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I shake my head with a slight laugh. “Baby girl, that sounds horrific. Your body is perfect to me. Somehow my hands permanently etched into your skin doesn’t scream sexy to me.”
“Definitely not. You know there are people who come in to get work like that done. One guy came in and asked for his dick to be inked. He wanted the slogan ‘Melts in your mouth’ wrapped around it like a Christmas tree garland.”
“Ouch.” Laughter erupts between us, and I know there’s no way in hell I’m letting another man or woman touch my cock to tattoo it. “I wonder how painful it is.”
“Have you ever wanted to get some work done?”
“Not really. I’ve seen some amazing pieces done. A client of mine runs a gym and has his entire back done of Muhammad Ali versus Joe Frazier. It’s one of the most iconic moments in boxing and sports history. He loves it and loves talking about it. I like that aspect of tattoos in that it’s art. It evokes emotion.”
Raina nods. “You mean if it’s good, it evokes emotion.”
“No, even if you think it’s bad. A buddy’s daughter has triple sevens tattooed across her neck. She tells everyone that her throat is like hitting the jackpot, but no one has the heart to tell her that they look like unfinished triangles. She doesn’t seem to mind, but they get a reaction out just from anyone who sees it. Is that why you want to be an artist? To see how your art makes other people react?”
“I don’t know. I thought it would just be cool to say like hey, I’m a tattoo artist. Kind of like running across a chick who can repair cars. Like I know the steps to change a flat tire, but am I actually going to?”
“Not while I’m around,” I tell her with a swift kiss. “You’ve got time to figure life out. If you like working at the shop, then keep working there. Maybe you’ll find your calling or maybe you’ll lock into becoming a phenomenal artist.”
“Will you let me practice on you?” she asks with a devilish grin.
“Practice what exactly?” I ask, with my mind drowning in a sea of fantasies where I’m teaching her how to suck my cock and ride it into sexual oblivion.
“Drawing, Daddy. Your mind is on sex this early in the morning?”
“Sharing breakfast while talking about tattoos doesn’t stop my mind from putting you on the menu. But if you want to draw on me, baby girl, I’m not against it.”
Our conversation drifts between topics until breakfast is done, the kitchen is clean, and we’re on our way to the tattoo shop. It doesn’t take any convincing Angel to have her in the shop while I go check out her apartment. They opt to keep her in the back of the studio so no one can see her at the desk as they normally would.
When I get to her apartment, I walk inside the building as if I’ve always lived there. There aren’t any signs of Drew, and the door to her place is unmarred. Owen let himself in and let himself out. As soon as I walk inside, her scent takes over, making me wish I was still buried inside of her warm walls.
Instead of daydreaming about my next time with my girl, I pull out my phone to review the footage from the night before. It’s hard to see as Owen makes his way around the apartment in the dark. I notice his limp and casted leg. It knocks and drags with every step he takes.
Owen says that he’s running around to protect himself, but I can’t help but think back to the many times when protecting his own ass backfired on everyone else. Owen has a weakness where he’s unable to see the consequences beyond what’s immediately happening to him. It’s hard to be his friend when he can’t see past the hand in front of him.
It takes me a while to squint through the dark videos from the night before to see where Owen hid his ledgers. They’re in a tin box under the kitchen sink. I hate that it’s in this apartment and on the off-chance that Raina is here when someone other than Owen comes here searching for it, I grab the box.
The metal is cold against the side of my stomach as I tuck it under my arm and walk out of her apartment. I happen to see Drew on my way through the lobby. There’s an arrogant grin on his face as I walk by. It’s like he can’t help but put himself in a situation he can’t get out of.
“What, man?” I ask him. It’s obvious he has something to say with his shit-eating grin. I want him to spit it out.
“Seems like you’re not the only older guy she likes letting into her apartment at all hours of the night. Sorry, buddy.” He chuckles as if it’s some sort of relationship-ending revelation.
I want to slam him against the wall, but I have other things to worry about. “The older guy was her father, dipshit. Mind your business when it comes to Raina, Drew. My last warning to you, asshole.”
I leave without laying a hand on the guy even though there’s an arrogance about him that makes me want to put him through a window. Fuck him.
Like telling me about Owen is going to magically make him the runner-up in Raina’s life. Guys like him never get it. It doesn’t matter if she’s single or taken, he’s never next. I’m her first, and if she’ll have me, I’m going to be her only and last.
10
RAINA
There’s an air of rebellion I feel every time I step inside Tattoo Heaven.
Come in and get inked by an angel or a demon. Angel always brags that his wife, Avery, must have sold her soul to be such a damned good artist. The way he looks at her with love in his eyes reminds me of the way I feel when Rex can’t keep his eyes or hands off me.
Angel’s not as tall as Rex, but he’s stocky and covered in ink. Avery has two sleeves of artwork that she displays regularly. The glass display case that separates the waiting area from the rest of the shop is now sitting in front of a temporary partition. The accordion-looking paper wall typically goes up whenever someone has an appointment to get a sensitive body part worked on.
“Hey, honey. What are you doing here?” Avery asks, her snowflake tattoo beaming in the morning sunlight shining through the window. “I thought you were getting out of town for a few days.”
