Shattered Ink

Rush

Erica Day is like a cross between Kat Von D and Scarlett O’Fucking Hara, and once upon a time I thought she might be the girl for me. We had a ton in common, same biz, same taste in music, good for a laugh. I even opened up to her a little. Told her about the girl who had owned me once upon a time, then shattered my heart. Told her about the vanilla asshole, the Campbells, the dance and how I ran off afterward. But instead of letting me just vent and offering a few ‘She missed outs’ Erica talked about it all the damn time. Questions, questions, questions. It drove me nuts. It drove me away. So needless to say, even though it’s been three years, I’m thinking that keeping her and Ads apart might be a good idea.

“I’m rocking a nipple piercing in five, ya’ll,” Erica twangs. “And no, Vincent, you can’t go in and ‘check that shit out.’”

Hanging out behind the front desk, I glance up from the books. V, Janie and Erica are all chill in the reception area. I got one more canvas and then I’m outie, off to be with my girl. Right now, Addison is driving around in one of my cars, picking up food for tonight. Said she wants to cook me dinner before she leaves, and I’m thinking that’s going to be the perfect time to slip her my extra key and ask her if she’ll move here and use it on a daily basis. I’m nervous as fuck she’ll say no. She’s got that whole life back in Cali. A place, a best friend, maybe even a job hook-up. Will she be cool about starting over—no, starting fresh—here with me?

“Hey, Miss Day.” V gets up from the couch and hustles over to me. He rolls his eyes. “I just offered to help. Sometimes a girl can use an extra pair of hands.”

“True,” Erica concedes, giving Janie a quick wink.

How such different chicks bonded so quickly, I’ll never know. Janie is a hard-ass ink master with a 1950s style and legs completely covered in tats. Erica, on the other hand, is soft spoken, free of ink, a natural blond, and dresses like a conservative Southern belle, though we all know she’s got about ten piercings underneath.

“And by the way, Miss Day,” Vincent calls out to Erica, elbowing me in the ribs like he thinks he doesn’t have my complete attention. “If it’s possible, you’re even hotter now than back when you were banging Rush.”

Janie purses her ruby-red lips at him. “You’re such a heathen, Vincent.”

He nods, smirks. “Thanks.”

“Oh, Vincent, you haven’t changed,” Erica says, then slides her brown gaze to me. “But what about our friend here? Rush Merrick. The tall, handsome, tatted-up and not-very-chatty owner of Wicked Ink. Has he changed since all that banging occurred?”

Vincent laughs. “Fuck yeah, he has.”

Her pale brows drift up. “Really? How?”

“Dude’s got a serious girlfriend.”

Her casual back and forth gives way to a moment of actual interest. “Is that right, Rush?”

I nod.

“So true love has finally bitten you in the ass.”

Her southern drawl is kind of grating on the old eardrums. Never noticed that before. “Not the ass, no.”

Her eyes remain locked with mine. “Good. Glad to hear it, doll. You deserve it after that mess way back when.” She winks. “See. I don’t forget, honey.”

“Forget what?” Vincent asks, looking from one of us to the other. “What mess?”

“V, you’re drooling on the desk,” Janie says, smoothing down that elaborate pin-up girl hairstyle she loves so much.

Vincent ignores her. “What happened? I need to know or I won’t sleep tonight.”

Janie laughs. “You’re such an idiot, V.”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t want to know, J,” he returns with a faux sneer.

Ignoring them both, Erica asks me, “So, do I get to meet her?”

“Nope.”

“Why’s that, honey? She a jealous little kitten?”

I’m really trying to remember what the fuck I saw in this chick when the front door opens and a client walks through it. She’s got a row of small rings through one eyebrow and both nostrils pierced. Halle-fucking-luyah.

I turn back to Erica. She’s still watching me with way too much interest.

“Someone here to see you, Miss Day,” I say with a touch of the gruff. “Don’t want to keep her waiting.”