Cupcakes and Ink Read online

  As I hit the stairs, I heard the front door tinkle and the thud of boots moving across the floor above. When I reached the landing, I propped the box on my hip and peeked through the gap in the open door. I recognized him instantly, and apparently so did the rest of me. I flushed from head to toe.

  He was talking to Cassie, his hand resting on a short stack of books. He was close enough that I could see the strong line of his jaw and intricate, colorful designs on his arm. They looked like vines and what might be flowers, but they were too dark for me to be completely sure. He leaned in and dropped a kiss on Cassie’s cheek, which surprised me, both because of the tenderness of the gesture and the fact that he looked closer to my age than hers. They chatted for a few minutes, and then he continued on to the café. When he was gone, I slipped through the door and set the box on top of the other two.

  “Tenley!” Cassie stepped out from behind the desk. “You should have asked for help. My nephew was just here; he would have brought that up for you.”

  Oh God, I was having sex dreams about her nephew. How much more embarrassed could I be?

  “It’s fine,” I said, my voice higher than normal. “I checked inside these before I brought them up and it looks like there are some classics in here. I noticed you have a few empty shelves in the back where you keep the books . . .” I trailed off, trying to hide my mortification as I rambled. I hadn’t done much socializing for the past several months and my conversation skills were lacking. “I’m sorry. I can take them back down if they’re in the way.”

  She smiled reassuringly. “Not at all. I’ve been meaning to get to those, but it’s difficult with just me here.”

  “I can shelve them if you want. It won’t take me any time at all,” I offered, wondering if I was overstepping boundaries.

  At that moment, her nephew returned with a tray of coffees in hand.

  “I almost forgot these,” he said as he tucked a couple of books from the counter under his arm. “I’ve got a client in five, but I’ll stop by tomorrow so we can catch up. You can tell me what’s new and shit, ’kay?”

  “Whenever you have time,” Cassie replied, accepting the cup he handed her.

  He headed for the door, elbowing it open. His gaze lifted and found me as I tried to blend into the wall. I caught a flash of silver at the corner of his mouth before I looked away, not wanting to get caught staring. I was sure people did that to him all the time.

  There was a long pause before I finally heard, “Later, Cass.”

  The door chimed as it closed behind him.

  I expelled the breath I’d been holding, my stomach twisting at the memory of my dream. I stepped away from the wall and gave Cassie what I hoped looked like a natural smile, despite the heat in my cheeks.

  “I’ll just put these away for you?” I asked hopefully.

  “That would be great.” Her smile was genuine.

  I hoisted a box into my arms and turned toward the rear of the store. What began as a simple offer to shelve a few books turned into a full-day project. Everything was organized by size and general topic, rather than genre and author. I pulled them down and started over.

  Sometime later, Cassie found me between the stacks. “I didn’t even realize you were still here!”

  I looked at the piles of books towering around me and then up at her. “I think I got carried away.”

  She laughed. “They weren’t very well organized, were they?”

  I crinkled my nose. “Not really,” I said apologetically.

  “Hayden tells me that all the time. He says it drives him batshit crazy.”

  Hayden. It suited him. It was different, like my name. “I can come back tomorrow and work on the rest of this if you’d like,” I offered. “Oh, and there’s a table and chairs in the basement I’d like to buy, but I’m having trouble getting to them. When I’m done with the books could I move some of the other boxes around, as well?”

  It would be the perfect distraction from the emptiness of my apartment. Being alone all the time was getting to me and this was the kind of safe interaction I could handle.

  “How would you feel about a part-time job?” Cassie asked.

  “You don’t have to pay me. I’m the one who pulled all the books off your shelves.”

  “I could use the help, though, and I’d be happy to have the company.”

  I hesitated. It would be good to have a part-time job, a way to have interaction with purpose. “Okay. I’d like that.”

  * * *

  A few days later, I was sitting behind the register of Serendipity. It was my third official shift in as many days. I’d finished shelving the books; now I was cataloging them on Cassie’s computer. It was slow going, but it would make finding things much easier in the long run. I propped up an old textbook on the desk in front of me. There was an interesting, albeit dated, chapter on body modification practices of various cultures. It consisted of antiquated schools of thought on “deviant behaviors” that had now become almost mainstream.

  Completely engrossed, I failed to hear the door chime over the soft strains of jazz filtering in from the adjoining café. When a shadow passed over my book, I glanced up, startled, and found Hayden standing right in front of me, a curious smile playing on his full lips.

  Beyond the eyebrow ring and the ones piercing the left corner of his bottom lip, the first thing I noticed was his eyes. They were astonishingly blue. Not a sea blue, or a sky blue, or even a grayish blue. They were icy and pale and shockingly intense against his dark hair and thick dark lashes. He was painfully gorgeous in a severe, atypical way. Just like I imagined he’d be. And that was just his face.

  The dream rushed back, and I stammered out a greeting as images of his face and hands between my thighs flashed in my mind. He was taller than I’d thought, towering over me. He was wearing dark jeans and a short-sleeve T-shirt with an Inked Armor logo stretched across his chest. Hugging the contours of his torso, it highlighted the defined muscles underneath, giving my imagination a more accurate vision of what was under the shirt.

  Ink, ink, and more ink was visible on his arms, but I was too unnerved to be able to focus on it. I fumbled with the book in front of me and it fell over, hitting the counter with a thud. In the process my caramel latte tipped over, dumping the sticky liquid all over the pages.

  Horrified, I hastily wiped up the mess with a pile of napkins. I couldn’t look at him when he reached across to help me or when he apologized for scaring me. Thankfully, Cassie saved me from further humiliation when she came back upstairs. I left the counter and quickly ducked behind the door leading to the basement, standing on the landing for several minutes to calm my racing heart. I could hear the deep timbre of his voice as he and Cassie spoke.

  Now that I had a clear image of his face and his body and the sound of his voice, I worried about what my mind would do with them. I stayed in the safety of the basement until I found the lamp Cassie had been searching for.

  In the week that followed, Hayden came in every day I worked. Sometimes more than once. Often I was holed up in the basement, battling the chaos. It was both good and bad; at least I didn’t have the opportunity to embarrass myself again. Unfortunately, it also meant I couldn’t cure the insistent desire to have a more thorough look at the art on his arms. Or his stunning face.

  I knew whenever he was in the store. Hayden’s walk was distinctive, the soles of his boots heavy against the worn floor, his route predictable. He always stopped at the register first to chat with Cassie, then continued on to the café. After he picked up coffees, he came back through to talk to Cassie again. Sometimes he brought her a coffee or a tea.

  Today I had a reprieve from the basement. Cassie had picked up several boxes of books from an estate sale. Hidden in the stacks, I sat amid the books, arranging them by subject matter. It was relatively mindless work, which allowed my thoughts to wander in the direction of Inked Armor and Hayden. The dream about him kept resurfacing during daylight hours, particularly when
I wasn’t occupied, disturbingly vivid in visual detail and sensory recall.

  The tinkle of the bell above the door alerted me to someone entering the store and I froze, listening for the sound of his boots. When there was nothing but the soft strains of jazz music, I went back to sorting books. Some days Lisa, the pink-haired girl from Inked Armor, came into Serendipity. Sweet and friendly, she always stopped to chat.

  She’d invited me across the street to check out their jewelry after I’d expressed interest in getting a nose ring. As I sat there entertaining the idea, I heard the low murmur of voices.

  I scrambled to my feet, fighting back a moan as the ache in my hip flared. I’d been sitting in the same position far too long. The pain eclipsed everything for a moment, and I grabbed on to the shelf for support. As I waited for the pain to ease, I peered through a gap in the books. Hayden was in the store. He glanced in the direction of the stacks and I took a step back even though I was well hidden. My heart slammed in my chest and I closed my eyes against the fear coupled with embarrassment that I’d even considered the possibility he might seek me out.

  What I was doing was ridiculous. Hiding from someone I didn’t know because I’d had a dream about him. Images of him fully dressed between my thighs plastered themselves against the backs of my eyelids. I cracked one and turned around, checking to see if he was still talking to Cassie, but he wasn’t.

  Disappointment was tempered with relief and I went back to sorting books, moving down the aisle for a better view of the door.

  As expected, Hayden came through the store a few minutes later, stopping to chat with Cassie before he left. He used his hip to open the door on his way out, hands full with a tray of coffees and a bag of snacks. He smiled slowly as his eyes came to rest on me. I clutched the books to my chest, frozen in his icy blue gaze.

  “See you tomorrow,” he said, staring right at me.

  A few moments later, Cassie appeared and held out a coffee.

  “Thanks.” I inhaled deeply. It was a caramel latte.

  “Don’t thank me. Hayden left it for you. He said it was to make up for last time.”

  I took a sip to hide my grin.

  That night I had another dream about him. This time I could see every line of ink, and I could feel those rings in his lips against my skin as his mouth moved over my body. When I came this time, I wasn’t asleep.

  Hayden

  The two girls sitting across from me marked the official beginning of what we referred to as “freshman season” at Inked Armor. Every year around this time there is an influx of college students looking to get inked. These two were like deer caught in headlights, gaping openly, though their state of dress was far more outrageous than my ink and steel combined.

  The one on the right with hair the color of an eggplant was the mouthpiece of the pair. I already knew what their hometowns were, that they were both studying at the University of Chicago, and they were “besties” even though they’d met for the first time “like, ever” last week.

  Dressed completely in black, the purple-haired one also wore sparkly blue eyeliner and lipstick to match. A mix between raver and Emo, it was quite the statement. Her quiet friend rimmed her eyes in thick black liner and her blue-black hair was shaved off on one side. Her chipped fingernails were painted a darker version of the purple on her lips. There weren’t any visible piercings, aside from matching fluorescent pink skulls dotting their lobes. At least they weren’t the preppy shits I often had to deal with this time of year.

  The more subdued one was looking for ink. Since they’d been browsing the wall of stock art prior to sitting down with me, I didn’t have high hopes that it would be interesting. Despite having procrastinated with my last client, I’d finished before either of my partners had, so these two rays of sunshine were mine to deal with. Which meant I couldn’t go across the street to grab a coffee like I wanted. If I could hurry things along here, though, I might have time to hit Serendipity before my next client.

  “You have a design in mind?” I asked when there was a half-second lull in Sparkle Lips’s stream of chatter.

  “Oh my God! For sure she does!” Sparkle Lips shrieked excitedly. “Show him.” In her zeal, she almost shoved her friend off the chair.

  I was pleasantly surprised that she had a design concept. My opinion of them shifted slightly and I gave her an authentic, encouraging smile.

  The girl rooted around in her Hot Topic bag and withdrew a black binder. She took out a dog-eared piece of notebook paper, smoothed it out, then set it on the table between us.

  I stared down at the image and bit my tongue ring to keep from laughing aloud. On the lined paper was a replica of a popular cartoon kitty icon in some weird fetish get-up. With a riding crop. Despite the fucked up content, it was a pretty decent sketch.

  “You draw this?” I asked.

  “Jenny’s an art major. She’s really into anime,” Sparkle Lips supplied.

  “Is that right?” I asked.

  Jenny nodded.

  Real talkative, this one. “I can work with this. Where do you want it?”

  “She wants it on her hip,” Sparkle Lips cut in again. “You know, so the whip is . . . you know.”

  “Michelle!” Jenny hissed, her cheeks reddening.

  “What? That’s where you want it,” Sparkle Lips whispered back. Like I couldn’t hear her with two feet separating us.

  I set an elbow on the desk and propped my chin on my fist in contemplative fascination. “I’m not sure I follow.”

  Jenny leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. “So it looks like the whip is . . .” She made a snapping motion with her wrist and then pointed down to her lap.

  “Oh, right.” I nodded seriously. “So it looks like the kitty is whipping your kitty. I got it.”

  Jenny’s face went a deeper shade of red. As entertaining as this was, I didn’t want to give them the impression I wasn’t serious about her choice of art. While the design wasn’t particularly to my taste, I’d do the best I could to make it look good on her. I was also curious as to what was behind that quiet, unassuming front of hers.

  I took the focus off poor embarrassed Jenny and I directed the next question to Michelle. “No ink for you today?”

  Michelle’s eyes went wide. “No way, my dad would kill me if I got a tattoo.”

  I heard that a lot, often just before someone sat in my chair—or backed out of a tattoo. I couldn’t even begin to count the number of times a client would return months later to do the piece they put on hold.

  I lowered my voice conspiratorially. “He doesn’t have to know. There are lots of places to hide body art.”

  She blinked and swallowed audibly, her eyes darting to my neck where a lick of vine peeked out of the collar of my shirt.

  “Another time, then.” I turned back to Jenny, who was nervously biting her fingernails.

  “You want to do this today?” I asked. “I can fit you in.”

  Her hand dropped to her lap and she nodded.

  After hashing out critical elements such as color and placement—although from the crotch pointing I had a pretty solid idea where it would go—I sent them across the street to Serendipity. That way they could sip lattes and browse for books and kitschy items while I adapted the sketch. I didn’t need Sparkle Lips’s incessant chatter distracting me.

  They took off and I got down to business. It was just after five. My next client was scheduled for seven, but Jenny’s design was small and shouldn’t take long, so hopefully I’d be able to take a short coffee break. And get another glimpse of the girl my aunt Cassie hired recently. That chick was hot, if skittish.

  I fixed the kitty-whipping sketch and set up the private room. Jenny was all sorts of hopped up when they returned. I couldn’t tell if it was nerves, excitement, or too much caffeine that made her fidgety. I led her and Sparkle Lips to the private room, and tried to calm Jenny down by walking her through the process. It was debatable whether she absorbed anything I
said, but she was slightly more relaxed by the time I asked her to roll down the waistband of her skirt.

  She pushed the fabric out of the way to expose plain white cotton underwear. Sparkle Lips stepped in and yanked those down too, exposing more skin than necessary. I abruptly had visual confirmation that Jenny was a natural blonde, nowhere close to the blue-black on her head. But that wasn’t what got my attention. Under the loose shirt and the flowy skirt, she was painfully thin, the bones at her hips jutting out. One of those waifish types who didn’t have an ounce of body fat to cushion the bite of the needle. This was going to suck for her.

  Regardless of what the content of the tattoo might suggest about her, it was clear she felt awkward about her friend’s overzealous panty-yanking. I acted like it hadn’t happened and kept on talking as I transferred the stencil to her skin.

  Jenny had a low pain threshold. This became glaringly obvious when I began the outline—and that was the easy part. I had to stop four times and let her friend console her before I could pick up where I left off. What should have taken thirty minutes ended up taking more than an hour.

  By the time I went over aftercare and sent Jenny and her friend on their merry way, it was after six-thirty.

  I rubbed the back of my neck and sighed.

  Lisa, the piercer in our shop, was perched on a stool behind the cash desk, polishing a tray of nose studs. She shot me a sympathetic look. “I thought that was supposed to be a quick one.”

  “It was. Low pain tolerance.”

  “I could have told you that. Girl was a bone rack,” she replied.

  I snorted, but didn’t comment. There was a pile of books on the edge of the glass counter. I rifled through them.

  “Those are for you. Tenley brought them by.”

  “Who?” I asked. That was a different name.