Today was the day of Jude’s appointment. Normally I didn’t pay much attention to my schedule outside of having a general idea of what my agenda was for the day, but this one stuck out like a beam of light. Probably because I didn’t know what to expect.
Also because I knew I had to control my reactions around him to make him feel comfortable. I did not want to screw up my artwork over some lame-ass crush. I was more professional than that and now was the time to demonstrate it.
I was at the front desk saying good-bye to a female client who had wanted some blackbirds inked on her shoulder. As soon as my customer left, Emmy, who had been steering a tight ship of appointments today, said, “Be right back. Going to disinfect the station.”
She took off to the back room and just as I pulled up my remaining schedule, the bell above the door jangled. Jude stepped through with his skateboard slung over his shoulder and our eyes met. He appeared to stumble a little upon seeing me, if it wasn’t my imagination, before the door swung closed behind him.
If he was nervous it was probably my fault for staring at him longer than necessary every time I was in his presence. Either that, or he didn’t exactly enjoy getting tattooed. He had enough ink on him to banish that second thought completely, though.
Still, I knew that the process was uncomfortable, even for me. I hadn’t gotten new ink in a couple of years, not since the one above my heart that was a memorial of sorts to the people in my life that I’d lost.
Jude gazed at me through his thick blond lashes that were entirely too pretty to be framing such a manly face. Our eyes were pinned to each other and it was as if he and I were the only two people in the shop. Dex and Lila were at the front stations, talking over the buzzing of the machines, as they finished up smaller jobs and paid us no attention. Despite my resolve to remain adept, I struggled to even move my lips, which was unusual for me.
Jude’s chest was heaving but he could’ve been winded from pounding the pavement on his board. Or he was uncomfortable around me. That thought propelled me forward. “Hi, Jude.”
As usual, he didn’t say a word and I looked back down at the schedule to give my eyes something to do other than gape at how nicely his cotton T-shirt stretched across his muscled shoulders. “Almost ready for you. Just have a seat and Emmy will send you back.”
He nodded and as I stepped from behind the desk, I could feel his gaze on me. I suddenly wished that I’d thrown on a different pair of jeans or had patted on more cologne or something. But did it matter, really? He was here for a tattoo and I had a job to do, one I’d been performing for years and was pretty damn skilled in.
So what I looked like or how I smelled no longer figured into the equation. Besides, Jude was straight and he’d be royally pissed if I screwed up his ink or wasn’t an utmost professional.
I strode down the hallway as Emmy rounded the space I’d be using with Jude. “All set. Need anything else?”
The tattoo shop had a handful of secluded rooms that were reserved for bigger jobs and more private appointments and the customers seemed to appreciate that option. For lighter or quicker jobs, we used the stations up front.
“Nope.” I looked back once as if Jude could see me. “You can send him back.”
Stepping inside the room, I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans.
I got busy prepping my station even though this was only a sketch consult. But if it wasn’t a large job, I could at least get the outline going pretty quickly. If it was a more complicated design, then I could keep our visit to the minimum discussion and I’d be ready for my next client.
Bending down to adjust the cover on the armrest, I sensed Jude behind me and my spine tingled in response. He plopped his bag on the floor and pried open the two Velcro flaps. That black backpack was always a fixture on his shoulders and now I realized that it was specially designed to store skateboards. They must sell them at that shop along with those knee-length shorts and Vans sneakers that he was always wearing.
He stood awkwardly in the center of the floor with his hand at his neck, as if wondering what to do next. He motioned to the door with his thumb as to inquire whether or not to close it.
“That’s up to the customer. Some like the privacy, others think the individual room is discreet enough and choose to leave it open,” I said, using my most practiced voice. “Your call.”
When he shut it without hesitation, I sucked in a breath. So maybe this wasn’t about his comfort level. Or maybe he wanted the tattoo itself to remain private. Fuck, I needed to stop thinking so hard and just get to work.
“So um, hey,” I said, flicking my hand over my shoulder. “Why don’t you have a seat over there.”
He nodded and sat down at the small circular table. I sat across from him and grabbed a sketchpad mostly to keep my fingers busy, but I could feel him watching. When I looked up, his cheeks were ruddy and a splotch of color appeared along his neckline.
I swallowed roughly. “Tell me what kind of ink you want.”
I couldn’t shake the idea that I had Jude all to myself for a little while. We were in this room behind closed doors sharing the same air space. I needed to play it cool, to let him set the pace, and I needed to keep my mouth shut or he was going to run the hell out of this joint and never return. For some reason he trusted me to do this and I needed to honor that.
But he was going to have to actually speak if he expected us to get anywhere. He raised his finger before digging into his front pocket. As he did so my eyes glided down his knees to the fine blond hair on his legs. Some bruises and scars were visible, no doubt from those skating stunts.
I kept my eyes averted from the front of his pants because that would be like asking for trouble. But as he forced the paper out of his pocket, his T-shirt rode up, exposing his abdomen. His skin was smooth and a trail of similar light fuzz ran vertically above the button on his shorts.
I cleared my throat as he unfolded the paper, smoothed it out, and then handed it to me. It was an intricate drawing of an enormous leafless tree. Black and stark, it looked desolate even on paper. The trunk was substantial and the jagged branches darted out haphazardly. The leaves were few and far between—several stragglers clung to the twigs up top. It was pretty cool, stunning really, and I couldn’t help gaping openly at it.
I didn’t know what I was expecting from Jude York. Something having to do with wheels or a board maybe.
“You drew this?” I muttered.
Jude bit his lip, as if nervous about my opinion. He gave a curt nod.
“Nice job,” I said, staring into his cellophane green eyes, which now crinkled in the corners. “And this is what you want inked on you?”
His head moved up and down vigorously. I now saw how easily he could avoid communication, even for an appointment such as this—deciding on a tattoo that would become a long-term fixture on his skin. I was doing all the work, pulling the information out of him.
“Where do you want this to go?”
I’d be placing a permanent illustration somewhere on his body. Just the idea of it made me shiver.
He stood up suddenly and swayed toward me as if hesitant or unsure of himself. He huffed out a steady breath and then lifted his shirt. He pulled it over his head and then held it to his side, the material dangling from his fingers.
I held back a sigh, as I regarded him from shoulder to abdomen. He was wiry and fit, not an ounce of fat to be found, only lean muscle. My gaze landed on his pecs, where translucent blond fuzz, similar to the hair on his legs, curled around the light brown areolas. I forced away the thought of my tongue rounding those nipples which now stood at attention like pencil erasers.
We kept it cool in the shop so his tightened nipples could’ve well been from the air-conditioning.
Dozens of tattoos lined both his arms and one curled over his shoulder of what appeared to be some series of flames.
“So you want this on your chest?” I asked, nearly exhausted by the twenty questions game. Almost. Maybe if all of his smooth flesh hadn’t been on display in front of me. As my eyes scanned down his chest again, I noticed the beginning formation of a bulge in the front of his shorts.
Before I could even reason that out, Jude shook his head and my gaze darted back to his eyes. I saw hesitation in his gaze the split second before he spun around to face the wall.
I bit my lip extra hard in order to clamp down my reaction to seeing the blunt and heinous difference between the front and back of him.
Holy shit.
There were angry red lines and raised pink circles. These were scars. And not just scars from falling off his skateboard. Somebody or something had done this to him.
Was this the reason he had shown up in town? Had he been in some kind of accident? Was he running from something? Someone?
“Jude,” I said in a croaky voice, because I didn’t have anything else I could say. Not to him. I wanted to ask so many questions but I didn’t think he’d stick around long enough to hear them. He seemed best at avoidance and evasion. Though he’d never truly ran away from me. Not yet. And I didn’t want him to start now.
I finally got my lips to form a sentence. “Do you want this centered on your back?”
His head fell forward as if it could no longer support the weight of his thoughts and he released a heavy breath. As his fists tensed and released, I could only imagine how difficult this had been for him. To expose himself to me.
I gentled my voice. “You want to try to disguise these scars?”
He tipped his head to stare at the ceiling and rolled his lips inward. That was all the confirmation I needed.
“Okay,” I mumbled as if talking to a startled colt. That’s how fragile Jude seemed to me in this moment.
“I’ll work on the sketch. Then I’ll get it on tracing paper. It’ll take several visits to get this inked on your back,” I said gently. “And I’ll probably have to do some of it freehand.”
When he didn’t say anything, I continued. “It might be painful, especially if the skin around those scars is sensitive.”
Silence. Truth was that some scars took ink better that others, but at least the tree would disguise them enough.
“You cool with all that?”
He nodded.
Slowly and carefully, I stepped behind him. “Can I . . . touch your back?”
I saw in my side view that he shut his eyes.
Shit.
I wish I knew what was happening in that brain of his.
“I want to measure this out, so I can draw it to scale.”
He lifted his head and seemed to be waiting on me.
Fingers shaking, as if I were about to touch a piece of fine china, I reached out my hand. The pad of my forefinger tentatively traced the center of his back.
I felt his skin tremble beneath my touch. “Am I . . . do they hurt?”
He moved his head side to side. So this was emotionally traumatic for him. The scars themselves looked like they’d had years to heal.
I held up his picture and calculated how much larger it would have to be to cover the surface area of his back.
“I’m assuming you want the branches to reach here,” I said, moving my fingers across his flesh from shoulder to shoulder. “To mask most of these.”
His head dipped forward as my fingers glided lower and I felt the ridges and raised edges of his battered skin. I kept my lips tucked closed in a neat straight line so that I didn’t blurt out anything too personal or asinine.
“And these down here as well.” My brain had now switched over into total planning mode so I hadn’t even noticed that my fingers lingered just above his waistline.
I felt the vibration of his skin and looked up, alarmed that I might’ve done something wrong. He rotated around almost painstakingly and stared me dead in the eye.
I was ensnared in his gaze for what seemed like hours. My hands were motionless on his skin because as he turned, my fingers had dragged across his waist to his abdomen.
He didn’t seem to mind it, in fact his eyes flickered with something I never would’ve imagined in my wildest dreams that I’d see in them—
desire
. It was the first time the thought occurred to me that maybe Jude was attracted to me.
My heart hammered painfully in my chest. I was probably reading way too much into this. Maybe having anybody’s hands on him was arousing because he didn’t let anyone get near.
Finally his lips parted and his gaze swung down to my fingers, which were still pressed to his skin. My cheeks caught on fire and I yanked my hands away as if they’d been scorched.
“S . . . sorry.” I stepped away, figuring he was only tolerating me and was probably close to punching me in the fucking nuts. “I was in the zone and didn’t realize my hands were still there.”
“It’s okay,” he said in a low timbre that sent chilled fingers across my skin. Then he tipped his head to the drawing, as if to bring me back to my original question. “And . . . yes.”
“Yes what?” My brain felt fuzzy. Mostly because he has actually spoken to me. “You’re saying you want the tattoo exactly as I described?”
He angled his head in a positive response.
My brain was literally going haywire and damn it to hell, I had to go and ruin it right then. “What does the tree mean?”
He bristled. Fuck, I’d been doing this so long I didn’t even give a shit what client’s tattoos meant anymore. Sure, people had their reasons and normally they told you and it was all cool. It filled up the dead air space and made the appointment move along more swiftly.
But with Jude, I couldn’t help wondering why the hell he needed or wanted a big fucking ominous tree on his back.
“Shit, none of my business.” I didn’t want to wreck this. He was putting his faith in me, and given what I had come to understand about Jude, that was one hell of a huge deal.
“I’ll be ready for our next appointment,” I said, finding my professional voice. “You can figure out the time with Emmy up front.”
He pulled his shirt over his head, effectively concealing all of his sins and that had an immediate sobering effect. I carried the drawing back to the table, attempting to switch into work mode as he grabbed his backpack and moved to the door.