In hindsight, I shouldhave just gone to the back and lived with a tongue lashing from Dex for simply living so that I could order supplies for the month instead of staying in the front, talking to a customer’s girlfriend about getting her nose pierced. But I didn’t. In my quest to keep being a bitch because my feelings had been hurt, I stayed up front.
Mistake? Uh, yeah.
~ * ~ *
“Sweetie.”
I looked over at the man standing in front of the reception desk. A man with a full beard and glassy, red-rimmed eyes, who smelled like rubbing alcohol. It was disgusting and it made my nose burn.
But this was my job and everyone had been nice up until then, so I didn’t think anything of it. “Yes?”
“Need to get a tat.”
I gave him a little smile without looking at the appointment log. Even if both Slim and Blake weren't busy and Dex had come out from the back, he still couldn't get tattooed. Whoops. "I'm sorry, but we can't help you if you've been drinking.”
“Sweetie, I need a tat. Now,” the guy slurred, smacking his lips so roughly spittle flew out.
Gross. The smell of alcohol got even stronger. Yuck.
I cringed a little. “I'm sorry but we really can't—,” I tried to explain to him.
Alcohol Cologne grunted. “Get Dex.”
“Dex isn’t scheduled right now.”
“Sweetie, get Dex.”
Oh boy.
I took a deep breath and nodded, pushing away from my chair. “Let me see if I can get him.” Years of mottos that highlighted “The customer is always right” was engraved into me. The music was so loud it wasn’t a surprise that Blake and Slim didn’t hear what was going on. They blasted it. Metal and heavy rock pounded through the speakersmostnights after seven.
The office door was closed when I came up to it, but I couldn’t hear anything from inside. I knocked a couple of times but there was no response. The light from the bathroom was on, and I wasn’t about to go bother a man when he was on the toilet regardless of whether it was my asshole boss or not. Toilet time was personal time, I thought.
“Dex isn’t available right now,” I started to tell the guy who, with another look over confirmed that he was blitzed out of his mind. “But if you wait a few minutes, I’ll try to get him to talk—“
He snapped.
I wasn’t a drinker, and the couple of friends I’d had in passing weren’t much either. They were occasional drunks. Funny drunks. Silly drunks. Loving drunks. I was okay with that. But a mean drunk was something I couldn’t handle at all.
“Look, bitch, I don’t have time! Get fucking Dex right now before I—“
The arm swiped at my waist from out of nowhere. Way too distracted, I realized it was Dex who had an arm wrapped around me, pulling me to his side. His fingers clenched the material of my cardigan.
I couldn’t see his face but I didn’t need to.
Dex The Dick was pissed. Enraged. I half expected him to shed his clothes and turn into a green skinned monster ten times his current—already tall and broad—size.
His wide shoulders were tense and the big man, well over six feet tall, seemed even more intimidating then. I think everyone could sense that unsettling dangerous mist of pissed off biker in their bones.
“Rick,” was the only thing he grunted out.
Alcohol Cologne sensed that raw, crazy energy too because he took a step back. His face, as red as a lobster’s cooked shell when he’d been yelling, blanched.
“I was looking for you,bro,” the man exhaled.
Dex pinched my cardigan between his fingers. “Get out.”
“Dex—“
