Full Contact
Page 48
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He studies me for so long, I look away. Finally, he folds his arms and leans against the doorjamb. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why does letting people know you can paint make you feel vulnerable? Everyone in the shop knows you’re an artist. They see your work every day. Is it such a stretch to let them know you paint too?”
“You don’t understand.” My voice rises in pitch. “You don’t know me or why I stopped painting. I can’t go back. I have to keep moving forward. You can’t just railroad through my life and decide I should paint again. Just like you can’t go behind my back to find out what happened to me. It’s not that simple.”
“I don’t understand because you won’t talk to me.” Ray lets out a breath and turns to the door. “The problem isn’t that I don’t know you, but that you don’t trust yourself enough to let me in.”
* * *
The shop is inundated with fighters for the rest of the week. We are so busy that Christos cancels his gig, Rose divides her time between reception and sterilizing equipment in the autoclave, and I am partially distracted from the fact Ray hasn’t called, but then, coward that I am, I haven’t called him either.
Doctor Death comes in for his arm cover, and I ink my best broken heart ever into his skin while he tells me that relationships are not worth the heartache and it is easier and safer to just sleep around. When I tell him I think he just may be right, he squeezes my hand and tells me we can have a more intimate conversation about it next week when we’re alone in the treatment room and I’m doing his ass.
Friday morning, we get a new walk-in off the street, Yuri, who makes even Rampage seem small. The massively muscled, tall, blond Dolph Lundgren look-alike watches Rose and I from the client sofas while we rejig the morning schedule to fit him in, his ice-blue eyes so piercing I shiver. Rose whispers that his gold bracelets, blockhead haircut, and the multiple gold rings on this left hand, coupled with his dark, fine wool suit, scream Russian mafia. She thinks he is more terrifying than attractive and not worth the effort of her making a play. I whisper back that she has made a wise decision. She has enough men to juggle, and Yuri doesn’t seem the juggling type.
Although I have a slot free, when he pops his knuckles and cracks his neck, I foist him off on Duncan. I get enough nonverbal aggressive communication from Tag and Ray. I don’t need any more.
Turns out Yuri is a talker. While he waits for Duncan to finish with his client, he tells us he’s been in the U.S. for five years and is very interested in MMA fighting. He asks lots of questions about the club and some of the fighters. He even knows of the Predator, which is curious, since Ray only fights on the underground circuit and not for the club. But if he’s interested in fighting, it makes sense that he’d know about the underground fights.
Slim returns that afternoon, after spending the week trying to speed up the renos at the old shop. I catch him in the staff room and apologize again for not being able to do the mural and forcing the team out of our new digs. He tells me it isn’t my fault, and this wasn’t his first altercation with Torment. They’ve been butting heads over the division between managing and owning the shop, but mostly over me.
“Me?” I pause on the threshold of the doorway and look back over my shoulder. “What do I have to do with it?”
“He wants you to run this shop. He’s been angling to poach you away from day one.”
“You’re crazy.” I gesture vaguely around the tattoo parlor. “Look at this place. It’s every artist’s dream shop. He could get anyone. He could pull in some big names, make it one of the top shops in the city.”
Slim’s forehead wrinkles with consternation. “He wants you and he’s the kind of man who gets what he wants. Anyone with half a brain can see you’re a gifted artist, and you’re building a client base here faster than you ever did at my studio. He sees your potential, same as me. If you want to stay, I won’t get in your way. But if you really don’t want what he’s offering, you’d better be prepared when he walks through that door. He’s not going to take no for an answer.”
We finish our last clients just before eight p.m., and I offer to tidy and lock up just for the opportunity to have some time alone before the big fight. After I’m finished, I sit on the client couch and stare at the bare wall where the mural is supposed to be. If this was my shop, I wouldn’t paint a mural on the wall. Instead, I’d fill the space with paintings from local artists. Give people a chance to be seen.
If this was my shop. Am I really even considering it?
The door opens and my breath catches when Torment walks in and joins me on the couch. He’s wearing only his fight shorts with a towel around his neck, no doubt ready to tear Ray limb from limb at the fight tonight. He is broader than Ray and more muscular. Taller too. But for some reason, his toned body does nothing for me—especially when he’s intending to pound on Ray.
“Busy day?”
“Yeah.” I look over at him and raise an eyebrow. “Slim thinks you sent all those fighters this week to keep us too busy to pack up.”
“He’s right.”
Startled by his candor, I bite my lip. “He also says you’re trying to steal me away from him.”
“True. You’re wasting your time in his shop. You have the drive and personality and talent to make this place great. I don’t want to see you throw it away.”
“Why what?”
“Why does letting people know you can paint make you feel vulnerable? Everyone in the shop knows you’re an artist. They see your work every day. Is it such a stretch to let them know you paint too?”
“You don’t understand.” My voice rises in pitch. “You don’t know me or why I stopped painting. I can’t go back. I have to keep moving forward. You can’t just railroad through my life and decide I should paint again. Just like you can’t go behind my back to find out what happened to me. It’s not that simple.”
“I don’t understand because you won’t talk to me.” Ray lets out a breath and turns to the door. “The problem isn’t that I don’t know you, but that you don’t trust yourself enough to let me in.”
* * *
The shop is inundated with fighters for the rest of the week. We are so busy that Christos cancels his gig, Rose divides her time between reception and sterilizing equipment in the autoclave, and I am partially distracted from the fact Ray hasn’t called, but then, coward that I am, I haven’t called him either.
Doctor Death comes in for his arm cover, and I ink my best broken heart ever into his skin while he tells me that relationships are not worth the heartache and it is easier and safer to just sleep around. When I tell him I think he just may be right, he squeezes my hand and tells me we can have a more intimate conversation about it next week when we’re alone in the treatment room and I’m doing his ass.
Friday morning, we get a new walk-in off the street, Yuri, who makes even Rampage seem small. The massively muscled, tall, blond Dolph Lundgren look-alike watches Rose and I from the client sofas while we rejig the morning schedule to fit him in, his ice-blue eyes so piercing I shiver. Rose whispers that his gold bracelets, blockhead haircut, and the multiple gold rings on this left hand, coupled with his dark, fine wool suit, scream Russian mafia. She thinks he is more terrifying than attractive and not worth the effort of her making a play. I whisper back that she has made a wise decision. She has enough men to juggle, and Yuri doesn’t seem the juggling type.
Although I have a slot free, when he pops his knuckles and cracks his neck, I foist him off on Duncan. I get enough nonverbal aggressive communication from Tag and Ray. I don’t need any more.
Turns out Yuri is a talker. While he waits for Duncan to finish with his client, he tells us he’s been in the U.S. for five years and is very interested in MMA fighting. He asks lots of questions about the club and some of the fighters. He even knows of the Predator, which is curious, since Ray only fights on the underground circuit and not for the club. But if he’s interested in fighting, it makes sense that he’d know about the underground fights.
Slim returns that afternoon, after spending the week trying to speed up the renos at the old shop. I catch him in the staff room and apologize again for not being able to do the mural and forcing the team out of our new digs. He tells me it isn’t my fault, and this wasn’t his first altercation with Torment. They’ve been butting heads over the division between managing and owning the shop, but mostly over me.
“Me?” I pause on the threshold of the doorway and look back over my shoulder. “What do I have to do with it?”
“He wants you to run this shop. He’s been angling to poach you away from day one.”
“You’re crazy.” I gesture vaguely around the tattoo parlor. “Look at this place. It’s every artist’s dream shop. He could get anyone. He could pull in some big names, make it one of the top shops in the city.”
Slim’s forehead wrinkles with consternation. “He wants you and he’s the kind of man who gets what he wants. Anyone with half a brain can see you’re a gifted artist, and you’re building a client base here faster than you ever did at my studio. He sees your potential, same as me. If you want to stay, I won’t get in your way. But if you really don’t want what he’s offering, you’d better be prepared when he walks through that door. He’s not going to take no for an answer.”
We finish our last clients just before eight p.m., and I offer to tidy and lock up just for the opportunity to have some time alone before the big fight. After I’m finished, I sit on the client couch and stare at the bare wall where the mural is supposed to be. If this was my shop, I wouldn’t paint a mural on the wall. Instead, I’d fill the space with paintings from local artists. Give people a chance to be seen.
If this was my shop. Am I really even considering it?
The door opens and my breath catches when Torment walks in and joins me on the couch. He’s wearing only his fight shorts with a towel around his neck, no doubt ready to tear Ray limb from limb at the fight tonight. He is broader than Ray and more muscular. Taller too. But for some reason, his toned body does nothing for me—especially when he’s intending to pound on Ray.
“Busy day?”
“Yeah.” I look over at him and raise an eyebrow. “Slim thinks you sent all those fighters this week to keep us too busy to pack up.”
“He’s right.”
Startled by his candor, I bite my lip. “He also says you’re trying to steal me away from him.”
“True. You’re wasting your time in his shop. You have the drive and personality and talent to make this place great. I don’t want to see you throw it away.”
