Chapter Two
Rome
The familiar smell of disinfectant, ink, and leather hit me the second I stepped inside Bad Habit.
Home.
I locked the door behind me and headed straight for the counter, tossing my helmet down before flipping on the lights.
One by one, the shop came to life. The black walls.
The framed artwork. The display cases filled with jewelry.
The stations that had seen thousands of hours of work over the last eight years.
Eight years.
Sometimes that still surprised me.
At twenty-one, I’d signed the paperwork and opened Bad Habit.
Everyone told me I was crazy, too young, and too risky.
Tattoo shops failed all the time, and maybe they were right.
Maybe it was crazy, but I knew one thing for damn sure. I never wanted my future sitting in somebody else’s hands.
I’d grown up watching people work themselves into the ground making other people rich. Forty, fifty, sixty hours a week just to have a boss decide whether they were worth keeping around.
Fuck that.
If I was going to work my ass off, it was going to be for me.
I walked behind the counter and powered up the computer before pulling out tonight’s appointments.
Three.
All club guys. That wasn’t unusual.
The local MC kept me busy enough on its own.
I wasn’t a member and never wanted to be. The club had asked more than once over the years, but I liked my freedom too much.
I didn’t want meetings.
I didn’t want rules.
I didn’t want to answer to anyone.
In the end, it didn’t matter. The club still treated me like one of their own.
I did all their ink. Every patch tattoo. Every memorial piece. Every piece of club art.
When there was a party, I got invited.
When somebody needed help moving something heavy, my phone rang.
And if I ever needed backup? The club would show up before I finished asking.
That kind of loyalty meant something. I respected the hell out of it.
The first appointment wasn’t for another forty-five minutes which left me plenty of time. I walked over to the front window and looked out at Main Street.
The sun was starting to dip lower, casting everything in that late-afternoon glow that made small towns look better than they actually were.
My eyes automatically landed across the street. Scoop & Swirl.
The place had been under construction for months, and I’d watched it slowly come together between appointments.
She had done fresh paint, new tables, and a big sign going up. The whole thing.
I’d also caught glimpses of the owner. Not enough to know much about her, but just enough to notice.
Curvy. Burnette. Usually covered in paint or carrying something.
Always moving and always working. Most days she’d been inside before I opened and still there when I locked up.
I respected that.
Owning a business wasn’t easy.
Didn’t matter what kind of business it was. Anybody willing to put in that kind of work had my respect.
The lights were on inside the shop now and I could see movement through the windows.
Her.
My gaze lingered for a second. Maybe two. She was standing near the counter, looking around the place like she still couldn’t believe it was real.
I understood that feeling.
Hell, there were still mornings I unlocked Bad Habit and felt the same thing. Building something from nothing did that to a person.
I leaned against the window frame. She was pretty. There was no point pretending otherwise.
Pretty wasn’t even the right word, though. Beautiful fit better. Soft curves, long hair, and a smile I’d caught once or twice from across the street. The kind that made a person look approachable.
A laugh escaped me. Not that it mattered.
Life was a hell of a lot easier when you didn’t spend it trying to convince people to want you.
My eyes drifted back to Scoop & Swirl.
Tomorrow was opening day. The banner hanging in the front window made that pretty clear.
I pushed away from the glass and headed toward my station.
Sooner or later, I’d make my way across the street.
Buy some ice cream. Introduce myself and welcome her to the neighborhood.
Soon.