Rex (13 page)

She takes a bite of her sandwich, angling her head to the side thoughtfully. “I’m sure we could come up with something you need to confess.”

“Nope.” I’m adamant and she laughs, nearly spitting her coffee on the table. “And now you’re starting to spit, just like your father.”

“Hey, Rex, I’m talking to you. Where the hell did you go?”

Jaden’s gruff voice pulls me out of my thoughts, dragging me away from staring at Vanessa’s message and back to the next customer at the front desk.

“Sorry, man, just a lot on my mind.” I stuff the phone in my back pocket, walking with him toward the counter, when he slaps me on the back.

“A lot of
who
on your mind?” He chuckles, before trudging out the door of the shop.

I shake off the runaway train going through my mind and try to focus. Chloe, a girl who came in two weeks ago to consult with me on a tattoo, is here. She said she’d be back when she finally worked up the emotional courage. Four months ago, her boyfriend died tragically in a motorcycle accident, and she wants to pay tribute to him. I’m going to help her do just that.

“Hey, Chloe,” I greet her, a somber smile on her thin lips.

“Hi, Rex. Well,” she shrugs, her shoulders dropping on a sigh, “I’m back, and I’m ready.”

I shoot her a comforting smile, hoping to ease her nerves, to let her know it’s going to be okay. “Come on.”

She follows me back to my station, taking a seat on the chair. Another sigh leaves her, and it weighs heavily in the air. “So, I’ve decided where I want the tattoo.” She points her index finger to the area on her arm, just beneath her shoulder. “I’d like it to cover this whole spot,” she says, circling the skin.

“Great,” I tell her, as I prepare the needle and the various inks.

Chloe is quiet for a bit as I get everything ready, but I know the silence won’t last for long. It never does. But I don’t ever invade a client’s emotional space. I know when they’re ready, they’ll talk. And they always do. Getting a tattoo is like therapy.

“I don’t want to ever forget him,” she says quietly, as the first prick of the needle hits her skin. She flinches, another minute going by before she speaks again. “I’m not one of those people who takes a lot of pictures, and now I’m wishing that I had. I’m afraid,” she pauses, wetness pooling in the corners of her eyes, “that one day I’ll wake up and I won’t remember his eyes, how blue they were, how full of life they were… and the next day I’ll wake up and I won’t remember his smile. Then the day will come when I’ll wonder if he was ever real. Sooner or later, he’ll just fade away. I don’t ever want him to fade away, you know?” she says, a tear crawling down her cheek.

I lift the needle off of her skin, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Now he won’t ever be far from your mind, or your sight,” I soothe, and she raises her weepy eyes to meet mine.

“Yes,” she responds on a soft sob as I reach for a tissue and pass it to her.

My chest grows heavy, a weight of guilt sitting on top of it. I suddenly can’t remember how many freckles my brother had on his cheek, or the sound of his voice. I breathe out a pained sigh before I go back to helping Chloe heal. That is what’s important right now. Not my bullshit.

There’s very little conversation after that. Chloe is lost in her thoughts and I’m concentrating on making this the best damn picture she’ll ever have. After a little over two hours, I’m finally finished. She’s had her head turned the entire time, but the moment the buzzing ceases, she shifts my way.

“All done?”

“Yup.” I wipe her skin, a prideful smile covering my face. This is a damn good tattoo.

When her eyes find the tattoo in the mirror, her mouth hangs open, nothing but awe dropping out of it. “It’s… it’s beautiful and perfect. It looks just like him.” Her eyes climb to mine. “Thank you, Rex. It’s not enough, but thank you.” She flings her arms around me without warning and I hug her small frame in return. “You just gave me my memory back,” she whispers, “until I see him again someday.” She backs away and I begin wrapping up her tattoo. “You have a good heart. To be doing this kind of work, you have to have a good heart.”

“Nah, I don’t have a heart. I’m a bit like the Tin Man.” I chuckle, even though it’s a God damn depressing statement.

Reaching out her petite hand, she taps on my chest which takes me aback. “You do. You just haven’t found the right person to make it beat hard enough for you to feel it.” She kisses my cheek, then walks to the register without looking back.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur, burdened by thoughts of my baby brother and Chloe’s words. There’s a mild nagging in my chest. I feel like I need to see Vanessa and have no idea why. It’s fucking with me because I don’t need anyone… because relying on anyone other than myself only leads to disappointment and a false sense of hope.

Everyone has gone home, so I finish cleaning up my station before locking up the shop and heading to my apartment. On the way, my phone beeps and I yank it out of my pocket to discover a text from Vanessa. I slide the screen open and smile.

I arrived a bit early for death and destruction, but you’re not here
. :(

Did she seriously just give me a sad face? I type back a quick reply.

On my way, don’t get your panties in a twist. Oh, that’s right, thank fuck you aren’t wearing any.

I wait for her response which comes quickly.

Hmmm… and I’m already wet, too.

Jesus. I’m running, be there in ten.

Shoving the phone back in my pocket, I literally start sprinting toward my apartment, knocking over anyone in the way.

By the time I make it there, I’m slightly out of breath, but nothing that seeing Vanessa won’t cure. There’s something about her that breathes a little bit of life into me, even though I’d never admit that openly. I actually like being around her, and not just for a quick fuck.

The elevator doors open and the first thing I see when I step off are mile long, smooth legs peeking out from under a skirt so short it should be illegal. Not to mention the snug t-shirt covering her perfect tits. Vanessa has her head angled, leaning against the wall, and she looks sexy as fuck.

“Hey, Blondie.” I bound toward her, completely invading her personal space. My lips are inches from hers, her breasts flush against my chest.

“I’m glad to see you,” she murmurs as my hand slides down her spine, past her lower back, reaching under her skirt to cup her ass. The softness of her skin forces my eyes closed as I gently massage it, and then her mouth is on mine, the warmth of it sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. She moans as her greedy tongue slips between my lips, flirting, until she gently eases out, her sweet breath brushing against me.

“I like that welcome.” My finger slips past the seam of her ass, grazing her clit, feeling the wetness between her thighs. “I guess you do, too,” I say with a smug grin, and she narrows her thumb and forefinger together.

“Just a smidgeon.”

I nod my head toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go choose our path to death and destruction.”

She flings her heels off the moment we walk inside and jumps on the worn leather sofa. I rub my eyes with my palms, then scrape a hand through my hair.

“Hey, you all right? You looked wiped out.” She leans forward, curling her legs underneath her.

“Yeah. Fine. Just a long day. You want a beer?” I ask, already making my way to the fridge.

“No, I’m good. Thanks,” she answers, but I still feel her eyes on me when I come back out and cross the room.

“Are you sure you’re—” She starts to say, but stops herself. “Never mind.”

I know she’s holding back and I’m not surprised. She’s so accustomed to me snapping at her all the time. But I’m not used to anyone being that interested in what I have to say. Doubt shows up, taking the form of a muted quiver inside my chest.

Collapsing beside her, I flick the cap off the beer. “So you had a good day?” I ask, even though my desire to talk right now is nonexistent.

“Yeah. Work was really busy.” She sprawls out, resting the edges of her cute little feet against the table. “I met Olivia earlier today and we ran into your brother at the deli, too.”

My fingernails begin to pick at the label on the bottle as my mind wanders from our conversation. Tension sits on top of my shoulders, as if a hand is gripping me hard, or maybe it’s the fucking vice squeezing my chest, holding me hostage. An explosion is brewing, each second I hold my feelings in moving me toward utter devastation. But then again, that’s my life. Dealing with the ruins, things collapsing around me and trying to figure out how the hell to get through it all.

Alone.

“Rex? Did you hear me?”

Instead of answering her, the words finally push past the knot in my throat. As painful as they are, they have to come out before I annihilate everyone around me.

“I had a client today,” I mumble, continuing to tear at the label, “a girl, probably in her twenties, but wise beyond her years. She’d lost her boyfriend in a motorcycle accident and wanted his picture tattooed on her arm so she’d never forget what he looked like.” I take a sip of beer to wash down the emotion threatening to spill out. “I realized that I struggle now to remember certain things about my baby brother and I don’t have any pictures except that one you saw. I could probably ask Hunter, but… I don’t know, I guess I feel like… I don’t deserve to have them.”

Vanessa doesn’t bombard me with words or questions. Instead, she moves closer, laying her head on my shoulder, her hand on my arm. I breathe out a sigh. I’m so damn tired of shouldering all my shit… alone.

Each second that goes by, I let a little more of it go as she draws patterns on my arm, nuzzling into my neck. She seems to understand me, even when I don’t understand myself. A voice in my head whispers something that I’ll never say aloud.

I’m drawn to her.

I rest my head on top of hers, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. “You smell like raspberry candy,” I whisper, and she smiles against my neck. “If I remember correctly, you taste like candy, too, although I might need a refresher.”

“I thought we were doing death and destruction,” she pouts. But it’s not annoying, it’s cute. “And I want my popcorn.”

“Okay,” I chuckle, “death and destruction
first
. And I’ll make your popcorn now.”

Even though I’m not anxious to move, I push up from the couch and shuffle into the kitchen. As I grab the pot and pull the popcorn down from the shelf, I’m thinking that if this is going to become a habit, I might need to purchase an actual popcorn maker. The thought freezes me in my tracks, my pulse thrashing against my wrists. I don’t know what the hell I’m saying. This is
not
going to become a habit. No fucking popcorn maker required.

“Okay,” I announce, trotting back out and handing her the bowl, “popcorn with extra butter and salt made to order. Now, we need to decide on a movie.” I open the drawer underneath the television cabinet that contains hundreds of movies, holding one up at a time as if they’re on display. “First option…
Scarface
.”

She tilts her head, a smile tipping her lips. “Hmph, I love Al Pacino but that may be a bit too much death.”

“Okay.” I drop the movie back in and pluck out another one. “
The Godfather
? Some mafia action?” I question, and she just shakes her head, continuing to stuff handfuls of popcorn into her mouth.

“I’ve got it!” I call out with confidence. “
Die Hard 2
?”

“Yup.” She smiles while crunching on some kernels. “That’s the one. More Bruce Willis.”

I shake my head and laugh before I pop in the movie, grab the remote, and sink down next to her.

“Hey, by the way. I’m curious about something,” she says, and when I turn to her, she holds up her hands, adding, “I know, big surprise.” She’s smiling as she says it, so it puts me at ease.

“What now? Bleeding me for more information?” I tease, and she pinches my thigh.

“Well, when we met it was at a club, so I was wondering about when you said you don’t frequent clubs.” She digs her hand into the bowl and grabs some popcorn, tossing it in her mouth.