber adds.
I take off my coat, placing it on top of Melanie’s before sliding into the booth next to her. “I only need a slice.”
Tate stares at me with wide eyes from across the table. “One is not enough. Not for a Gallo pizza.”
“We’ll see about that,” I tell her.
“We doing a pitcher?” Timber asks.
“To start,” Melanie says, rubbing her hands together in a move I know all too well. We’re all frozen and will be for the next few months.
“Hey, cousin,” Tate says as someone approaches the table.
I lift my head, and my gaze lands on someone I wasn’t expecting to see tonight. “Zoey?”
God, she looks good. Her hair’s down, the long dark brown strands wavy and flowing over her shoulders.
She’s wearing a pair of skintight jeans with big chunky winter boots and a sweater with a neck that meets her chin to keep the chill off as much of her skin as possible.
She could wear a burlap sack, and she’d still be stunning.
Zoey leans back slightly and stares at me like a deer in headlights. “Hunter?”
“You two know each other?” Tate asks, wiggling two fingers in our direction.
“He’s my new neighbor. How do you know him?” Zoey asks her like I’m not here.
“He’s my new artist.”
Zoey’s eyes move to me. “I didn’t know you were a tattoo artist.”
“Never came up,” I reply.
“Wait. You two have had full conversations?” Tate asks, her gaze swinging between the two of us. “He’s been in town for like forty-eight hours.”
“We’ve met twice,” Zoey tells her. “He needed to borrow something, and he helped Mason carry in my Christmas tree.”
I knew from our earlier interaction that Zoey’s family was involved.
Some people have siblings and relatives they barely talk to, but Mason, Lulu, and Zoey seemed to be as thick as thieves.
Kind of how Lizzy and I are and have been since the day she was born.
But watching Zoey with Tate, I realized the sharing-is-caring mantra runs further and deeper with the Gallos.
“How cool is this?” Melanie asks. “What a small world.”
“It’s the Southside, Mel. There aren’t that many degrees of separation between people,” Timber says to her.
“We live in the big city, Timber. It’s not a small town,” she tells him.
“We’ll talk later,” Tate says to Zoey. “We’ll take a pitcher and two pizzas with the usual.”
“You got it,” Zoey says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as she sneaks a look at me.
I can’t help but turn my head and watch her walk away.
“You like her?” Tate asks, her finger pitched in Zoey’s direction.
“I don’t really know her.”
“She’s solid, but my question wasn’t do you know her. It’s do you like her?”
“She’s easy on the eyes,” I say and regret my wording immediately. It’s an asshole thing to say.
A sly smile spreads across Tate’s face as she slowly leans back until her body is pressed against the booth. “She’s single.”
“Uh-oh. Tate’s playing matchmaker,” Melanie teases.
“It’s a no,” I say quickly, wanting to put an end to the conversation before it even begins.
“Why?” Tate asks, placing her hands on the table, and I suddenly feel like I’m about to be interrogated.
“I don’t have time for any complications right now.”
“But you’re single, right?” Melanie asks. “Zoey’s single too. Why do relationships have to be a complication?”
I ignore her as I stare at Tate, wondering what she’s going to do because I get the sense that the woman likes to get into everyone’s business, especially when it’s her own family. “I’m single.”
“I saw the way you looked at her,” Tate replies. “And the way she looked at you.”
“Um, you’re thinking something that didn’t happen the way you think it did,” I lie. I was totally checking Zoey out and wondering if her lips are as soft as they look.
“She’s a good girl,” Tate adds.
“She seems nice.”
“She is. A hard worker too. Most of us didn’t want to take over the bar full time when our parents retired, but Mason and Zoey stepped up.
They run the joint. Mason uses it like it’s his personal dating service, sleeping with way too many customers, but Zoey is very serious about the success of this place. ”
“That’s great,” I whisper, and anything else I was going to say dies on the tip of my tongue as Zoey stalks our way with a pitcher of beer in one hand and four glasses curled in the crook of her arm.
“Here you go. I put in the pizzas. It’ll take fifteen,” Zoey says, and her eyes meet mine as she sets the pitcher down.
I ignore the nagging feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. The one that makes me want to kiss her. To talk to her. To peel back all the layers of Zoey to find out who the woman is underneath. But I have no time for fun. I’m here for Amira, and right now, my needs or wants aren’t important.
Lust is just that…lust.
I don’t have the time or mental energy to wrap myself up in a woman I barely know. I can’t afford to let my focus sway from my daughter to someone else.
There will be a time for me, but for the time being, I’m not the focus, and neither is Zoey, my hottie neighbor.
“You’re still having your holiday get-together, right?” Tate asks her cousin.
Zoey nods, pushing up the sleeves of her sweater. “Of course. I always do. You know when it is. I texted everyone.”
“Hunter,” Tate says, and when I glance her way, she’s smiling. “You should come. You can meet some new people. New friends. Hang out with us.”
“Maybe. Depends on when it is.” Shit. I can’t use the excuse that I have to work or that I won’t be around. It’s too easy for someone to know I’m home since I’m only a wall away. I’d have to creep around my place and be super quiet not to be found out.
“It’s next Sunday night,” Tate says, clearly already having known it was happening and just finding a way to insert me into Zoey’s life against my will. “You free?”
“My sister will be in town,” I tell Tate.
“Bring her too,” Tate replies without missing a beat.
Fuck. The woman has an answer for everything. “Maybe,” I say.
“The more, the merrier,” Zoey says before someone yells her name across the bar. “Be back. Yell if you need anything.”
Tate and I stare each other down.
When Zoey’s halfway across the bar, Timber says, “This is about to get interesting.”