Chapter 24Howdy, hodwy.
TWENTY-FOUR
Howdy, hodwy.
Trace
I haven’t been nervous about a design in a long time. Years, even. When you have the name recognition that I have, with that comes trust. But being in Bluebell has instilled a sense of need in me.
I want to make them happy in a different way than I wanted for my other clients while traveling.
If someone in Bluebell isn’t happy with their ink, I’m gonna see them day in and day out. At Goode’s, at the farmers market, down the street at the credit union, or at the baseball field for Bear’s T-ball games.
We’re going to know each other because Bluebell is small and intimate.
After the stencil comes off the printer, I hold it up, bouncing the idea off of Ivy. We’ve been working together now for so many weeks, I look forward to her take on my designs. She’s got a keen eye for detail, but more than that, she offers a perspective I can’t. She knows these people, so when she tells me I’m missing a great opportunity on my new design, I listen. Because I trust her.
“I mean, Kenny’s mom owns the Big Bun Bakery down the road, so here,” she says, leaning over me, her dark hair swishing over my shoulder. I grab it, holding the silky strands as she talks, an intimate gesture that Deuce couldn’t pull off with her. Only me. Only I know her this way. Ivy points to the spot in the mandala where the design will curve, since he wants it on the back of his bicep. “You can hide a little piping bag here, or maybe even just a whisk? Either way, we all love that bakery, and Kenny’s so proud of his mom.”
Still leaning over me, she turns her head, our faces close together. “She was a single mom and built the bakery from the ground up with two recipes.”
Her plump lips have my cock hard. “That’s incredible,” I breathe, trying to stay focused on the task at hand. “Kiss me,” I whisper, unable to fight my desires for her. It’s getting that way now. The more we’re around one another, the more I need to touch her, hold her, laugh with her, kiss her. She gives me a small peck as the front door jingles open.
“Do the piping bag,” she whispers with a wink.
Kenny checks in at reception, and Deuce walks him over. Ivy is busy setting things up: my tray, the ink caps, my pen, restocking my cartridges, and reprinting the new stencil with the Easter egg added into the design.
Once we’ve got the stencil placed where Kenny wants it, the music is low and the lights are on him, I get started, Ivy in the corner watching.
“My girlfriend didn’t really want me to get this tattoo,” Kenny says as I begin the delicate work of outlining his design.
“No?” Ivy asks, and I can’t help but let my gaze flicker in her direction, stealing a glance of her tucked away in my space. “Isn’t she tattooed, too?”
Kenny sighs, and I continue working as I listen to people who’ve known each other forever have a nice chat. Bluebell is comforting in that way.
“She does have tattoos but it’s not about that. I think… well, she’s wanting to move forward and if I spend my money on anything but a ring, she won’t admit it, but it bugs her.”
“How long has it been?” Ivy asks, getting to her feet to steal a photo of me working for the Ink Time website.
“Six years,” Kenny sighs.
I clear my throat right as Ivy groans, “Oof.”
“I know,” Kenny drones, “I know, I need to propose. It’s just… I don’t know. I always thought I’d have my life together more than this when I became someone’s husband.”
“You have a job that you work hard at. A home you love in a town you love,” Ivy says, “what else is there?’
“I guess a better job? More money? A bigger place? I don’t know. I just… didn’t think I’d still be in the same place I was at eighteen.” He sighs, turning his head to face Ivy.
“But you love her?” she asks softly, her eyes staying on his despite the fact I’ve changed needles and moved to shading the design. She always finds the right mix of engaging with clients and shadowing me. Deuce wasn’t wrong—she was ready to be on her own weeks ago.
“Love her? God, Ivy, there’s gotta be a bigger word.”
“Tell me,” she says.
“She helps me even when she doesn’t realize it, you know? She’s one of those souls where life is easier when she’s in the room. When I’m on the brink of doing something stupid, she nudges me away. If I’m being an asshole, she'll give me a look and without scolding me, I’ll realize what I’m doing. She never makes me feel bad, ever. And she’s taught me so many new things. Small things when you think about it, like trying new foods and giving things a chance. But all of those things add up to a much more fulfilling life. I used to think I was too big for Bluebell, but she’s shown me that there’s so many layers here, and my mind was too small to see it. Now I see Bluebell is the perfect place for us. And she showed me that without judgment.”
The rest of their conversation becomes a soft hum, like an air conditioner running in the background, or a ceiling fan spinning. I tune it out but still hear it, and lose myself in my own thoughts as I focus on shading the design.
I was a prick to Ivy. And when I was, she gave it right back to me. But not without a lesson. She saved my ass that night when those girls planned to rob Ink Time. That would’ve done some serious damage to my relationship with Deuce, not to mention, how could I work here every day as the guy who got the place robbed? And she did all of that on the heels of me purposely trying to hurt her—after we had a good day together. All because my feelings were hurt. And why? Because I didn’t communicate my feelings to her.
She is helping me stay off the booze without rubbing my nose in the fact that I have a problem. And when it comes to the lifestyle I was leading before—she knows. She knows I’ve been sleeping around for years, and she doesn’t remind me of it every free chance she gets. She doesn’t compare herself to those women and make me tell her she’s better. With Ivy, the past is in the past. She’s so sure and confident, in a way I’ve never experienced. It’s refreshing and bold, and when I’m with her, I’m the best version of myself because I want to be, not because I feel like I have to be.
And the sex.
Fuuuuuck . I never thought I’d get on my knees for anything. In my past life, I was the man people swooned over. Waited in line to see. Asked to take photos with. Begged to fuck.
Something about being told how to please her all while pleasing myself is heady and addicting. The way she seamlessly controls my cock without effort is damn drunkening.
And every time I go down this road, whether it’s over a cup of coffee or on the drive home, I always want to come to the same conclusion.
I want to start a real life here, with her.
My mind hasn’t veered from that conclusion in weeks, and if anything, the need to get her off the market and officially make her mine has only grown, like wildflowers between concrete.
Another hour and Kenny’s tattoo is finished. Ivy prepares his aftercare kit and hands him the mirror, pointing out the tiny spot where we paid homage to his mom.
He praises me over and over, and despite the fact I did the work, I share the praise with Ivy, because I know Kenny wouldn’t like it as much without that little Easter egg.
After he pays and we stand around in the lobby, making small talk with Connor, he takes off. I find Ivy in my space, sanitizing my station. Her ass is fire in those little jean shorts with the torn tights underneath. And when I see the silver handle of a knife poking up from her boot, my cock thickens.
“Hey,” I say, slipping in behind her, grabbing a towel to help her clean. She pauses, peering at me over the tray of supplies.
“I got this, you don’t have to help,” she says, smiling.
“Yeah, I do,” I say, swiping over a patch of cleaner. “I shouldn’t have let you do so much. I’m sorry about that.”
She pauses her cleaning and says, “Deuce made it clear that the apprentice helps the mentor.” She lifts the rag. “This is helping, don’t go feeling guilty just because I’ve seen your come face .”
Laughing, I shake my head, my ribs tightening. “I like your sense of humor, have I told you that?”
She rolls her eyes. “Obviously. It’s awesome.”
“Mmmhmm.” I smirk, still looking at her out of the corner of my eye. “So, how long have you known Kenny and his girlfriend?”
“Forever,” she sighs. “I went to high school with Kenny. I think he’s between my and Juniper’s age, but I can’t remember. His girlfriend, Addie, is my age, though.”
A knot rises in my throat. I’ve never been good at saying the important shit but with a woman like Ivy, it would be a crime to be dishonest. Truly. “You know all that stuff he was saying about his girl?”
She presses her hand to her chest as she stands. “So sweet.”
I stand too and we toss our rags away. “He described you, you know.”
She swallows and it’s so quiet between us, I hear it. I step toward her, taking her elbows into my hands, drawing out her arms, linking our fingers together. “Yeah?”
I don’t care that Connor is laying a stencil for a bald eagle not more than ten feet away. That we’re on camera. That she and I haven’t discussed “us.” That Deuce is here and Sandi, at reception, is probably watching us.
Don’t care about any of that.
“Ivy, all those things he said, the way his girl makes him feel,” I start.
“Addie,” she says nervously, and I think it’s the first time I’ve seen her nervous. I glance at her lips, painted in black lipstick, and my chest squeezes.
“Don’t care what her name is,” I admit, my voice thinning with desire. “Ivy, I would be a fucking moron if I didn’t notice all the ways you make me a better man. And even stupider if I couldn’t see what a fucking catch you are.”
That dark bottom lip wobbles a little, but she sucks it back in. My girl prides herself on being strong. I squeeze our waffled hands, giving her a little wink. “Do you know what you are to me?”
Her blue eyes bounce between mine. “Your apprentice.”
Dipping into her space, I bring my lips to her ear, the back of my neck breaking out in bumps at her patchouli scent. “You’re my girl, Ivy.” I press my lips to her cheek, over and over, until I make my way to her lips. I don’t care if mine end up black; I’d paint my body in her lipstick if it meant getting to taste her.
“You want to be my girl?” I ask, dropping my forehead to hers. Her fingers tighten around mine.
“Girlfriend?” she quantifies.
“Girlfriend,” I confirm.
She squeals, and I crash my mouth to hers, eating up those noises of delight. I fucking love this woman, but I’m not ready to say it. Right now, I want to show her that I can be to her all those things she is for me.
Supportive, encouraging, guiding, caring, helpful. I want to show her that I deserve to love her, because I’ve shown her my ugly side plenty of times. Now it’s time to give her the best I can; she deserves it.
I break the kiss and step back, shaking our hands free. Her eyes widen in confusion but I cup mine to my mouth, tip my head up, and shout, “Ivy Ellington is off the market!”
Her cheeks flame and she laughs, grabbing my forearm, tugging my hands down. “Shut up, dummy,” she hisses, a smile from ear to ear.
“I can’t,” I tell her, looping my arm around her waist. “I gotta make sure everyone is clear,” bringing our mouths together, our lips barely grazing, I groan, “you are mine.”
She arches her brow. “Fine, I’ll let you believe that. But I think it’s the other way around.”
“You love disagreeing with me.” I smile, kissing her lips then down her throat. She shoves me back.
“Not at work!” she protests, but those tight little nipples tell me she wants it.
Later. Definitely later.
“You’re mine, I’m yours, potayto, potahto,” I say, sinking in the chair as another client comes in.
“Howdy, hodwy.” She grins.
I shake my head. “I’m gonna pay you back for that tonight, Firecracker.”
And I intend to.