Chapter 1 #2
“Nice.” The guy doesn’t reach for the book, though. His attention remains on me. I have to look away before I do something embarrassing. Getting flustered enough to spill my water bottle seems like a distinct possibility.
“Uncle Lawson,” the kid says eagerly, and the guy finally turns away from me. “Look at this skull! It’s like the one on your back!”
“That’s pretty kick-ass, kid,” the guy—Lawson?
—says, then automatically reaches into his pocket to pull out a dollar bill to hand to the boy, who grins in victory.
I bite back a snort. Somehow, I get the feeling that the money-for-cursing thing the kid has going on is netting him a substantial amount of cash from these guys.
“We could match,” Lawson adds, making the kid’s dad scowl over at him.
“If my son is going to match anyone’s ink, it’s going to be mine.”
“Now hold on,” the dad’s twin says. “I’m your favorite uncle, Lucas. I think you should get something to go with mine.”
The woman rolls her eyes at me. “Can’t take them anywhere.” But she’s grinning, eyes sparkling, and I get the impression that she’s deeply happy with her life, bickering giant men and all.
I guess it’d be hard not to be happy with this kind of eye-candy hanging around.
The kid tugs on her hand and she leans down, listening as she whispers something in her ear. “I think that’s a great idea, Lucas.”
He turns his attention to me, shy now. “Could I maybe get four tattoos?” he asks. “One to match each of my uncles and my daddy.”
“Noah, my man,” the twin says. “You’re getting four tats? That’s halfway to a sleeve.”
“Total bad-ass,” another guy says, also handing the kid a dollar without being asked.
The kid still looks a little shy, but there’s no hiding the elated expression on his face. Being hyped up by the men around him is clearly the highlight of his day.
I try to ignore the little stab of pain behind my breastbone. What would that be like? To have uncles who are supportive and friendly, to have that many adults in your life who care about you and want you to be happy?
I definitely wouldn’t know, I think, resigned. Not with a flakey, nut-job of a mother who, at last communication more than three months ago, was working at an alpaca farm in Peru. My only other family member is Victor, and I refuse to even think about him.
A few more months of work, I remind myself. And then I’ll have enough saved to get out of here. To get away from the nightmare that is living in the same place as Victor. To start fresh in a new town, a new state, somewhere far away.
Which is all the more reason to get this kid his temporary tattoos so the crowd currently hogging up most of my booth space will move on, allowing for the next customer. The next tip. The next inch closer to freedom.
When I look up to take the example book back from the boy, I notice one of his uncles is staring at me.
The black-clad, stoic Superman with the great arms who had known about Linc.
It’s the second time since they arrived that I’ve caught him looking at me, and the glint in his eyes has something tightening in my belly.
Nope, I tell my lady parts before they can get any ideas. You’ve got work to do, and that doesn’t include making eyes at some stranger. Even if he is, hands-down, the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.
I sit the kid down and get to work. Temporary tattoos aren’t the most challenging thing to do, but I make a big deal out of moving them around on his arm, looking for the exact right placement for his “half-sleeve,” as the uncles have taken to calling it.
The guys all play along, too, chiming in with their opinions on what would look the coolest. When I’m done, he holds his arm out, looking at it in awe.
“I probably should have thought harder about this,” his mom tells me in a dry undertone, her eyes on the giant men all crowding around the boy, slapping his back and ruffling his hair. “He already hero-worships those guys. After this he’ll be begging for a real tattoo for the next ten years.”
I laugh, tossing the wet wipes and tattoo backing sheets into the trash. “Well, when he turns eighteen, he can come see us at Empire.”
Not that I’ll be there, I think with a pang. I push it away, though. Missing my current job and co-workers is not nearly a good enough reason to stick around this town.
“Thanks so much,” the dad says, handing me two twenties. I go to make change but he holds up a hand. “Keep it. You made his day.”
Part of me thinks I should argue. Four temporaries are twenty bucks, and doubling the cost for my tip is probably more than I should accept.
But I’m not really in any position to be turning down cash, excessive or not, so I merely give him my best professional smile and say thanks.
The mom thanks me as well but the kid is already grabbing their hands, chattering excitedly about riding the tilt-a-whirl. The uncles move to follow and I busy myself straightening up the sample books so I’m not tempted to stare at their asses.
The sacrifices I make for professionalism.
But then a hand lands on top of the album, startling me, and I look up to see two of the guys have stayed behind.
The twin stands in front of my table, giving me what I’m sure is his most-charming grin.
A few steps behind him is the guy in black, the one who was looking at me earlier with such intensity.
His expression is much more measured than his brother, almost grumpy looking.
“You didn’t ask me what tattoo I want,” the twin says.
“Oh.” I step back, flustered, then reach for the sample album for the actual tattoos. “Um, Linc should be back soon if you want to take a look at the flash we’re offering today—”
“I don’t want one of Linc’s tattoos,” he says, flirty smile growing. “I want one of these.” He taps his fingers on the temporary album and I can’t help but notice how big they are. They look work-roughened, like he has the kind of job where he has to use his hands.
I wonder if his broody brother has hands like that. I wonder if he’s good at using them.
I force myself to focus, and raise an eyebrow at the twin. “You want a temporary tattoo?” I ask, my gaze pointedly going to the ink on his arms.
He shrugs. “Sure. If that’s what it will take to get your hands on me.”
My mouth drops open at his brazenness, and I hear Bowie snort from behind his station’s curtain.
The guy holds up his hands, trying to arrange his face into an innocent expression, but his smirk doesn’t budge. Behind him, his brother stands silent.
“I just meant, since your co-worker has a client, and your boss is gone, I won’t be able to get actual ink. So I’ll take what I can get.”
Annoyance licks at my chest, hot and fast. “I’m perfectly capable of doing actual ink.”
His face somehow brightens even more. “No shit? You’re an actual tattoo artist?”
I cross my arms over my chest. “What, you think a woman can’t ink?”
He looks offended at the suggestion. “Not at all. I’m just pleasantly surprised.” He leans in and lowers his voice, brown eyes twinkling at me. “I already knew you were fucking hot, but being a tattoo artist ramps that attraction up by a lot.”
My face heats as I stare at him. Did he really just say…for some reason, my eyes go to the silent, broody man behind him, our gazes colliding. He gives the slightest roll of his eyes and suddenly, a laugh bubbles up in my chest. I slap a hand over my mouth to block my giggles. It doesn’t work.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I manage to get out.
“Not in the slightest.”
I shake my head, still laughing. “Have you ever learned the meaning of the word subtle?”
He shrugs, not looking the slightest bit abashed. “Life’s too short for subtle. And I’d be a damn fool to let a woman like you walk away.”
That has some of the mirth fading out of me. Walking away is exactly what I plan to do, just as soon as possible. There’s nothing for me around here—not even the hot stranger flirting like his life depends on it or the equally gorgeous silent sentinel behind him.
“A woman like me, huh? You don’t even know my name.”
“I’m Sawyer Barlowe,” he says promptly, holding out his hand. I take it in mine, rolling my eyes when he brings our entwined hands to his mouth and kisses my knuckles. I drop his hand as soon as I can.
“This is my brother, Lawson,” he says, nodding at the man behind him. “Dude,” he mutters over his shoulder. “Stop being a scowling creeper back there and shake the woman’s hand.”
Danger! my inner voice screams. Don’t touch the gorgeous stoic man!
But Lawson holds his hand out, his intense dark eyes locked on mine. I ignore the voice and take his hand. Damn. His hand is warm and huge, fingers rough, just like I thought. It feels way too good.
Should have listened to me, the voice sneers. I drop his hand.
“Well,” I say, spreading my arms wide. “As you can see, I’m working.”
“You didn’t tell us your name,” flirty Sawyer says.
“Maybe that was intentional.”
He just grins. “I bet I could find out.”
“And how will you do that?”
“Hey, tattoo guy,” he shouts in the direction of Bowie’s curtained-off area. “What’s your lovely co-workers name?”
“No hablo inglés,” Bowie says in a bored voice. I smile broadly. I knew he’d have my back.
“I’ll give you twenty bucks,” Sawyer adds.
“Nova King,” Bowie says immediately, and I groan.
“I always knew that guy was an asshole,” I mutter.
“Nova King.” Sawyer says the name like he’s savoring the feel of it on his tongue. “Gorgeous name for a gorgeous girl.”
I roll my eyes. “Like I was saying, I’m working—”
“Sawyer,” he interjects and I grit my teeth.
“I’m working, Sawyer, so maybe you should go join your family and—”
He pulls out his wallet. “I told you, I want a tattoo.”
Another flash of annoyance runs through me.
“I’m not listed on the permit,” I admit through clenched teeth.
The county health department had been a bitch to convince we should be allowed to operate at the fair.
Linc had to jump through a ton of hoops and inspections—and pay a heavy fee for each person on the permit.
So he only got himself and Bowie approved, since I was supposed to be stuck with the kids.
“No biggie,” Sawyer says. “Like I said, temporary is just fine by me.”
I stare at him. “You seriously want a temporary tattoo.”
He grins. “Yup.”
I look down his arms. There’s not a lot of space left. “Where?”
“How about my—"
I hold up a hand, sure he’s about to say something decidedly un-PG. “Please don’t say it.”
His eyes are sparkling with mirth. He’s obviously enjoying himself. And, to my surprise, I find myself smiling back. Maybe I’m enjoying myself a little bit, too.
Once again, I meet his brother’s gaze. Lawson. It suits him, somehow. He raises his eyebrow slightly, almost like a dare.
I look back to Sawyer. “How about I decide where it goes?”
He studies me with those flirty, sparkling eyes. “Sure.”
I push a little more. “And I decide on the design.”
“I’m in your hands, Nova King.” He plops down on the stool next to the table. “I trust you completely.” He holds his arms wide, still smirking. I have a feeling wiping that smirk off his face will be damn satisfying.
Another glance at the man in black. Lawson’s expression hasn’t changed much—the guy really seems to be the definition of stoic—but somehow, I get the sense he’s amused by this. And with a strange little rush I realize that amusing him might just be as satisfying as fucking with his brother.
I turn back to Sawyer and smile sweetly. “I know just the thing.”