Chapter 9 ~ Rafe
I shouldn’t find this as amusing as I do
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Running the only tattoo shop in a town full of sports players and lovers means two things: one, business is always good. And two, out of all my customers, the majority are hockey players, who are some of the most dramatic people I have ever met.
I don’t consider that an opinion in the slightest; it's a fact that a lot of people agree with me on when they come here during hockey season.
There is something about that sport in particular in Edenwood Cove that is seen as a show everyone is obsessed with attending religiously with their families.
I don’t get it, especially since I have done tattoos for most of the players of Eden U, and I can name each one who has come in here with a story that rivals some of the fantastical tales my sister loves to read.
I am halfway through finishing the shading of the raven on my five o'clock appointment when my younger brother’s voice explodes through the shop speakers.
What the fuck is he doing?
“Why did you eat my leftovers, Becca?”
I close my eyes.
Why today?
Why, on what can be considered my most peaceful day of the week, must he be arguing with his girlfriend? And why is his phone connected to my speakers when they should be playing background music?
Across the room, my apprentice, Oliver and Eden U’s famous hockey goalie immediately start laughing. I notice why when I spot the empty container beside him right before he hides it under his workstation.
Ollie places a finger over his mouth when our eyes meet, and I laugh because fuck, I am not saying shit. It has become an amusing game between the two of them.
Last week, my brother, Seb, hid all of the gloves during my day off, and Ollie called in a panic. Earlier this week, my apprentice poured some herbal tea into Seb’s coffee when he wasn’t looking. My poor brother hasn’t made coffee here since—now he goes to Imogen's cafe.
The two of them are menaces. I don't know why I keep around. I shake my head, but say nothing to Ollie because my brother will find out how wrong he is for accusing Becca when he goes home to find his clothes thrown out of his apartment.
This always happens.
Seb and Becca argue, break up, and then my brother hooks up with Ollie before getting back with Becca the next day.
The three of them should just fuck at this point, seeing as Ollie and Becca have done it here in my shop. How do I know this? The hidden cameras do not lie when someone breaks in at midnight and wrecks your office.
At least Ollie doesn’t leave his cum on my desk as Seb does.
It’s fucking gross, and getting it off hardwood while it's dry is a pain in the ass and not because it's hard to get rid of—but because then I am touching my own brother’s come because the little shit decides it would be funny to hide all the gloves from Ollie.
It’s just not right.
I might hate all three of them.
“For the last time, I did not touch your gross ass bacon-infested salad,” comes Becca’s voice through the call.
“I left it in your fridge.”
She laughs, but it lacks warmth. “You do have friends come over all the time, right? Any one of them could have taken it.”
“The container was labelled.”
“Okay, and?” she asks. “You wrote, and I quote, ‘Sebastien’s food. Do. Not. Touch.’ That isn’t a label, babe; that is an invitation.”
“So you confess you felt invited to eat my shit.”
Becca says something in Spanish, and my brother keeps repeating that he doesn’t understand a word she is saying.
I pinch the bridge of my nose because if my brother had listened to our parents and taken the summer class to learn Spanish, he would know that Becca is telling him to find a place to stay.
How is it that my brother and his girlfriend have somehow managed to turn what should have been their private conversation—albeit a stupid conversation into shop-wide entertainment?
Again.
I hear Ollie laughing, and the answer comes to me then.
Little bastard.
I chuckle and wonder when he had time to turn on my brother’s Bluetooth to connect it to the speakers; again, I don’t think I want to know, as I pause what I am doing and get up.
“Seb,” I shout.
He looks in my direction and raises a brow. “What?”
“You’re on speaker, man.”
Silence settles between us, then, “Fuck me.”
I sigh, then sit back down.
Ollie and the person whose tattoo I’ve been working on both burst into fits of laughter, and I am left wondering why I hired my brother when he does nothing but piss me off. Then again, he’s useful when I need someone to take out the trash.
The front door opens before my brother can embarrass himself any further, and a familiar face steps inside, looking fresh out of the gym, his duffel bag swung over one shoulder.
Bellamy Maddox.
Eden University’s king of playboys, current hockey captain and above my brother when it comes to professional pains in my ass.
“If it isn’t my favourite hockey Barbie,” I say.
Bellamy rolls his eyes and immediately flips me off. “Fuck all the way off with that shit, Kincaid. I am not in the mood today.”
I grin despite his sour mood.
“Was it a bad practice?”
“No.”
I know it can’t be that since Ollie came in here for his shift all bubbly and shit about how practice went better than ever. But taunting Bellamy has become a fun game to pass the time whenever he comes by for either a new tattoo or a touch-up.
“You get punched in the balls or something?” I press on.
“No, but I am sure you would love that.”
“Wanna bet?”
Bellamy smirks but says nothing.
I tilt my head, taking him in better. He doesn’t look injured, but then again, he could be hiding it. Not that I would care; I’d simply be helping Walker by keeping a close eye on his star player as usual.
“Huh.”
Bellamy raises a brow. “What?”
“Nothing.”
He looks annoyed; that’s what.
More so than usual, too, and I find that more entertaining than the fact that he looks like he ran a marathon, all sweaty with damp hair and flushed skin, because Bellamy isn’t usually annoyed but rather annoyingly confident, cocky and relaxed even.
He’s the kind of guy who could talk trash while taking a beating, and yet, today? Something is off. Bells looks like someone tore his heart out and chewed on it. Interesting since there is only one person capable of breaking him down without batting an eyelash.
Minho.
I swear these two would get along if they just talked like normal human beings—then again, I guess arguing like an old married couple is their version of normal.
Bellamy drops into one of the waiting chairs. I take in the way his knees bounce, how locked his jaw is, how I am sure it is tight enough to crack his teeth as his attention drifts from his phone to the floor at his feet.
Yep, definitely a case of getting an emotional beating from one Minho Seong-Walker. Poor dude needs to move on.
I finish up with my client before turning my full attention to Bellamy, who is typing furiously on his phone.
“What will it be today?” I ask. “Touch-up or something new?”
I usually close up shop in another hour or two, so I don't have appointments until tomorrow, making this the perfect time for him to ask for anything he wants, so long as it can be done in a reasonable timeframe.
I would like to pop a beer open, watch a game or read a book and sit down on my couch at home after all.
Bellamy nods after a while. “Just a touch-up.” I clap my hands together and am surprised when he continues speaking in his zombie-like state. “Coach wants us photographed next week.”
“Sounds terrifying,” I tease.
Belamy rolls his eyes.
I grab a new pair of gloves and set up my station, then sit down next to him and wait for his permission to begin.
He sighs. “Do I want to know why you are staring?”
“Are you going to be honest and tell me why you look so down in the dumps, Hiccup?”
“I’m not—” he pauses. “Don’t call me that.”
I chuckle and sit back in my chair. “You absolutely are, and I think Hiccup suits you, seeing as I am the one who picked you up from a party once after you got rejected and you hiccuped all the way to your place.”
“Whatever.”
Bellamy looks away, all but confirming he’s being broody today. It would be cute if I didn’t know why or who is causing his mood to be unattractive—and yes, I think he is good-looking; I am a big enough person to admit that.
I laugh when he doesn’t look in my direction. “Did you get dumped or something?”
Now I am just messing with him, but until he says Minho is the reason, I see no problem with teasing him for being such a baby. And yeah, I know I shouldn’t find this as amusing as I do, but who could blame me?
“No.”
“Fail a test?” I press on.
“The semester just started, so no.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Don’t tell me it's a second family; did Daddy finally remarry and get over your mother leaving him for your coach?”
He’s glaring at me now.
I simply give him my best grin because we both know his dad isn’t trying to remarry anytime soon, and even if he did, it would have to be with someone who doesn’t know about his past behaviour with his previous wife.
Bellamy is practically part of my family now.
I’ve known him since his mom married my best friend, and I have gotten to watch him grow into the man he is slowly becoming.
I was there when Walker made Bellamy captain, saw a few of his practices and know he is one of the few people who can survive Coach Walker yelling directly in his face when he messes up.
So seeing him act like he can’t survive a little verbal beatdown from the guy he’s been crushing on since the moment they met is bullshit to me.
“Spit it out.”
Bellamy groans. “I really don’t want to.”
I laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “Now I definitely want to know who twisted your balls in a knot.”
Silence falls between us, and I am a little scared he isn’t going to say anything now. I may have pushed too hard, and he is waiting for his touch-up so he can leave.