CHAPTER SIX
Cami
What did one wear to their first day of…almost work at a tattoo shop? Nothing that was in my closet that was for sure. Cardigans and knee-length skirts, I would say definitely no. But the truth was, I had limited options for things that wouldn’t make me stick out like a sore thumb.
Okay, so I did have some jeans, all of them tight and didn’t leave much room for moving around easily. If I was going to be the shop Cinderella, which is what I was imagining in my head at the moment, then I needed something that would let me move freely.
I ended up with a pair of gray, sparkly leggings. I tossed on one of the loose fitting tanks that I wore when I painted, so it had a bunch of splatters and finger smudges on it from where I used it as a rag out of convenience. Then since I felt a little unsure, I tossed a hot pink cardigan over it. If I felt too awkward by the time I got there, I could button the thing up and hide the paint mess on my shirt. Slipping on a pair of plain black ballet flats, I decided I was ready to face the day.
Brand made me nervous and I was sure I didn’t hide that even a little bit. He was way cuter than I’d pictured him in my mind. I tried and tried to find a picture of him before I walked into Branded In Ink, but there wasn’t a single one. And since I didn’t have his whole name, I couldn’t go full stalker.
In my head, he was some older guy covered from neck to toes in ink. Bald head. A bit of a beer gut.
Brand was none of those things.
While I did spot some ink on his arms it wasn’t such a mess that one thing blended into the other. I couldn’t say anything as far as the rest of him, but I would tell you that I did wonder what was hidden under his clothes. Tattoo wise that was! Seriously, I wasn’t thinking about dirty stuff. Head out of the gutter! He wasn’t bald either or had a beer gut. I caught a flash of dimples at one point when he was talking and I so desperately wanted to know what they looked like when his face went full-on happy smile.
But none of that mattered. I was there for one thing, and one thing only. To work my way up to tattoo artist. And if I was lucky enough, I’d earn a place in his shop.
Was this a completely insane idea? Yes. And I knew once my parents found out there would be a massive blowout. However, as I drove past the lively part of downtown to the part where the businesses started to drop off, and the blocks were filled with more empty storefronts than not, I didn’t give two shakes of a stick at all.
I felt giddy and happy like a kid on Christmas morning. I only hoped that it would all work out. Brand seemed a little unsure and closed off. Maybe even on the verge of butt-hole with his cold attitude. Nothing I couldn’t either deal with or break through. I hoped for the latter. I knew nothing of the other two that worked there. Yesterday, the place had seemed so quiet that I even wondered if anyone besides Brand was working then.
I wondered for the hundredth time if this was a bad move. As I parked my pride and joy along the street, I prayed that no one would mess with her. Yes a her. And no, I didn’t drive around in some BMW convertible. I may have had a family that had more money than they knew what to do with, but I liked to live practically. So, my beauty was a deep blue Dodge Charger. A nineteen seventy-one Charger to be precise.
How is that practical? Well, it was the same one my grandfather drove back in the day. He kept that thing in pristine condition even though he didn’t drive it that much. And when he had his license taken away after he took out an entire street length of mailboxes, I saved her from the junkyard. Yes, he happened to be in that car when he took out those poor driveway decorators. So the car had some damage and because of that, my parents were ready to throw it away, in a sense. I jumped in and begged them to let me keep it. I worked an entire summer at a local pottery place just to pay for the repairs. Because, even if they were going to help me out, I wanted to do it myself.
I knew this wasn’t the best area of the city and I honestly hadn’t thought of that before this moment. I hated to leave her sitting right there like a giant neon sign screaming ‘steal me and take me for a joyride’ or whatever people did when they stole cars.
A knock on my windshield made me jump as a scream like I was being murdered ripped out of my throat. My hand went to my chest as I turned to look at who had just scared the daylights out of me. When I saw it was Brand, who was motioning for me to roll down my window, I did just that.
“Sorry,” he said, the corner of his lips twitched while his eyes held the sincerity of his statement. “This your car?” I didn’t miss the shock and surprise in his tone.
“Yes.” My face felt both hot and tight.
I knew exactly what he was thinking and while I had hoped he hadn’t judged me right off the bat as some spoiled rich girl, it was clear he had. I couldn’t wait until he found out my name and made the connection. One of two things usually happened then, they would either be overly friendly and suck up or they would give me a look of disgust.
“I didn’t think that leaving my Benz parked on this side of town was a good idea, so I left it at home.” Sarcasm dripped from my tone and I wasn’t even trying to hide it.
So, one thing about me, I sometimes wasn’t able to bite my tongue and hide when I was unhappy or mad. Just sometimes. Years of practice had quelled that uncontrollable urge. And it might be the littlest of things that got under my skin. Being treated like an idiot and thinking that I spent all of daddy’s money were things that really hit that angry button for me. Right then, that’s what I felt like this Brand guy was doing. Judging me without even knowing me. As much as I should have been all sugar and roses and bending over backward to please him, I couldn’t stop myself this time so it seemed. And as I realized my mistake, I clamped my mouth shut and prayed that he wouldn’t take offense.
A slow, lazy smile worked its way across his face and Holy mothership, his dimples were so flipping deep. I might have just turned into a melted puddle right there on my black leather seat. I mean, his smile was brilliant too, his teeth were all white and perfect, annoyingly so. I bet he didn’t have to wear braces for three years to get his to look like that, unlike some unlucky people—oh yes, I did have that awkward phase in my life.
But those dimples were what made it. Two of them. One on each side of his face, perfectly positioned right in the center of his cheeks, and so deep I thought I could get lost in them. And boy, did I want to.
“All I was going to say is that there is a lot behind the shop. You can park it back there. Go down the alley,” he said, his smile still there, as he pointed to where I needed to go.
He straightened and took a step back, his eyes glued to mine and I didn’t even want to blink. I was half worried, but only because he was backing up into the road. Then I realized that the chances of a car driving down this street were fairly slim and if there was, they would have been going slow enough to give some sort of warning.
“Okay, thanks,” I mumbled, still a little embarrassed about my comment.
“This,” he said pointing at my car. “This fits.” His head did a bobbing nod for a second, then he was walking off in the direction of the shop, leaving me to wonder what he even meant by that statement. “I’ll meet you at the back door.” He didn’t turn around to look at me as he called out over his shoulder.
After a huge, deep breath in, I turned over the key and drove to where he’d told me to. It was a tiny lot, just enough for three cars. The lot was empty so I parked in the middle spot. I wondered where Brand’s car was, but then thought that maybe he parked it out front. Then I couldn’t help but think about what it was that he drove. I shook myself out of those thoughts as I climbed out and headed for the back of the building. The heavy, metal door popped open with an angry groan and Brand held it open until I had made it inside.
Inside, the shop was still dark and everything was so quiet there was almost a stillness in the air.
“This is the office,” he said as he pointed to a door on the left. “You can put your stuff in there or there is a locked cabinet behind the front desk.”
“In here is fine,” I said as I followed him into the room.
Why was I suddenly so nervous? I had no idea but I needed to shake it off and focus. While I was there to impress this guy, I also wasn’t about to compromise or change who I was. At the same time, I knew I needed to keep my temper in check and not mouth off even a little to my new potential boss-type person.
“So this is the office.” He flipped on the harsh overhead light revealing the small space that held a filing cabinet, smallish desk, and a couple of chairs. “You can set your stuff on top of the filing cabinet.”
I did so, then looked around. It was surprisingly organized. There was a laptop and tablet sitting on the desk and a single, small pile of papers that looked like they hadn’t been filed away yet. With a jerk of his head, he motioned for me to follow him out. He locked the door once we were outside.
“This is the timeout couch,” he said with a hint of amusement in his tone. “We put it there for Blade. He sometimes has to deal with the…well, sometimes he just needs a moment away from shit.”
I nodded like I understood, though I didn’t have the first clue what he was talking about.
“Anyway, bathroom and that is our snack and coffee station.” He pointed as he talked and I saw a small table set up with a single serve coffee maker and some individually wrapped junk food packages. “Don’t touch the white chocolate stuff or else Sketch will flip his shit.”
Then he walked me through the shop. There were three rooms on each side. The area in the middle was big enough to hold a couch, coffee table, and an overstuffed chair. The two rooms closest to the back were empty. Sketch and Brand had rooms next to each other, while Blade seemed to have his own side of the shop. The room that butted up to Blade’s held the Thermofax and a bunch of supplies—nicely organized, I might add.
Each room had a window beside the door, with the front two rooms having an additional window on the front facing walls, so that you could see the door, I imagined. The front of the shop held a counter, a couple of glass cases with body jewelry, and two couches. The walls were covered in all different kinds of framed art and as I looked around, I wondered if this was their work.
The shop was done in shades of grays and blues. It didn’t feel dark and enclosing and I loved that. The glass panes that lined the front of the shop were huge and let in a good amount of light, making if feel less like the dungeon I had envisioned in my mind a few days ago.
“So, that’s it,” he said taking his place on the stool behind the counter and pulling out a pencil from behind his ear.
That was when I took a good long moment to look at him. His brown hair was going every which way and long enough to where it started to curl around the edges of his ears. His arms were strong and his skin held the slightest tint of tan to it like he’d been out in the sun recently. His face was an odd mix between harsh and a boyish-like playfulness. It was almost like he had this mask to hold back the latter. I wondered why. But then quickly shook it off as I stood there awkwardly and took the rest of him in.
Wait. What?
How did I not see that before?
He was wearing a leather vest over his dark Heather gray hoodie. I studied the patches that adorned the front as well as I could without asking him to stand up and show me. There was a motorcycle that had blue flames surrounding half of it and spreading out behind it. I squinted, trying to see it better because it almost looked like…yep, the motorcycle was covered in armor. I thought it was pretty neat, to be honest. I had no idea what it meant but it was a really cool design.
“Are you just going to stand there and stare at me or are you going to ask about it? Not for nothing, but I can feel your eyes practically making holes in me.”
If I wasn’t mistaken, his tone held an amusing ring to it.
Before I could think better of what I was doing, I took a few steps forward and ran my finger along the patch. He straightened and the countertop between us prevented me from going any further. I’d invaded his space and that was clearly a no-no.
“Sorry,” I mumbled and pulled my hand back. “Steel Paragons? Wait, you are in a motorcycle club?”
Then it came to me. I remembered my father talking about some motorcycle club coming into town and he hadn’t seemed all that thrilled about it.
“Another damn criminal empire full of good for nothing people too good to get a real job and earn money like the rest of us.”
I hadn’t pointed out to my father the fact that he didn’t really have to work to earn his money. I figured it wouldn’t have done any good.
So, this just got even more complicated because not only was I hanging out in a tattoo shop, I was hanging around with the worst of people, as my dad would put it.
“Yes, is that a problem?” His eyes narrowed at me, pinning me with an intensity that made me hold my breath.
“No, I mean, I just didn’t know…” It was clear that he was protective over the club and I got the hint not to as so much breathe negatively about it. I wondered just what the cheese sticks I’d gotten myself into.
I honestly didn’t know the first thing about motorcycle clubs. From the way my father talked, they were not exactly walking the straight and narrow. Meaning they were on the criminal side of the law. There had been words thrown around about guns and drugs in that conversation and I really had no idea if there was any truth to it.
I chewed on my lip as I debated what I should do. I didn’t feel like I was in any sort of danger. I mean, I didn’t get any kind of wiggy vibe off of Brand. Trust your gut, right? So, probably against most people’s better judgment, I decided to brush it off and stay. I had no reason to think the worst of Brand or his club until I saw anything. Maybe it was a bit naïve or dumb, but I believed that everyone got a chance to prove me wrong.
“Look,” Brand said, catching my attention. “I’m not really sure what to do with you.”
“Um, okay?”
“I just mean, I don’t really understand why you’re here. Is this like some sort of stick it to your stuffy parents who like want you to become an accountant and marry a doctor or something?”
I let out a loud, shocked laugh.
Before I could answer, the front door opened, making a chime of bells ring out in the open space. I turned my attention to see a dirty blonde haired guy walk in with light blue eyes. His smile looked as if it was permanently fixed on his face and as his curious eyes met mine, that smile widened causing me to feel warm inside. I didn’t know who this guy was but I could tell you he put me at ease right away.
“Oh, fuck!” Brand said with excitement as he jumped up and rounded the counter, moving to greet the guy. It seemed his question was long forgotten the moment this guy walked through the door. “Please tell me you brought me a number three.”
“Of course,” The blonde said turning his attention to Brand with a snap. “I got you extra meat, too.”
“Damn, I love you. Thanks!” Brand exclaimed as he grabbed the bag and hastily grabbed whatever was in it. The guy ruffled Brand’s hair in a playful way and Brand seemed unaffected by it as he took a huge bite of his sub.
“I’m Chris,” he said taking a step in my direction and holding out his hand.
“Oh. Hi. I’m Cami.” I shook his hand once, then dropped my hand away as I released his.
“Yeah, this rude fool here was telling me about you last night. Though he neglected to tell me your name.” Chris cut his eyes over to Brand.
“Yo!” a voice yelled from behind me. I whipped around to see a young, lanky, guy walking in from the back. “Fuckin’ sweet ride out back. You see that shit, Brand?”
“Yeah,” Brand grunted around a mouthful. “It’s Cami’s.”
“Who the fuck?”
He stopped a few feet from me and his eyes did a slow sweep of my body.
“Bet Ky would want to get a look under that hood,” he said as his mouth twisted into a mischievous grin. “I wouldn’t mind, either.”
And, alright. I knew what he was trying to say. Yep, I got that loud and clear. I almost had to chuckle at how bad it was. Like was he for real? Did that stuff seriously work for him? And more importantly, if it did, I needed to see these women that went for lines like that.
“Cami’s here to…almost work. Back off.” Brand said, his mouth suddenly free of food. “Cami this is Sketch.”
“Hi,” I said sounding like a timid rabbit.
“Ah, the bitch that came in yesterday. Cool. Nice to me ya.” This guy was all over the place it was almost comical. I had a feeling I might have a hard time keeping up with him. “We should all take a ride over to the shop after work and show Ky. Bet he’d nut himself over that thing.” He was looking at Brand and Chris as he said this, still talking about my car, or so I assumed. I had no idea who he was talking about, but I imagined they were someone that appreciated the classics.
“Can’t,” Brand said as he balled up his wrapper and I went wide-eyed at the fact that the whole sub was gone that quickly. “We’ve got plans.”
“Shit, you two always have plans,” Sketch said, shaking his head and walking off.
I turned my attention to Brand and Chris. My eyes danced between the two of them and I wondered if I was getting it wrong. But there was definitely a closeness there.
Are they?
I wasn’t one to care about anyone’s sexual preference. That said, the whole thing had me scratching my head a little. I honestly couldn’t figure out if they were a couple or not. Something told me yes, and it was widely known with the comment that Sketch had made.
Whatever.
It wasn’t like I was there to get a boyfriend or anything. I wasn’t interested in any of them and I knew that wouldn’t change, because I really wanted this and I wouldn’t do anything to mess that up.
“I want to see this car but I have to get to work. Nice to meet you, Cami. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of you,” Chris said with a quick wave in my direction before turning back to Brand. “See you after shift at the house?”
Brand gave him a quick nod, then Chris darted out the door and was gone.
And so the long hours of awkwardness began.
But I didn’t complain, not even once.