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“I was able to get tickets.” Trey’s brown eyes sparkle as he leans way too close to my face, like he might go for the kiss I’ve been avoiding. “So I’ll see you there.”
“Yeahhh,” I drag out the word and spin away from his grabby hands before his lips land on mine and make him think this is more than it really is. “It’s a pretty big venue. Lotsa people. I’ll be pretty busy.”
Shoulda never told him I was inking there. Damn tattoo talk.
I’ve been to the show in the past.
Actually, every year since it opened, back before it became the huge ordeal that it is now. Just never as a vendor.
And it’s a madhouse at best.
Clearing my throat and busying my hands with removing the wrap from across my chair, I avoid his gaze when he leans down to meet my eyes.
“C’mon, baby.” I scoff when he improvises and instead presses his hips against my ass. “Let me take you out. Dinner. Breakfast. Something.”
“Nah,” I spin again and break free of his hold. “I gotta get shit done for the show. Thanks though.”
“Fine.” I lean over my station and toss trash into the can from the tattoo I finished on Trey only a half hour ago and breathe easier when I feel his heat back away from me as I straighten. “Maybe next time.”
Before I can protest, Trey leans in and smacks a dry kiss to my cheek like that will get me to change my mind next time. It’s sweet and quick, but I can clearly see that it means way more to him than it does to me when my shocked eyes meet his.
Trey keeps the contact for only a beat, then spins on his heels with his shirt wringing in his hands and walks out of the parlor without a backward glance.
“Thank, Jesus.” I breathe in a fresh breath now that I’m alone and finish putting shit away so that I can find it later when I need it.
The man isn’t a bad guy. He’s just not something I’m looking to keep around for the long haul.
Because long hauls aren’t my thing.
It takes only a few minutes to right the tipped-over bottles in my box and wipe down all of the shit used to ink Trey with a cleaner strong enough to burn my nostrils.
Tying up the trash bag, I ensure the used condom made it inside and knot the thing within an inch of its life and wonder why in the hell I always end up with the clingy ones. The crazy ones.
The ‘would rather see you barefoot and in my kitchen’ones.
The ‘I wanna control your every action, but I won’t tell you that until you’re deep in love with me’ones.
Huffing, I snag the bag and my phone and head across the shop to the back door. I burst out into the damp, dark air and fill my lungs with fresh oxygen that doesn’t reek of chemicals and body odor.
Except, this breath is filled with the scent of rotting trash and possibly a dead body thanks to the week-old dumpster sitting just outside the damn door.
Near gagging and regretting the fact that I need freaking air, I scan the alleyway out of habit for any strange people loitering where they shouldn’t be, and dump the bag before the rot can transfer via air. Not that I should be worried about any bodies or bums, considering the entire shop is on full security rotation since the moment that my best friend bagged a rockstar. It’s just that some habits never die when I spend so much of my time with bikers, former inmates, and just all-around odd fucking people.
Sometimes shady is too shady, even for me.
I rush back inside, where the scent sanitizes my sinuses, do a quick scrub of my hands, and peek at my phone for the time to blink back at me. I only have a few minutes to kill before I have to get my ass next door and be a part of a party that’s the weirdest celebration I’ve ever had to assist in.
Because my best friend and sister from another mister is in need of both a bridal shower and a baby shower, while her future husband is dead set on getting the show weekend started with a fucking bang and now this is seeming more like a party for the sake of a party.
As if the number one band in the country would need a reason to celebrate.
Which really means that the band will be present, which means that Fin will be loitering around like the weird people I was concerned about in the alleyway.
And I am not looking forward to it.
I just hope that the girly shower is enough to deter someone like him from hanging around long enough for me to do my duties as the future self-proclaimed godmother, and get my ass home to sleep off the knots in my back before I tear myself apart over the next four days.
When I finally kick my ass in gear, I walk the floor to make sure all of the lights and tattoo guns are off before locking up and walking the thirty seconds down the calm street to the storefront that shares an interior wall with the parlor I’ve rented a chair in since I completed my apprenticeship to start inking. The boutique and studio combination that Aria and her sister moved into in order to share their art with the world, boasting both their clothing designs and photography.
