Pulling out my phone, I take a picture for him so he can see all the added details.
“Wow, Jake. This looks fucking unbelievable,” he grins, zooming in on the screen to study each line and design.
These sessions are my favorites because I know how much thought and meaning is behind each image, down to the tiniest detail. It’s what drives me to always put one hundred percent into my work. I’m constantly perfecting my art, wanting only the best for my clients. I don’t take it lightly that they trust me to permanently mark my work on their body.
“I’m glad you love it,” I grin. “Let me wrap this up for you, and you’ll be good to go.”
He sits up when I’m done and puts his t-shirt back on. Once he’s paid, I lock the door behind him and start cleaning up my station.
Travis and I got lucky with this place. It used to be a barber shop, so it was the perfect setup to divide it into separateworking areas. Besides me, I’ve hired three other artists. We all work our own hours and do it by appointment only so we can make schedules to fit each of our lifestyles.
It’s right in the downtown area, so we get a lot of traffic walking by and a lot of curious people coming in from off the streets to see our work. Framed pictures feature some of our best works throughout the place. I made sure to put some of the celebrity work I’ve done in the front display window to draw people in.
I redid the floors myself, and the light wood is a nice contrast to our black walls. In the back, we have an office and two private rooms for people who want work done in areas that require more privacy. I’ve been doing this for almost nine years now, and nothing can surprise me on tattoo placements. I’ve seen it all.
I pride myself on being very professional at my work. I never mix business with pleasure and haven’t once taken what was clearly being offered when I have them up on the table. It’s strictly business. If they can’t accept that, out the door, they go. I won’t have my business smeared in any way, especially over a quick fuck.
I finish cleaning my tools and wiping down the chair. It’s almost ten by the time I lock up and walk to my truck.
My thoughts immediately go to Lyla as I pull onto the main road in the direction of my house. She’s been in my head all evening, and even the familiar sound of the ink gun couldn’t lull me into a trance like it usually does.
Part of me still can’t believe that I got her to agree to live with me. Until I know exactly what happened in her past and what we are dealing with, this is the only way I know how to keep her safe.
Just the thought of someone putting their hands on her makes me what to hunt the fucker down and see how he doeswhen he comes face to face with someone his own size instead of getting off on hurting women.
For the first time, I want to end someone and ask for forgiveness later. My fingers start to ache, and I glance down at my white knuckle grip on the steering wheel, which I was unaware of doing. I loosen them and force myself to take deep, calming breaths. I need to focus on what’s most important now…making sure Lyla feels safe with me. I’ll deal with him later and make it very clear to him what will happen if he ever touches her again.
Parking the truck in the garage, I head inside and immediately spot the note on the kitchen counter. I smile when I see perfect cursive handwriting, immediately knowing it’s Lyla’s.
Jake, I know I don’t start until tomorrow, but I didn’t want you to have to endure another frozen meal tonight, so I went to the store and made you a chicken pot pie. This meal is on me as a thank you for hiring me, even though I’m still not convinced you didn’t make it up right there on the spot.
Smiling at her words, I continue to read.
We didn’t discuss any foods you dislike, so I hope you don’t have an aversion to chicken and vegetables. The pot pie is in the fridge, so all you have to do is warm it up. I’ll see you in the morning.
Lyla - the girl whose heart may beat a little faster, too
Grinning widely, I open the refrigerator and get out the casserole dish. I can already tell, by the way it looks, that it’s going to be amazing. I scoop some out and throw it in the microwave to warm it up. The smell that fills the kitchen has my mouth watering.
I grab my phone and wait for the FaceTime call to go through. I smile when her face appears. She’s wearing her hairin a high ponytail and has on a guy’s worn-out t-shirt. I ignore the jealousy that shoots through me, wishing it was my shirt that she was wearing instead.
“I wanted to thank you for dinner,” I say instead of asking who the shirt belongs to, which is on the tip of my tongue.
“You’re welcome,” she smiles. “Did you like it? I forgot to ask if there is anything you don’t like.”
“I’m just about to try it,” I say, propping her up on the island. I reach for my oven mitts and pull the pot pie out of the microwave. “Did you make yourself some?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at the phone.
“And not follow my boss's orders on my very first meal?” She laughs. “I made some extra for me, too,” she nods her head.
“Good girl,” I grin, pleased that she listened to me. “Have you had dinner yet?” I sit down on the barstool and close my eyes as the smell of the dish hits me. “Damn, that smells good.”
“No, I haven’t eaten yet. I got busy packing and forgot to.”
“Go heat some up, I’ll wait.” She just sits there and blinks at me. “What?” I ask when she doesn’t move. “I told you I don’t like to eat alone.”
That’s not entirely true. I’ve gotten used to eating a lot of late-night meals alone, but suddenly, it’s not something I want to do anymore. Maybe it’s because I finally found someone worth spending dinner with.
I had a couple of fleeting relationships in the past, but no one has ever gotten under my skin like she has. She makes me feel things that I never knew existed inside me, things that make me question if I ever will again if she leaves.
