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WINTER
Soon after Adam left, Tucker asked me to join him in the backroom. I agreed, but my stomach turned as he made the request, and I only felt more ill at ease when I sat.
"Bagel?" He pointed to the breakfast goodies he’d brought.
I shook my head. "Am I in trouble?"
"I don't know. Are you? How much money are you making on your freelance work?" He split open a bagel and slathered half a tub of cream cheese on top.
Designing tattoos wasn't my only job. I wouldn't be able to feed myself if it were. I did a whole host of freelance work, including logos, newsletter designs, and brochures. I even did T-shirt designs for a local indie shop. Mostly the T-shirts consisted of snappy sayings such as I'm not sure how many problems I have because math is one of them. The clientele was mostly teenagers.
"Enough," I answered truthfully. I could pay my bills. Admittedly, I wasn't getting ahead. I wouldn't be buying any new cars or going on vacation soon, but I could feed myself, cloth myself, and afford to put a roof over my head.
"You sure? Because I don't really see you as a Riskie's girl."
"I was filling in for my sister, and—wait, why am I not Riskie's material?" I felt offended even though I knew my body wasn’t worth paying to see. I was slender with not much upstairs and definitely a small ass.
"You're gorgeous, Winter, but not really stripper material. Besides," he paused to snicker, "you dance worse than Elaine on Seinfeld."
"Thanks. Thanks a lot."
As much as I would've liked to have proven him wrong, the fact was I did suck at dancing. I had about as much grace as a new toddler just figuring out how to walk. When we all went out clubbing, I manned the table to make sure no one horned in on our territory.
"You know you'd be earning twice as much if you inked your own designs."
I winced. This wasn't the first time Tucker had brought up the issue of apprenticeship. I always felt bad about turning him down because it was really an honor to be offered this. Apprenticeship always took a lot of time for the one who did the teaching.
"I think you could really take your designs to the next level if you had a tattoo gun in your hand and you began looking at the body as the starting point of your designs instead of the paper in a sketchbook."
His backhanded compliment kind of pissed me off. "I know you're trying to be complimentary, but it's coming off pretty insulting. If you don't like my artwork—which you've won awards with at tattoo conventions—why do you have me here?"
He took a big bite of his bagel and chewed slowly before responding. "Because I'm smarter than I sound." He gave me an apologetic grin. "Sorry. Your work is awesome. Now I'm not going to say anything more because I want to keep you here. You’ve helped put Atra on the map. I’m just offering an alternative. If you need anything from me, let me know."
"I love working here. I would never leave."
"Good to know. Now eat a bagel and then go make me more money."
"Yes, sir." I gave him a mock salute that earned me a puppy pat on my head, something Tucker knew very well I hated.
"Are you two done making out? I want a bagel," Gig whined at the door. Tucker threw it open and walked out, muttering something about lawsuits and sexual harassment.
"So which one of them are you going to go out with?" Gig asked, settling into the chair opposite of me. He pulled a bagel out of the bag and proceeded to shove nearly the entire thing into his mouth.
"Neither." Finn's steady pursuit might have been breaking down my walls, but that wasn't something I was admitting to Gig.
"Well, the trooper wanted me to give you this. Said he didn't want to be responsible for you breaking house rules." Gig placed a crumpled up piece of paper on the table. I picked it up and smoothed it out.
Tucker said he didn't care if you went out with me, but he was convinced you'd say no. Why don't we prove him wrong? I'll bring the wine, and you can bring the donuts.
"If it were me, I'd go with the hot cop because then you can break the law with no repercussions."
I folded the note and tucked it into my jeans. "I don't think it works that way."
"He could at least get you out of a speeding ticket or two. You never know until you try."
"My mom used to say that to get me to eat broccoli. I never liked it."
"Broccoli tastes like ass." Gig laughed. "And hot cop looks like he tastes like sweaty goodness."
