As soon as I could, I walked out those doors without looking back. I can count on two fingers the number of times my parents visited me while I was in college. But if I’m being honest, I preferred it that way. I didn’t want them around to taint the life I was building there. The day I told my mother I left the sorority house was the last time either of my parents asked about my college life.
I stand in front of my bathroom mirror, putting the final touches on my makeup before work. Overall, I’ve enjoyed working at Revamp. Malcolm is a sleaze, but Maggie is really great and I love being the first to check out any new inventory that comes in before we have to put it out for customers. Becca, the owner of the shop, is probably in her early sixties, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at her. She has beautiful olive skin, blue ombre colored hair that she keeps cut in a pixie style, and perpetually looks like she’s stuck in the 90s grunge era of fashion. I love her weekly visits to check in on us and ask our opinions. I’ve always loved fashion, and it’snice to have a creative outlet to spread my wings, so to speak.
As I slip on my dark skinny jeans and checkered vans, I hear Everett’s voice filtering through my bedroom door. He’s screaming at the tv in the living room and I already know he’s watching baseball highlights from last night’s game. The man has a lot of vices, that’s for sure. I think he’d probably die without baseball, cigarettes, and ink. I come downstairs and see him sitting on the couch, watching last night’s game and sketching a very intricate design that is going to make a beautiful tattoo. I take a second to just watch him work, his powerful hands moving effortlessly across the page, bringing the design to life. It’s an intricate mandala, the sharp lines and delicate details popping off the page already. It’s absolutely gorgeous and I find myself feeling envious of the person who will bear that design. Seeing inside his creative process is like looking behind the scenes at a masterpiece in the making. He’s laser focused on his work, the determination to complete an amazing sketch written all over his face. I don’t know why he seems worried, though. His clients are never disappointed.
“That is beautiful,” I say, breaking the silence and his concentration. He turns to look at me over his shoulder and I see something pass through his features. Wishful thinking would have me believe it was desire, but I know better. It’s most likely irritation for interrupting him.
“Thanks. I’ve been struggling with it. I feel like it needs… more. I just can’t figure out what.” He chews on the end of his pencil, a habit I’ve learned he does when he’s feeling unsure.
“Well, I’m no artist, but I think it looks perfect. Maybe ask the client? See if they have any input.” I twist my dark hair into a messy chignon at the base of my neck and toss my keys and wallet into my purse. When I came home from work last week, my tires had all been replaced. It was both a relief and a shock all at once. I know I don’t have the money to repay him for that, but I will. He’s been insistent that he got a good deal and doesn’t need repayment, but I know better. Everett Blake is an incredibly generous person, even though he puts on a hardass exterior.
“That would be easy if I had a client for it,” he scoffs. “Nobody is waiting for this one. It just came to me and I had to put it down on paper. But now that I have, it’s just… I don’t know, missing something.”
Walking across the room to get a better look, I lean over the back of the couch behind him. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I heard his breath pick up pace at my closeness, but I’m sure I didn’t. “Well, like I said, I know nothing about art. But if it was me, I’d say you should rethink the sharp outer circle. It’s so beautiful and complex on the inside, a perfect bohemian looking mandala. I feel like the edges should be a little more creative, like flower petals or something.” I feel the heatradiating off of his body and it sends a shiver through mine.
“Hm. Maybe.” His answer is short and nonchalant, but I can tell he’s really considering my suggestion. “You off to work?” Everett asks, changing the subject.
“Yep. Off to spend all day with Malcolm the maggot.” I laugh at the nickname Rory gave him after I told her about my first day.
“He still giving you a hard time?” Ev turns to face me, his hazel eyes flaring with irritation.
“Not since your knight in shining armor act on my first day. Now he acts like I’m a slave. I’m sure because he’s realized I’m not gonna sleep with him.” I roll my eyes and head towards the door.
“Do I need to have another chat with him?” He asks.
“No, he’s harmless. A sleaze, but harmless.” I reassure him, but it doesn’t seem to convince him.
“You’ll let me know if I need to step in, Kels? I’m serious. You don’t deserve to be treated like shit.” His concern is touching and genuine. I just wish it were more than just friendly protectiveness.
“Yeah, I would tell you, Ev. It’s fine, really. I’ve dealt with far worse,” I mean for my comment to be lighthearted and joking, but the fire in Everett’s eyes burns hotter. Almost as if his angry for any injustice ever done to me in my past. I have to look away before I read too much into that look.
“Just be careful. Your car holding up better?” He changes the subject, and I’m grateful for the distraction.
“Oh yeah, definitely. Thank you again for the tires, Ev. I promise I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.” He waves off my comment, turning to focus back on his drawing.
“Have a good day, Kels. See you later,” he says dismissively.
I wish his mood and intentions were easier to read, but unfortunately, Everett lets very few people know what he’s really thinking. I try not to read too much into his need to take care of things for me, but it’s hard. Would a friend really replace all four of your tires just because they knew you needed it? Would a friend make sure your car got detailed, and I suspect an oil change since my gas milage has improved over the last week and I know I drive like shit? I choose to ignore the confusion that plagues my mind any time Everett is around. Instead, I climb into my car and head to work.
six
As Kelsea breezesout the door, I focus back on the mandala design in front of me. My mind pulls me back to where I keep seeing this pattern. Every night I dream about the goddess who haunts my every thought. My most recent dreams have consisted of Kelsea’s creamy porcelain skin under my hands as I drag my tattoo gun across her hip, permanently branding her with my art. I wouldn’t ever reveal to her that’s where this idea came from. But even now, I see the image in my mind again. Her muscles contract and relax against the sting of the needles, but she doesn’t pull away from the pain. Just the thought of my recurring dream has my cock standing at attention. This particular dream always ends with me burying myself balls deep into Kelsea’s sweet heat, her luscious ass bent over my tattoo chair,begging me for more. Nope, I definitely won’t tell her where this design came from.
I toss my sketch pad onto the couch beside me and stand, stretching my aching fingers, trying to force some circulation anywhere else but my dick. It’s no use. There is another frigid shower in my future, for sure. I’ve grown accustomed to them since Kelsea moved in.
I’ve always seen Kelsea for the natural beauty she is. Lately, it’s gotten a lot harder to keep my fucking hands to myself whenever she's around. The sweet almond scent that clings to her, the way she always has a smile even on the worst days. That woman is an addiction, and I know I could overdose on her so easily. But a woman like that deserves better.
Pushing thoughts of her from my mind, I scroll through my calendar, checking my appointment schedule for the night. Looks like I’ve got back-to-back clients, so I probably won’t be home until after 2 am. I shoot Rory and Kelsea a quick message not to wait for me for dinner and hustle through my routine. After I’m dressed and ready for the afternoon, I climb on my matte black Indian Scout and point it towards the shop. I swear nothing gets me hotter than the feeling of the pipes rumbling between my legs. Well, almost nothing. But the power and freedom I feel when I’m riding has no comparison. My mind goes completely blank as soon as my ass hits the leather seat. I’m no longer plagued by images of the shit I’ve done in my past. Sometimes, Itake the longest routes to get to where I’m going just to enjoy a few more moments of peace. But it never lasts. Reality always seeps in.
I pull into my spot behind the shop and drop the kickstand, switching off the engine. The immediate loss of the deafening rumble of exhaust pipes echoes all the way through my soul. Most people would say they enjoy the silence, but not me. Silence just gives me space to hear myself think, and I can’t handle that shit for long.
When I joined the Marines, I knew I wouldn’t be anything more than a professional door kicker. But I was fine with that. I felt a pull to serve my country in any way I could, and I was excited about the adventure I could find in the service. What I didn’t expect was the damage my mind would take the first time I took somebody’s life. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t regret a single thing I’ve done in my life. When it came down to saving my own life and the lives of the men who depended on me, I never hesitated. But making those choices takes a toll on you, mind and body.
Luckily for me, I met Elijah. We were each other’s lifeline on the nights when mortar fire kept us all awake. Moving to Grovewood and opening the shop with him was probably one of the easiest decisions I ever made. Coincidently, it worked out even better for my sister, when she moved in with us and fell for my best friend. I’ll admit, it freaked me out in the beginning. But seeing how happy they make each other is worth it. Andknowing that in just about two months I’ll be an uncle to a new set of twins makes it even more obvious that the two of them were meant to be.
The bell above the front door chimes as I make my way inside Grovewood Ink to start my day. I wave to our receptionist, Willow, and see her son Jax huddled on the couch in the waiting room, his face buried in a sketchbook.
“No school today, Jax?” His attention snaps to the sound of my voice and he grins. At 15, he’s a heartthrob for sure. I know if he wanted to, he could give his mama trouble, but he’s a good kid. When we hired Willow, she told us his dad ran out when he was just a baby, so it’s just been the two of them since. They both work hard to make life easier for each other, and it seems like a great dynamic.
