Chapter 3
Jensen
T-minus fifteen minutes left in my hours required. Nine hundred seconds, and I’m fucking counting. Sitting on my tiny stool, I watch as Hank drags his tattoo gun against one of his regulars then wipes with a paper towel.
I hold my breath with each rotation because half the time he pauses and something stupid comes flying out of his mouth.
“You know, Jensen, I’m going to miss having you watching me. Maybe I should pull all your timecards before I sign off on your hours. I’d hate to miss an opportunity to have you learn something.”
“Puerco,” I mumble under my breath. Pig.
He’s been stretching out my last eight hours for over a week already. “All my time has been properly recorded. I hand them over to Tally for her to double-check every week.”
At the mention of the owner and his wife, Hank goes back to the phoenix he’s supposed to be finishing.
How Tally stays married to this asshat is beyond me.
I’ve thought about bringing up his beyond inappropriate commentary and wandering eyes…
recently, hands…many times. But Hank’s smart— it’s always small touches, and everything he says he flips around as if he’s simply joking.
Not to mention, Tally thinks he’s the funniest guy in all of Boston—her doing something is a long shot, and I’m too close to the end of this to ruin it.
“I suppose it won’t be all that different when you start working here,” Hank says over the buzz of his gun.
Yeah, in his dreams—my nightmares—will I stay at the same shop as him, and part of me thinks Hank knows that.
Something about his demeanor this week has made me even more uneasy. I’m not usually one to take shit like this, but sometimes it’s more about knowing when to step in it or step over it.
“Interesting choice of bird,” I say to Hank’s regular, Charlie.
He’s fruit from the same tree, but that’s not even the worst part about him.
Charlie is my freaking landlord. Shall I reference the metaphor again, because I’ve been stepping over shit that really feels like it should qualify as a landmine.
Another reason for my hesitation to tell Tally is that she’s the one who sent me in the direction of these apartments. I can’t tell if she’s oblivious to their bullshit or into it.
Charlie glances down his arm and his face lifts like he’s just now remembering that he’s getting a phoenix. “Yeah, I thought it was the perfect tattoo to get since my divorce from that bitch is final. Rebirth. New experiences to be had.”
Charlie’s eyes trace down from my black hair to my feet. Ugh. Perverito, perv, and for Lucie, sleazebag. Yep, all of those, right on his forehead they go.
“Well, that…that is what the tattoo typically symbolizes. Rebirth,” I mutter.
Charlie and Hank give each other a look that I can’t, nor want, to understand. At the end of the day I need Hank’s signature, and Charlie provides my place to live, but each come with expiration dates. I just need to be smart enough to make sure one doesn’t fuck up the other.
“Well, this sure is something.” Blake, the other artist in this shop comes up behind me.
Now, Blake, I like. He’s never once crossed over into creepy territory. No insults imaginarily tattooed on his forehead. He even covered for me a few months back so I could tattoo some turtles on Lucie’s arm.
“You know, I hate to steal Jensen, but I believe her time is officially fulfilled, and I’ve got someone up front wanting a nose piercing.”
Thank god. Thank god. Thank god.
I hold myself back from completely jumping out of the stool. “I’ll go take care of that, then loop back for that requirement form.”
Blake gives me a nod to lead the way to the front, and I gladly go because I know what he’s doing—he’s blocking the two with perv tattooed on their foreheads from checking me out as I walk away.
“Saved by the rebellious teenager wanting to disappoint her parents,” Blake whispers.
I wave him off. “A nose piercing is mild. They could do much worse.”
“God knows I did.” Blake keeps his voice low. “Just know, I’m betting she’s going to be a crier.”
“Joy,” I mutter, but I’d take an indecisive, low-pain-tolerance client over sitting for a second longer with those two.
And that is exactly what I get. Half an hour of yes, then no, then finally convinced the poor girl to just get her second ear piercing as a compromise.
“Think she’ll be back for more?” Blake turns slow circles in the office chair behind the desk tossing a ball mindlessly in the air as he goes.
I glance at the entry door where the freshly eighteen-year-old, parent-pleaser just walked out of.
“Eh, another bad breakup or two and she might be back. Didn’t seem like she gets to make too many choices on her own merit, so I gotta give her some credit for at least following through with something. ”
“Heads-up.” Blake shrugs then tosses the ball to me when the front door chimes again.
“Well, double heads-up, Tally’s going to offer you a spot to work here.
She’s coming up.” Blake hurries to stand as he whispers quickly.
“If you don’t take it, I understand, but if you do, I’ll help run interference. ”
“Jensen,” Tally sings behind me. “We’re officially up on your apprenticeship. I should’ve brought champagne!”
“Yep, all done.” I turn around with the best customer service, happy to see you, bullshit face I can manage.
My smile bares a little authenticity when I take in Tally’s outfit.
Cheetah print tank top, tight leather pants, and truly kick-ass boots.
She ties it all together with oversized hoops, and chunky brown highlights in her bleach-blonde hair.
Her outfits are always over the top and tacky, but she loves it. And, in an odd way, it suits her so well that I don’t think any other style of clothing would look right on her.
“Here’s that letter stating you completed your requirements. You can just take your cute ass down to the health department so you can be all legal and what not. I was thinking you could start next week, maybe match your walk-in hours to Hank’s in case you need any help.”
Wonderful. Not a job offer, a job told. With Tally’s blunt personality, I can’t quite tell if this is just her being her, or a form of bullying to get me to stay here, but it’s not happening. I refuse to work next to Hank a second longer.
“I appreciate the offer, Tally. I really do, but I’m going to have to pass on this position right now.”
Tally’s overdrawn eyebrows pull together. “You don’t want to work here? After all the time you just put in?”
“Not what I said. It’s nothing personal.
” To her, technically…just her husband. “I think it would be good for me to branch out, that’s all.
” Not a complete lie. “You all have fully booked clientele—I’ve been here two years and the only walk-ins we get are for piercings and the occasional drunk who stumbles in with a random tattoo idea. ”
Tally starts to nod in an overly exaggerated way. “I hear you, I hear you—don’t want to work here, that’s fine. You got what you needed. Enjoy figuring it out on your own.” Tally walks toward the back, not giving me any option to respond.
Not that I was going to. I don’t need her approval, I just need this paper and my “cute ass” is out the door.
I click my tongue and bend down to grab all my files. “Could’ve gone worse,” I say, because I know Blake was listening.
“Yeah, could have told her you hated her outfit.” Blake sits back down in the office chair. “What’d you do with my ball?”
I let out an amused huff as I bring my plastic file organizer up on the counter, then toss his ball back. “I’m sure she’s telling him everything now, so I’m going to make a quick escape before it gets worse. If you find anything of mine, can you—”
I trail off as Blake waves me off. “I got you, now go on. Run while you still can.”
Hank and Charlie’s voices start to echo. I’m not sure what’s coming out of their asses, and I don’t care. I throw on my denim jacket and grab my stuff before mouthing a thank you to Blake, and I’m out the door.
As soon as my feet touch the concrete of the sidewalk, I feel this weight off my fucking shoulders. Ugh, I’m free of that place! I can’t wait to tell the girls.
When I reach my apartment floor, my phone starts to vibrate in my bag. Setting my stuff down, I dig it out near the last ring and answer, assuming it’s Lucie or my sister.
“Hello,” I answer with a bit more enthusiasm than normal.
“Jenni-cakes, you answered!” Beck’s chipper voice comes through the line. “And you sound…dare I say…happy?”
Wonderful. I pin the phone between my ear and shoulder to dig out the keys to my apartment. I flatten my tone the best I can. “Beckham, why are you calling me?”
“Well, see, I have some tattoos I need done…you know to go with my slutty thigh tattoo. And I know someone who just finished all her required hours—I want to get on her books before she’s too busy for little ol’ me.”
I bite my cheek to stop the smile. Of course, he knew I was finishing today. “One, I’m already too busy for you, Stalker. And two, I’m finished with my hours, but I still have to get my professional license and find a place to work.”
“Tally’s doesn’t want you to stay there?”
Not about to explain that situation to him. “They could—they offered, but I think it’s good for me to find a new place. Be pushed out of my comfort zone.”
“Do you have a comfort zone? I pegged you as more that ‘free spirit’ type.”
Finally pulling out my keys, I work on unlocking my door and can hear the clicking of my border collie, Dottie, prancing on the other side.
“What in the hell gives you ‘free spirit’ vibes?” I nearly laugh at his words as I kick my box of papers into my tiny apartment, and Dottie circles my body, tail wagging a mile a minute.
“First, give Dottie love from me,” Beck says. “Second, free spirit, as in has no boxes or comfort zones. More of a ‘I can take what life throws at me’ person.”
My silence feels near deafening. This is how I got in this mess—why does he always have to do sweet shit like this? It should be annoying. I’ve never once felt this attraction to the goofy, sweet guy. Romantic at heart, yes, but cheesy? No, never…until Beckham.
“I’d donate five hundred dollars to whatever charity you want if you lie to me and say you don’t have a tapestry up on your wall. Really round out my free spirit feeling.”
I look up at the wall completely covered by the thin cloth my sister had custom made with one of my first designs. “It was a gift,” I grit out.
“I fucking knew it. Let me know the charity, Jenni-cakes.”
“I thought I was supposed to lie for that donation.” Dottie paws at my side. “I’ve got to take my dog out, Beckham. Pick a charity on your own. Bye.”
I click the End Call button immediately, then toss my phone on my bed with a sigh. Scratching Dottie’s head, I do what I know I shouldn’t. “Beck says hi,” I tell her…like a crazy person.
No, talking to her doesn’t make me crazy, but telling her about Beck sure does.
Clicking on her leash, I grab the fanny pack I have ready by the door that I take every time I take her out, then pick up my phone.
Stalker
*A donation was made to the Animal Rescue Shelter - Boston in the amount of $1000.*
I doubled it for the truth.
Of course he would follow through and still be extra about it. Sliding my phone in my back pocket, I don’t bother giving him a response.
A sharp knock comes to my door then a piece of paper is flying from under the crack.
“What the hell?” I mutter to myself, or Dottie, I suppose.
Picking up the paper, my fingers tense, crinkling the bullshit in my hands with every word I read.
Monthly rent raised to thirty-five hundred dollars.
Motherfuckers work fast.