Clipped Wings Page 8

  I must have looked like a pig. Once again, I wasn’t doing very well with the whole social interaction thing tonight; I’d been hellishly inappropriate. “Sorry.” I was still chewing. “And thanks,” I tacked on at the end as an afterthought.

  “Uh-huh,” Tenley said dryly and turned to Lisa. “What do I owe you?”

  Lisa gave Tenley a discount. I assumed I was the reason. When Tenley was done paying for her jewelry, at cost, her attention came back to me. “What’s the verdict?”

  “The cupcakes are fucking awesome,” I mumbled through frosting.

  “I was referring to my sketch, but thanks. Cassie said you liked cupcakes. That was kind of an understatement if you ask me, though.” She paused while I shamelessly inhaled the rest of the cupcake and snatched another.

  “You made these?” I held up the perfectly decorated, professional-quality miniature cake.

  “Yup. I used to bake all the time with my mom.” She cleared her throat before she continued. “So, what’d you think?”

  “That I’m going to lure you back to my place and keep you there forever so you can bake those cupcakes every day for the rest of my life.” I left out the part where I would eat them off her naked body. Tenley was like a wet dream. Hot, feisty, into body modification, and she made cupcakes.

  “Wow, Cassie was serious.”

  “About what?”

  “Your cupcake issue. I thought she was joking. Do I need to take that away from you so we can get down to business?” She nodded at the half-eaten treat in my hand.

  “No,” I barked, holding it protectively until I realized she was joking. “Why don’t we take a seat and I can have a look.”

  “You’ve had my sketchbook this whole time and you haven’t looked at it?” She seemed surprised. It was hard not to be offended.

  “I was waiting for you. I didn’t want to appear untrustworthy.” Before I led her to my station, I picked up the box with the remaining cupcake, because Chris was eyeing it like it was a pair of tits, or a steak, or a steak nestled between a pair of tits.

  I remembered what manners were and pulled a chair up beside mine, waiting for Tenley to sit before I did. There was a time when I’d been raised to open doors and pull out chairs for women, all chivalrous and shit. It had been a long time since I’d found it necessary to do so; now seemed a good opportunity.

  “Would you like to show me the design?” I nodded to the sketchbook on the desk. “Then maybe we can see what I can do for you.”

  Her fingers moved over the tattered cover, pausing at the edge. On a heavy sigh she flipped it open, sifting through the pages. Halfway through, a design caught my attention.

  “What’s that?” I put my hand out to stop her from turning to the next page.

  “It’s nothing.”

  I snatched the sketch pad so I could get a better look. On the page were a bunch of random doodles; little hearts with arrows through them, ladybugs in various stages of flight, and a few “T. P. plus C. H.” ’s. The drawings were old. From the date on the top of the page, this one went back three years, but it didn’t stop the absurd twinge of jealousy.

  Beside the hearts and doodles was a design perfectly suited for ink. “That’s not nothing. That’s a cupcake.”

  “It’s silly. I thought it would be a fun tattoo when I was younger.”

  “Fuck, yeah, you should get this as a tattoo,” I replied. Imagining where it should go.

  Her eyes went wide.

  I toned down my excitement a notch. “I mean it’s a cool design. I could put this on you.”

  “But it’s a cupcake.”

  “Uh yeah, which is exactly why you should get it. I’m a fan of cupcakes.” Like it wasn’t obvious.

  “I hadn’t noticed,” she said sarcastically. “Cupcakes are for eating, not wearing.”

  She seized the book and flipped through until she reached the end, then she turned it toward me. “This is what I wanted to show you.”

  It took me a few seconds to process the image, or rather the duality it presented. The wings had an angelic, yet Dalí-esque, quality to them, appearing as though they were dripping off the page. They were torn and battered, like they had been ravaged by a storm. The infusion of darkness into something that should have been heavenly was magnificent. Fire licked up from the underside of the wings, tarnishing their perfection. Sparks of flame appeared through the holes, and embers burned brightly as feathers dropped and disintegrated. The top half of the wings was still intact. They shimmered a silvery-gold, as though the sun shone down on them, preventing further damage. It wasn’t just art. It was symbolic of an internal battle, hope amid destruction, or possibly the reverse.

  The intricacy was insane. The wings, no matter how damaged, seemed ready to take flight. Tenley was a gifted artist, although I wasn’t sure she understood her talent.

  “It’s incredible,” Lisa said from behind me. I had been so engrossed in the details that I hadn’t noticed she was there.

  “It is.” I nodded, already planning how I would modify it as body art. There was only one place I could envision the piece going, and at its current size, it wouldn’t look right.

  “Tenley, I can’t make this any smaller and maintain the integrity of the art. To be honest, it would be impossible to preserve the detail, even at this size.” I was bitterly disappointed. I wanted so much to be able to tell her I could make it work.

  “That’s fine,” Tenley replied, unfazed by my admission. “I don’t want it smaller.”

  My head shot up. “What?”

  “I want that as a full back piece.”

  That was the exact location I’d imagined it going, which was extreme for a newbie. “But you don’t have any other ink.”

  “We already talked about that,” she said warily.

  I remained dumbfounded. Something serious had to have happened for her to want a piece so massive and dark embedded in her skin. “Most people start with something small and work up to a piece like this. You don’t even have a tiny ladybug tattooed on your toe and you expect me to ink your entire back?”

  “I don’t expect you to do anything. What I want is for you to put that design on my back. I have no desire to start with something smaller. If you won’t do it, then I’ll ask Chris or Jamie. Either that or you can refer me to someone else.” She inspected her nails, her tone detached, her posture stiff.

  I wasn’t sure how to read her. I wasn’t convinced she would go to someone else with the design, but I couldn’t risk it.

  “No way,” I practically growled at her. Like a dog. I was such an asshole.

  “Why not? I’m sure Chris would be more than willing to work with me on this.” Tenley looked over to Chris, who was pretending to clean up his station while he eavesdropped. “Isn’t that right, Chris?”

  “Sure, Tee. If Stryker pussies out, I’ll take on the project.”

  “You haven’t even seen the design,” I said, venom lacing my words. “And it doesn’t matter anyway, because you’re not doing it.”

  Chris smiled, like I’d proven his earlier assertion right. I didn’t care. I would break his fingers before he touched Tenley. If anyone ended up with the privilege of inking her, it would be me.

  “Since when do you dictate what Chris can and can’t do? I was under the impression you boys had a partnership, not a dictatorship. If you refuse to work on my design, at least you could be courteous enough to pass it on to someone equally qualified,” Tenley argued. Quite eloquently.

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it,” I replied, leaning in, still more agitated than I should have been.

  “So you’ll work on me?” Tenley mirrored my movements, her face close to mine, calculatedly calm.

  I shouldn’t agree to put a full back tattoo on a girl who had never been inked before and who made my dick ache constantly. But the thought of someone else doing it made me want to hit something. Particularly Chris.

  “Fine,” I huffed.

  “Great.” Tenley’
s face broke into the most beautiful smile.

  It spurred the irrational desire to agree to anything she asked. Instead I was my usual douche self. “It won’t be cheap,” I warned.

  “That’s fine, money isn’t an issue.”

  That was interesting. Tuition for Northwestern was astronomical. I heard enough kids complain about it, or brag, as the case might be. If money wasn’t an issue for a tattoo, I had to wonder why she kept a part-time job.

  “It’ll probably take about twenty hours, give or take.” I was banking on it taking more time rather than less.

  “Okay.”

  “We’ll have to spread it out over multiple sessions.”

  “I realize that.” She sounded insulted.

  My dick understood before my brain did that I would be spending hours in a room alone with Tenley topless. While she was under my needle, I would have an uninterrupted expanse of time to get to know her beyond these brief, tense exchanges. If she got comfortable with me, I might be able to find out what had happened to make her want something so insanely dark. I couldn’t believe I was persuading her not to get the tattoo when it worked so well in my favor. I should drag it out if I had the opportunity.

  I stopped trying to dissuade her, even though it felt like the pinnacle of unethical practice. She was already committed to it or she wouldn’t have been arguing for alternative artists and tolerating my jerkoff behavior.

  “Give me a few days to work on translating the design into a tattoo, then you can tell me if you like what I’ve done.”

  “Sure, when do you want me to come in next?”

  “Early next week?”

  “Monday? Oh wait, you don’t usually work Mondays, do you? What about Tuesday?”

  I grinned. She knew I didn’t work on Monday. That meant she was aware of my schedule. Nice. We were both creepers. “I’ll come in Monday for you. How about you stop by after you finish your shift and we can hash out the finer details,” I replied.

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I know.”

  “I can wait until Tuesday.”

  “I’m sure you can, but I’ll come in just for you.” She toyed with the frayed edge of the sketchbook. There I was, doing it again, saying things to make her uncomfortable.

  “Okay.” She peeked up at me, her lips pursed like she was fighting a grin. As if I would renege if she happened to show some kind of enthusiasm over the fact I’d given in to her.

  “Excellent. I’ll make a copy of this.” I hauled ass over to the copier.

  Lisa dropped into my chair. “We’re going down the street for a drink when we close up. Do you want to come?” she asked Tenley.

  I tensely awaited her reply. I was fine in here, without booze in my system to destroy my limited control. But put me in a bar with Tenley and add alcohol? I couldn’t be held responsible for my actions. Especially if another douchebag put his hands on her.

  “I have some assignments to finish up. Maybe another time, though.” I could have been wrong, but I thought she sounded disappointed. Despite my reservations, so was I.

  Once I made the copy, I led her to the full-length, three-sided mirror, which allowed clients to see their finished piece from every conceivable angle. In order to accommodate the dimensions of the tattoo, I would need to measure her back span and rework the design as required.

  Tenley stood in front of the mirror, rocking on her heels. I towered over her from my place behind her, the top of her head a couple inches shy of my chin. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her jeans, exposing a thin band of ivory skin, and looked over her shoulder, waiting for directions.

  “You can face forward.” I skimmed her cheek with a knuckle, encouraging her to look at her reflection. She blinked in surprise, but she didn’t shy away. It looked like we were making progress.

  I replaced the hands at her hips with my own and resisted the urge to slide them under the fabric and run my palms over the silken flesh. I angled her body slightly to give her a better view of her back and positioned my thumbs at the widest part of her hips. “This is where you want the piece to end?”

  “Yes.” Her response came out a breathy whisper.

  Huh. Interesting. That was a good sign. I liked the possibility the attraction was mutual beyond the usual fascination with my body art.

  I measured her lower back and recorded the numbers. Moving up to the dip in her waist and then to her shoulders, I tried to remain as professional as possible. It wasn’t easy, and it didn’t help matters that Tenley was flustered and fidgety. When social awkwardness had become a turn-on for me was a mystery.

  “Okay, we’re all set.” I almost gave her ass a pat but stopped before I could act on my idiocy.

  “Thank you for agreeing to do this for me.” She said it with such sad sincerity. Like marking her untouched skin with a massive tattoo deserved some kind of medal.

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  Tenley surprised me when she put her hand on my shoulder and rose up on her tiptoes to drop a soft kiss on the edge of my jaw, which was as high as she could reach. Mortification colored her cheeks pink as she stepped away, like she’d acted before she’d thought. I could relate; it seemed to be how I worked where she was concerned.

  “See you Monday.” She hurried out of the shop and across the street, leaving her sketchbook behind. I wondered if she’d be back for it before then. I hoped so. I waited until she disappeared between the buildings before I brought the sketch to my station and set it down for the rest of them to see.

  Chris let out a low whistle.

  “That’s heavy,” Jamie said.

  “I know.”

  The sketch was otherworldly. And I couldn’t believe I had agreed to it. The darkness in it told me there was a story I should know.

  9

  TENLEY

  Despite Hayden’s concern about the size of the piece, he vehemently refused to let anyone else work on it. His possessiveness over the job was as confusing as it was appealing, like everything else about him. The underlying significance was something I wouldn’t dwell on.

  When I was near Hayden, all the parts of my past I wanted to leave behind disappeared, if only for a short while. But it extended far beyond the physical attraction, which had become impossible to ignore. He understood the concept of art as expression in a way my family and Connor hadn’t. Consuming in a way I’d never experienced; his presence acted as a balm I hadn’t realized I needed. With him I felt safe to embrace those inherent parts of myself I had previously denied out of fear of judgment. It made him as alluring as it did unnerving.

  I didn’t know his story, but the tattoos I’d seen on his body and in his albums reflected his talent to unite the delicate and the severe. I hoped to learn more about what inspired his body art while he put my design on me. I would have plenty of time to do that with such an extensive piece.

  I had spent the past ten months cultivating solitude, but now I wanted contact, physical and emotional. If Hayden came up with an adaptation we both agreed on, I would get both. The warmth of his touch made me feel grounded and alive. It was shockingly foreign after so much isolation. I could only hope that the tattoo itself would bring the type of catharsis I craved.

  I paced around my apartment, flipped through the most recent version of my thesis but couldn’t concentrate enough to make Professor Calder’s proposed changes. I set it aside and turned on the TV but found nothing to hold my attention. I tried to think about anything but Hayden, to find something else to occupy the space in my mind. But it was difficult, because the only other thoughts as constant as the icy-eyed tattoo artist were the things I didn’t want to think about at all.

  I followed the line of the barbell in my ear with my fingertip. There was comfort in the dull throb. It was a vague and minor echo of the ache in my chest. Hayden had been right about the effect of physical pain as a release for the emotional. The initial sting of the needle as it slid through skin and cartilage reminded me I’d been
through worse and survived. So far. I imagined the tattoo would be infinitely more purifying, an etching of pain into skin; a release for the agony I carried with me.

  The sound of my phone ringing shocked me out of my self-flagellation. I was perilously close to cracking. I took a deep breath and another, and another, pushing emotions down, locking them away. I looked at the screen, but the number came up as unknown.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Tenley.”

  Nausea was the first physical response, followed by irrational fear. “Trey.”

  “I haven’t heard back from you. I expect you received my letter.”

  Trey didn’t deal in preliminaries; he got right to the point. That he referred to the thick document as a “letter” bordered on ridiculous. There was no point in calling him out on it. In his mind it had been the most logical course of action, even if it was insensitive and hurtful.

  “I got it.”

  “So you’ve signed it, then. My lawyer should be expecting it shortly. The end of the week?” I could hear the condescension layered under the placid tone.

  “Not exactly.”

  “What’s the delay?”

  “I’ve been busy. I haven’t had a chance to review it.” I couldn’t tell him the truth. He wouldn’t understand why I couldn’t face returning to Arden Hills to deal with this. All of our possessions were in that house, half of them still in boxes waiting to be unpacked. I couldn’t go through Connor’s things yet. The wounds were too fresh. I was just finding my footing; if I went back, I’d be at ground zero.

  “Well, set aside some time, Tenley. There’s no point in prolonging this.”

  “I’ll try and look at it this week.”

  “You’ll need to do better than that. I expect a signed copy of the document on my lawyer’s desk early next week. That property is rightfully mine.”

  His patience with me was wearing thin, and I had none for him. “Not according to the will.”