Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63741 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
I used some petty cash to buy a couple of plants from a shop around the corner. The fern in the waiting area and the dish of succulents on the reception counter make me feel more at home here.
The only drawbacks are my daily commute, which is long and continually unpredictable, and the close quarters at the shop, which provide as much temptation as I was afraid they would.
Though I’m careful to watch where I’m going and not end up in the hallway at the same time as any of the guys again, I still often find myself shoulder-to-shoulder—or rather, shoulder-to-chest—with them at the reception desk, in the lounge, or in doorways.
Even when all of them are at their stations working, I hear Griffin singing, catch the scent of Zeb’s cologne, and feel like I have a front row seat to the furrow of Frank’s brow as he focuses on his work.
I’m more aware than ever of how each of them smells, how they move, and how they respond to each other and to me. When there’s a rare collective break from the buzz of the tattoo machines, I swear I can hear the three of them breathing.
It’s bliss and torture all at the same time.
Along with the scheduled appointments, we get inquiries every day from people who come in after seeing our sign outside. One of those walk-ins, a woman around Zeb and Frank’s age, gets lucky when she arrives right after Frank has a cancellation.
“Our artists are typically booked a few weeks in advance, but we’ve just had an unexpected opening,” I tell her when she inquires about getting a small tattoo.
I gesture for Frank to come over. “Would you like to talk with the artist about what you’re looking for?” As he approaches, the woman watches, twirling a strand of long dark hair around one of her fingers and tapping shiny red fingernails on the counter with her other hand.
As I make introductions—her name is Jennifer—the woman not only shakes Frank’s hand, but also gives his bicep a quick squeeze. “Oh, sorry,” she says with a giggle. “I just couldn’t resist. I came in today to commemorate my divorce, and I guess I’m feeling a little bit reckless.”
Frank ignores both her physical contact and her apology. “What’re you looking for?”
“Ooh, such a deep voice,” the woman purrs. “Well, I was thinking of a bird maybe, and the word free, because I am feeling very, very free.”
“Any particular type of bird, or typeface?” His response is totally matter of fact, as if she weren’t practically throwing herself at him.
As they talk, I try to busy myself on my laptop for a distraction, because the contrast between the woman’s flirtations and Frank’s stoic responses is cracking me up.
Finally, they go to his station, where he does a quick sketch and then gets to work. The woman talks throughout the process, even though Frank says very little in return. When the tattoo, which is on her back shoulder, is complete, he holds up a mirror, and Jennifer gushes about it.
She’s so excited about it, she gives Frank a big hug, which, by the look on his face, takes him completely by surprise, and not in a good way.
Then Jennifer goes around to Zeb and Griffin and shows off her new tattoo to each of them. When she comes over to me, I ask if I can take a photo of it for our social media, and she readily agrees. After Frank does the aftercare and gives her instructions for what to do at home, Jennifer waves to all three of the men and promises she’ll be back soon.
“We’re talking about going to Diamond Hearts to celebrate our first week here.” Leaning across the counter of the reception desk, Griffin gestures to the other two men with a tip of his head before looking back at me. “Will you come?”
At first, an instant and automatic yes seems like a no-brainer. Would I like to go for drinks at the fancy bar down the street with the three hottest men I know? Absolutely! But drinking with them also seems fraught with danger. I could easily get tipsy and ruin all my good intentions where they’re concerned.
We’ve been out together before, not just the four of us, but with a larger group from the main location. But now I’m their manager, and I need to keep things professional.
Not that it’s a real problem; I still think Lexy’s imagining their interest in me. But it would be very embarrassing, not to mention make things awkward at work, if I forgot myself and started flirting.
I am the manager, however, and it’s probably good business as well as good manners to say yes. So I smile at him. “That sounds nice.”
“Great.” The smile he flashes me makes me instantly second-guess my decision; it’s even more wicked than his usual ones. “Are you ready to start locking up?”