Pushing my aviators to the top of my head, I enter the open garage bay. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the artificial light as I step inside. The smell of oil and gasoline is strong in the air as my eyes seek out my father. Noticing him heading into one of the back offices, I start in the same direction. I exchange chin nods with a few of the mechanics I recognize on the way.

My old man isn’t a mechanic, and never has been. He went to college and graduated with a Master’s Degree in Business. He’d barely entered the workplace when he married my mother and nine months later they had my older brother, Jameson. Shortly after his birth, my dad reconnected with some old buddies and found out they were members of the Bastards a well-known outlaw biker club. I’m not sure why a successful businessman and family man would choose to join a club known for illegal activities, but for whatever reason that’s the path my dad headed down and indirectly dragged us with him. I resented him for that decision for most of my teenage years and even up until a couple of years ago. But as I’ve gotten older and I like to think wiser, I’ve come to understand that everyone walks a different path. What’s good for him, doesn’t have to be the same for me.

My knuckles rap against the bullet resistant steel and I wait for his command to enter. Pushing the door to his office open, I find him seated behind his large desk looking over a stack of invoices.

Glancing up, he smiles when he sees me. He rises to his feet, maneuvering his large frame around the desk and we hug. Thumping me in the middle of my back with his large hand, he asks, “what brings you to this neck of the woods?” Returning to his seat, he strokes his long beard while studying me.

Shrugging my shoulders, I sink into the chair across from him. “Would you believe I was in the area?”

“Fuck, no. You’ll have to do better than that, son.”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about your offer to fund the tattoo shop. I’m seriously considering it.”

He studies me carefully, fingers steepled together. “Good. I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t think it was a good opportunity for you.”

“And you.” I raise my chin in his direction.

He holds up his hands. “I wouldn’t be the smart businessman I am if I didn’t recognize a good thing when I saw it. You’re an immensely talented artist. Opening a tattoo shop is a great idea. It’s a cash based business. No matter what shape the economy’s in, people always seem to find money to get inked.”

Leaning forward, I clasp my hands between my knees. “I have a couple of stipulations and if they’re deal breakers for you then we won’t ever talk about this again.”

He nods, letting me know I have his full attention.

“I don’t want club money financing the shop or being filtered through it.” I pause, sitting up straight against the back of the chair. “Aside from tattooing members, I don’t want the shop to be tied to the club at all.”

“That’s not a problem. I have my own investments outside of the money I make within the club. Turns out all those years in school didn’t go to waste.”

“I want control of hiring the staff and the studio design.”

“Josh, this will be your baby. You can run it how you see fit, but keep in mind you need to turn a profit for it to remain open.”

“Absolutely. I already have a tattoo artist buddy moving here from Seattle. His work is incredible and he’s built a solid name for himself. He’ll be an asset for sure.”

“I own a building in Boston. The location is prime for your shop. The tenant who was renting the bottom floor moved out after having a mom and pop type store there for almost twenty years and the other two floors are also vacant. You can use them as living space or make one your art studio. If you don’t want to utilize them, you can find tenants.”

What he’s saying is too good to be true. I can’t believe this is going to happen. “Wow, Dad. Thank you. I don’t even know what to say. I didn’t expect you to hand me everything on a platter. I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“I know you aren’t son, but I don’t get to do much for you. Let me do this.” He sits up, leaning his elbows on his desk. “When your mother passed I thought I was doing the right thing by letting you live with your grandmother. JD always gravitated toward me and the club life, but you and Owen never did.” He always refers to Jameson as JD, choosing to use his club name. Running a hand over the back of his neck he continues, “while my intentions were good, having you with your grandmother meant I didn’t get to spend much time with the two of you. That’s my biggest regret.”

“It’s not too late, Dad. I’ve no doubt there has to be a part of you that wanted us all to choose the club lifestyle, but I’m a lover not a fighter,” I joke, breaking up the seriousness of the moment.

“Yep, you are, son. You’re kind hearted like your mom. The only things you got from me are your good looks and charming personality.”

“You make me sound like a pussy. I’m not perfect, not even close to it. I’ve got flaws and weaknesses, the same as everyone else.” My thoughts immediately drift to Elle. She’s my biggest weakness and my feelings for her might prove to be my fatal flaw. “So, when can we start construction on the shop?” I ask, changing the subject. I’ve been pushing Elle out of my mind whenever she appears. Unfortunately, it happens more than I’m comfortable with. Maybe if I keep doing it she’ll eventually be wiped from my thoughts altogether.

“I’ve already lined up a general contractor and an architect. All you have to do is meet with them and we can get the ball rolling.”

Two Months Later: Late July

“Dude, it looks amazing,” my buddy Sean says, glancing around the finished shop.

My eyes take in the large open space of the reception area and the individual rooms designated for tattooing and piercing with pride. I had a hand in creating this from the demolition stage right to the finished product. My vision for the space has come to life with the help of my general contractor and my architect. We’ve spent entirely too much time together over the past two months.

Studying the wood clad back wall of the reception area, my gaze moves over the horizontal pieces of one hundred plus year old pine salvaged from a barn in New Hampshire. The varying shades and sizes of the boards add texture and depth to the wall. Hung smack in the middle is a sign with my studio logo I designed. It’s a naked girl surrounded by roses and Elle was my inspiration. Granted, no one else knows this but me and I intend to keep it that way; at least for now.

“Yeah, it really does. I can’t believe the grand opening is in two days. Are you ready?”

“I’m always ready.” He smirks. “I’ve got everything unpacked and put away. Is there anything else we need to do?”

“No, not that I can think of. Let’s go grab a couple brews at Tito’s. Tatum’s already there with some friends,” I say, mentioning the new receptionist. We lucked out when she walked in to interview for the job. She’s smart, personable and attractive in an edgy sort of way perfect for the studio and she desperately needed a job. She’d recently broken up with her boyfriend and moved out of their shared apartment. She hasn’t gone into details, but I’ve gotten the impression it didn’t end well. After her confession about needing the job and the details of why, I was concerned she’d bring too much drama. But, so far, she’s been a huge help, and eager to do whatever she can to assist us. The real test will be the grand opening.

I lock up and we head down the sidewalk. The night air is muggy and the sweat beads on my brow as we walk the two blocks to the bar in silence. Summer in the city has a different feel than the small New Hampshire town I grew up in. There’s no breeze to speak of, tonight.

When we step inside Tito’s, I breathe a sigh of relief as the cooler temperature of the air conditioning hits me. I swipe my bicep over my forehead, wiping the moisture on the short sleeve of the black vintage Rolling Stones tee Janny bought me for my last birthday.

The crowd is decent sized as we maneuver our way through in search of Tatum. We each grab a beer from the bar, before continuing. I spot her in the back corner at a table with a few other people.

“Hey,” she shouts with a smile. “I’m glad you guys showed.” She jumps out of the booth and hugs us both. “These are my friends, Liberty, Mel and Pete.”

We all exchange hellos and I can’t help but notice how attractive her friend Liberty is as she smiles in my direction. I conveniently end up in the vacant seat next to her. When she turns to speak to me, I notice her eyes are a beautiful light blue. Combined with her platinum blonde hair, the two make a striking combination.

“Tell me about yourself,” she says.

“What do you want to know?” I lean toward her.

She chews on her bottom lip. “Whatever you want to tell me.”

“I recently turned twenty-four, I’m an artist, a tattoo artist and Tatum’s new boss.”

“Interesting. I like creative guys. What medium do you work with?” She angles her upper body toward me.

“I’m a painter and I sketch too.”

“What do you paint? Would I have seen your work anywhere?” She wraps a long strand of blonde hair around her finger.

“If you’ve been to City Hall lately it’s possible.”

“Really?” she asks coyly, before wrapping her shiny lips around the straw. She sucks the liquid into her mouth, staring up at me flirtatiously. It would be so easy to encourage her and see where things would go, but it wouldn’t be fair to Liberty or me. Still hung up on Elle, I’m probably the only guy my age who has a fucking conscience. Anyone else would take the opportunity to get their dick wet.

“What do you do for work?” I ask, genuinely interested.

“I’m a full-time student at Northeastern. I’m getting my Masters in Pharmacology.”

“Nice. I’ve heard that’s a tough degree program to get into.”

“Yeah, it’s not easy, but I love school. I don’t love work so much, though.”

“Where do you work?” I ask, enjoying the ease of our conversation.

“J Street Diner. We’re open twenty-four-seven. It’s a decent place and I really can’t complain.”

“I’ve eaten there. The blueberry pancakes are amazing.”

“They are and so is everything else on the menu. You should come in sometime when I’m working.”

“Definitely. What’s your schedule like?” I question. This girl is cool and there’s no reason why we can’t at least be friends. Besides, Elle’s not going to occupy my heart forever. She can’t.

“I’m there every night Monday through Thursday from six to twelve.”

“I’m sure I’ll swing by sometime. I have to see if the pancakes are as good as I remember.” Raising the beer bottle to my lips, I take a deep pull and enjoy the icy cold beer as it hits my taste buds. My gaze sweeps around the table. Sean and Tatum are engaged in a conversation, heads close. Judging from the way Mel is draped over Pete, I think it’s safe to assume they’re a couple. My eyes return to Liberty and lock on hers. I smile. “Do you want to dance?”

“You dance?” she questions, her eyes wide with surprise.

“I do. I love to dance.” Rising from my seat, I hold my hand out for her. She places her palm against mine. I gently pull her to her feet and lead her through the crowd to the small dance floor in the front of the bar. My hands go to her hips and we start to move. I’ve been told I’m a good dancer by more than a few girls. My secret is I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. If I look like an idiot it doesn’t matter to me if I’m having fun. My mother taught me to dance when I was a kid. She always had music playing around our house. She would sing along as she moved from one task to another. If my brothers or I happened to walk by she would pull us over and make us dance. Our moves would run the gamut from comical to impressive, depending on our mood. We started at such a young age, it’s second nature now.

Taking her hand, I spin her around, placing her back to my chest. My left arm closes her in, wrapping across her stomach and my other hand rests on her hip.

She glances over her shoulder at me with a smile. “You’re pretty smooth.”

I flash her a grin then catch her hand and spin her to face me again. She crashes into my chest, her tits pressing into me. I see a flicker of desire in her eyes before she rises up on her toes, kissing me. At first, I go along with it. Brushing her mouth with mine before connecting them for a deeper kiss. Her tongue licks my bottom lip and then rubs against mine. As far as kisses go it’s a solid effort, but she’s not who I want to be doing this with. If I can’t kiss her without thinking about Elle, then I have no business kissing her at all.

I pull back, standing up straight. “Is something wrong?” she questions, a worried expression on her face.

“No, that was nice.”

She grimaces. “Ugh, nice - which is usually followed by a but.”

“No, I really enjoyed it and if my mind wasn’t on someone else I’d still be kissing you right now.”

She nods her head. “Okay. I can respect that. If you ever stop thinking about her, you know where to find me.”