But it’s now almost five, I have my machine ready and the back room prepped, and I’m pissed off enough to tell Bobby to take his blowtorch and shove it up his ass. I don’t need it anymore, anyway. But I do need the big brute to move that chair out to the trash. I’ve finally accepted that no amount of independence and stubbornness is going to do it for me.
I also haven’t eaten. It’s a good excuse to visit Fez at the pizzeria, anyway, seeing that I woke up this morning to half a dozen texts from him. I hope he didn’t wait too long for me last night.
Of course, the minute I have the handwritten BACK IN TEN sign ready and am walking down the long hall to tape it to the front window, knuckles rap against the door.
“You’re two hours late!” I holler, rolling the shade up, preparing my best scathing glare for Bobby. It’s not his giant frame I find looming outside, though.
It’s that guy from yesterday.
We simply stare at each other through the grimy glass for a moment: me, in surprise; him, something unreadable, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. He’s swapped his black T-shirt for navy today, to go along with the jeans. Simple, clean, unremarkable. And yet very appealing on him.
“Is it Thursday yet?” There isn’t so much as a hint of a joke in his voice. I can’t tell if he’s serious.
“You’re persistent.”
“Yes.”
“Persistence annoys me.”
Finally, a slight smile touches his lips, and I instantly find myself fighting the urge to match it. He slides his sunglasses off his face, meeting my eyes with that cool, indifferent gaze. “And what doesn’t annoy you?”
“Not much, honestly.”
Another staring match. As intense as the weight of his gaze is, it’s not nearly as uncomfortable as it was yesterday, now that I’m no longer wary of his intentions.
I should be difficult and tell him to come back in a few days. The thing is, I don’t want to be difficult. I want to be very easy for him right now, because I’ve been thinking about him more than is wise since yesterday. Especially since last night. If just a sketched picture and thoughts of him could get me off so quickly and easily, I wonder what the real man could do to me.
Not that I would ever flip my hair or giggle at his jokes or do anything else to make my interest obvious.
I unlock the door and pull it open, stepping back to give him room. “The guy I was supposed to be working on hasn’t shown up, so I guess you’re in luck, because I’m all ready to ink and I need skin to work on.” I let my gaze drift over his arms, honed with muscles and free of any markings, before moving over to his chest and stomach. Wondering if the rest of him is this perfect. Wondering exactly which part of him I’ll get to touch.
“You look more rested today,” he murmurs, a secretive smile touching his eyes. As if he can read my mind, as if he knows that he helped put me to sleep last night.
I don’t answer, pushing the door closed. I lock it once again with a sly smile. As far as I’m concerned, if Bobby shows up now, no one’s here.
“You’ve done a lot here since yesterday.” His piercing eyes survey the interior, stalling over the six full trash bags sitting in one corner and the four boxes of “Ned things” that I’m not sure what to do with yet, but I can’t bring myself to throw out.
“I’m having it painted at the end of the week, so I don’t really have a choice.” The painter showed up here at nine this morning for a quote, and I, still groggy from too much sleep, agreed to a Friday start, not really thinking about how much I’d need to get done by then.
But I am thankful that I wasn’t too out of it to pack a change of clothes for the afternoon, knowing that I’d be covered in dust and dirt by now. I smooth my off-the-shoulder army-green shirt down over ripped detail black leggings.
“I see you’ve taken care of the chair.” He turns, but not before I see the smug smile touch his lips.
“I haven’t had time,” I lie, eying his arms again, hopeful. I’m not going to ask for help outright. If he’s smart, he’ll have figured that out about me by now.