Full Contact (Redemption #3)(15)
“He’s perfect for you. Don’t push him away like you have everyone else.” She asks the waitress for dessert menus and another two cups of coffee. Jess and I share many things, a coffee addiction being one of them. “You need someone to shake you up, pull you out of your cocoon. He’s the calculated risk your therapist told you to take. You need a little badass, but you know he’s a safe badass. He’s no stranger. Tag knows him. The guys at Redemption know him. And you like him. Who spends a year watching someone if they aren’t drawn to them for some reason?” She leans over and grins. “A primal reason. Just like him.”
I squirm in my seat and then take a menu from the waitress. “He just wants a tat, Jess, so let’s talk about something else. What’s good for dessert?”
“He wants you and you want him.” She pulls out her purse and throws twenty dollars on the table. “Twenty says you make out by the end of the night despite all your hang-ups.”
Hmmm. Can I afford to lose twenty dollars? Just the thought of making out with the Predator sends a delicious shiver down my spine.
“Okay.” I throw a twenty on the table.
Jess grins. “And no turning him down just to win. If he makes the move, you play the game.”
“No hardship there.” So long as it’s just a game.
The waitress arrives to take our orders and Jess points to my phone on the table. “Call Tag and tell him Ray’s driving you home. I want to hear the explosion.”
“Not this time. Tag’s been acting kind of strange since last weekend. Almost punched Ray in the gym. And down on the wharf he was close to losing it. I don’t know what would have happened if Ray hadn’t shown up. I think it has to do with a new case he’s on. He tried to tell me about it, but I just couldn’t listen.”
Her face creases with concern. “Poor Tag. He takes on too much. Sometimes you need a little help when you’re trying to save the world.”
“And sometimes you need a little help when you’re trying to hide from it.”
*
“Hi, Slim. Bye, Christos.” I press myself back against the door as Christos sails past me and out onto the sidewalk.
“Got a gig at the Cage tonight. Have to run.” He blows me a kiss and then races down the street.
Slim looks up from Rose’s desk and shakes his head. “He’s more about the music than the ink.”
“That’s not true. He’s about both.” I dump my stuff and perch on the edge of the desk beside him. “And if you think he’s going to leave us, I can promise you he won’t. He loves it here. He loves his work. And although I hate to say it, his band is never going to make it big. They’re good but not that good. Plus, he’s loyal. Like me and Duncan.”
Slim sniffs and shoves his Fedora to the side. “You said you want to open up your own studio. Doesn’t sound loyal to me.”
“I’m talking years from now. Like so many years you’ll probably be sick of me by then, and I’ll have forgotten everything I learned in my business management course and come crawling back begging for a chair.”
“That kinda attitude, you’re right.” Slim leans back in his chair and crosses his arms behind his head. “You gotta have confidence in yourself. Coupla times I left you running the shop, you did a bang-up job, but you were always second-guessing yourself. You got good instincts. Trust ’em.”
Ha. If he knew about my lack of judgment, he would never say that. “You trying to make me leave? Bolster my confidence enough and I might just walk out of here.”
“You’re not there yet. If you were, I’d be hiding my client list.”
We chat about some of the mind-blowing artists who have made names for themselves in the city with clever designs, crazy colors, and bold line work. I tell Slim they’re killing at what they do while I’m stuck in the same place. Slim laughs and says they’re all basically doing the same thing, scamming on the styles of the masters. True art is unique, pure creation. One day when I’m doing freehand, I’ll understand.
I wish that day was now.
The little bell on the front door jangles and Slim gives my arm a warning squeeze. “Speaking of clients, here comes your man.”
“He’s not my man. He’s a friend.”
Slim laughs. “My friends don’t look at me like they want to devour me. They also don’t call up Rose, order her to clear your schedule for the evening, and offer to pay for the extra time. That kind of attention usually means something more than friendship.” He winks and tips back his hat. “Just sayin’.”
Pressing my lips together, I glare. “Don’t you have an ass to ink out back? I thought Rose mentioned your favorite soldier got drunk again at a party and can’t go home until you’ve covered ‘Whore Lover’ with his wife’s name.”
Slim scrubs his hands over his face. “Fifth time now. I’m running out of ideas for stylized versions of ‘Ava’ that are long enough to cover the tats he gets when he’s on tour overseas.”
He heads to the back and I spin around to find Ray in the doorway. He’s wearing his usual delicious khaki commando pants, sitting low on his narrow hips, and a tight black Harley-Davidson T-shirt. His biceps bulge from beneath his short sleeves and my mouth waters.