“Aw, come on!Cute chick rocks in with pastries to say thank you for last night.What else is a man to think?You’re asking for that shit.You gonna share whatever the hell is in that box?”
“Nah.S’all mine, brother, and man, they taste good.”He made a big show of taking another one out of the box and eating it on the way back to his workstation.
Laughing at Cujo’s one-fingered salute, he offered his client one of the pastries—not because he was a nice guy, but because it would be downright rude to eat them all while the client lay on the bed waiting for his tattoo.
It had been a surprise to see her standing there in his studio, and yet for some reason it seemed very right.It was like a million degrees outside.Most girls in Miami were wearing as little as humanly possible, but she still managed to look adorable in her white button-down shirt.
Her fashion choices made a lot more sense now that he knew what she was hiding.He couldn’t imagine having something so heavy hanging over his life.What defined “getting past it”?Simply surviving?That didn’t seem enough.You weren’t over shit if it held you back from the rest of your life.
Feeling guilty, he shouted at Cujo.“You can have one if you close for me tonight, dude.”
The box was whisked out of his hands before he’d finished the sentence.“I’m supposed to be here ’til close anyway, you dumb-ass.Man, what did you do to warrant these anyway?”
“The tattoo you saw this morning.It’s for her.”
“No kidding.Really?What’s the story?”
Trent swallowed hard.He and Cuj didn’t have secrets.They’d been best friends for way too long.Since the first day of kindergarten.And given that even he recognized he was behaving weirdly, it was only a matter of time before Cujo did.
“Just leave it for now, Cujo.Here.Take the box to the fridge for me.I gotta get back to it.”
Trent rubbed his hand along his jaw.The drone of his irons was usually guaranteed to distract him from everything going on around him, but he was certain that he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about the intriguing woman who’d just walked away.
Chapter Three
Her lunch was threatening a revisit, as it had for most of the afternoon.Feelings she’d spent the last four years burying raced through her.God, if thinking about going to see the design made her feel so ill, how would she ever get in the chair?
Harper stepped down off the bus.A police cruiser was parked on the road, the officers talking to a cyclist on the sidewalk.She dipped her head and hurried past.She’d never trust them again.If they hadn’t withheld evidence, or lied at her trial,hewould have received a much longer sentence.The bitterness burned in her chest like acid.
The walk from the bus stop to Second Circle only took a few minutes, precious time Harper used to settle herself.
Harper pushed the door to the studio open, the coolness of the air-conditioning a blessing.The sofa was empty.Only two tattoos were in progress, and the music wasn’t pounding through her breastbone.
“Hey, Harper.”The same purple-haired woman was behind the counter.“He’s in his office.Said to send you back.”She pointed down a long hallway toward the back of the studio.“Second door on the left.I’m Pixie, by the way.Sorry about yesterday.Wednesdays aren’t usually that crazy.”
Harper nervously took the hand offered toward her and tried not to flinch as she shook it.“Thanks, Pixie,” she said with a tight smile before exhaling heavily.
Breathe,she told herself.Breathe.She raised her hand to knock and yelped when the door swung open.Trent grabbed her arm with a laugh before she fell backward into the wall on the other side of the hallway.
“Sorry,” he said, still grinning.“Didn’t mean to scare the crap out of you.”
She felt tiny in his arms as he righted her.Her free hand was across her heart in a lame attempt to stop its pounding.Way to go on making a good impression.The warmth of his hand seeped through her blouse, burning her skin with his touch.
“Come on in.I was just getting up to see if you were here yet.”Laugh lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes, and darn, if it didn’t make him look good.
“I’m here.But, holy guacamole, I’m scared.”
“Can I get you a water or something?”
“Sure.That would be great.”He moved his hand off her arm and she immediately felt the loss of his touch.
“Be right back,” he said as he left.“Have a seat,” she heard him shout from the hallway.
Harper took a moment to look around the office.She’d always imagined tattoo studios to be grungy and dingy places, but she was happy to be wrong.The dark gray wool of the sofa was soft to her fingertips and the lime-green cushions were so plush that they beckoned her to fall down into them.She could imagine Trent sitting at the long table by the wall, focused on the laptop that was currently showing extraordinary artwork as a screensaver.Images of tattoo sleeves, covering from the shoulder down to the elbow or even wrist, flickered by.She wondered if they were all Trent’s work.In the middle of the room was a light table on which there were several jars of pens and pencils.The whole room was painted a soft gray.Wonderful vintage photographs of early burlesque dancers adorned the wall—girls who knew how to put the tease back in striptease.They had that classic retro style of the 1930s and ’40s, reminiscent of Bette Davis and Jean Harlow.From a dark-haired belly dancer in a bejeweled bra and sheer skirt to a stunning blonde with huge feathers and sparkling heels, they were seductive without being lewd.
Sinking down on the sofa, Harper clasped her hands together.She didn’t need the cramp that would follow tonight from flexing them.
Trent returned, sitting down next to her as he handed her the water.She popped the top off and drank as she watched him do the same.
