One o’clock in the morning in a city that was still wide awake.A cacophony of sound roared around him.Pulsating beats from the hotels, bars, and nightclubs that peppered the strip reverberated through the air.Drivers revved their engines as they cruised up and down the street, seeking attention.
The lock was temperamental and he jiggled the key with a finesse born of necessity until it turned.
“Can you tattoo over extensive scars?”
A soft voice, thoroughly unexpected, came from behind him.He looked over his shoulder, his fingers still on the key.In the shadows of the giant palm tree that dominated the sidewalk, a lone figure stood.She stepped toward him.
It took only a moment to recognize her—the girl from this afternoon.Wow.She’d changed clothes, tucked her clearly tight body into skinny jeans and an ivory top that looked like it was made out of, well, clouds or something.Her hair was down now, lying in soft curls on her shoulders, accentuating the most perfectly smooth skin he’d ever seen.Her arms were pulled tightly against her.
Trent paused with the key in the lock, never taking his eyes off her.“Depends on what kind of scar.How deep, how big, where, et cetera?”
She stared at the pavement like the cigarette butt by her foot was the most fascinating thing ever.Her hands clenched into fists and just as quickly she released them, over and over, as if wanting to do something but not knowing what.
“Are we talking about for you or someone else?”
The fingers were still twitching.She lifted her chin.The look in her eyes, which were an incredible shade of green, like sea glass, told him she was scared shitless.
“Me,” she said quietly.
He was exhausted.And the whole thing felt weird.He should just tell her to come back tomorrow—or better still, call and book an appointment.But if he turned her away now, she wouldn’t come back.He knew it for sure—hefeltit.She needed something, and it would kill him not to know what he might have been able to do for her.
“Want to come in and let me take a look?The place is closed, so no one else will be around… if you’re cool with that… I’m a good guy, I promise.”
Why was she even here at one in the morning, alone and looking terrified?And not the I’m-scared-of-needles-will-it-hurt variety of terror.Girls nearly always came in with someone.Friends.Boyfriends.Same way they always went to the bathroom in pairs.Why wasn’t anybody with her?He had a bad feeling this wasn’t going to be your everyday scar.
“I’m Trent.”
“Harper.”
“Well, Harper,” he said, opening the door he’d just closed, “welcome to Second Circle.”
***
“Don’t want anyone thinking we’re still open,” he said, locking the door behind them after he turned off the alarm.He walked over to the curved counter, but instead of going behind it like she expected, he perched himself on the edge.
Try as she might, Harper had been unable to sleep, restless from the letter and seeing Trent earlier.One minute she’d been wide awake, staring at the ceiling in bed.The next she was standing in an empty studio with a man she didn’t know, unable to recall the details of the bus ride and walk she’d taken to get there.
She’d believed in signs once, trusted her gut implicitly to guide her.Maybe it was time to go back to that instead of overthinking every little issue.
The silence grew between them, and the cramp in her hand was driving her insane.The flicking of her fingers was her “stress response,” according to one of her many psycho-babbling therapists—and man, it hurt when they started to cramp.She shook her left hand and squeezed it with her right to ease the pain.
“I like your place.”An underwhelming statement really.Even in the half-light, it looked more like a gallery than a tattoo parlor.The heavily varnished dark wood floor contrasted with the brilliant white walls.All kinds of art hung on them, from vintage posters of pinup girls to dark gothic pencil drawings.There were two flat-screen televisions, their black expanse a jarring contrast to the color and vibrancy of the artwork that surrounded them.
“Thank you.I do too.”
Harper could feel Trent’s eyes on her as she walked around the room, slowly drawing her hand along walls and across countertops to ground her in the space.
“I Googled you,” Harper said, turning to face him.
“Learn anything interesting?”
“You’re one of the best there is.”
He revealed two striking dimples as he smiled.He took off his baseball cap and pulled his hoodie over his head in the weird way guys did, dragging it by the hood over his back.He pulled up his T-shirt with the move, revealing a tight stomach with a rich bank of abs.The Internet rumors about that ripped body were accurate.Quickly rectifying the situation, he pulled his shirt down, smoothing his unruly dark hair before putting his baseball cap on back to front.His eyes were insanely dark, closer to black than brown.He looked at her, his brows furrowed.
“Well, sweetheart, I could have told you that.What else?”
“You’re really good at tattooing over scars.”
