Miles

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“What the hell is up with you today?” I look up to find Delia standing in the doorway of the private tattoo room I’ve spent most of the day in. I’ve been working on a back piece for the last four hours and am finally getting a chance to clean up and take a much-needed break.

“Huh?” I question, not really sure what she means.

“Don’t huh me.” She walks straight into the room and flops down in the chair in the center of the space. “You’ve barely said two words to anyone today.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been stuck in here since four.”

“Yeah, but I can always tell when something is off with you, and something is definitely off.”

“Nothing is off. I just had a long night.”

“Is that code for you spent the night fucking some random bimbo you picked up at a bar and didn’t get any sleep?”

“Fuck you,” I spit playfully.

“Nah, if you were getting a piece you’d be in a better mood,” she teases.

“I’m in a fine mood,” I argue.

“If you say so, boss man.” She rolls her eyes.

“Is there a reason you’re in here busting my balls?” I gesture for her to get up so I can sanitize the chair.

“There is actually. I thought you’d like to know that your girl is out there discussing ink options with Tubbs.” She hops up from the chair.

“My girl?” I give her a confused look.

“Harlow.”

“Not my girl.” I shake my head, extending the spray bottle and proceeding to thoroughly sanitize the entire surface of the chair.

“Okay.” She gives me a look that doesn’t quite sit well with me.

“And what do you mean she’s discussing ink options with Tubbs?”

“Apparently, she’s decided to get a tattoo and Tubbs volunteered to be the one to do it for her. He even offered to do it for free. We both know what that means. He’s hoping his generosity will land him a place in the new girl’s pants.”

“That won’t fucking happen,” I say confidently.

“Perhaps not, but he’s sure as shit giving it his all.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I tap my foot on the ground impatiently.

“Just thought you’d like a heads up. Figured if anyone were gonna ink her for the first time you’d want it to be you.”

“And why the fuck would you think that?” I clip, trying to make it clear that whatever she thinks is going on with Harlow and me is inaccurate. Even if my gut instinct is to run out there and stake some kind of claim, I’d never admit that to Delia.

“Um, because she’s Winston’s sister. Remember, your best friend, Winston?”

“And?”

“And aren’t you supposed to be looking out for her? Think maybe that includes not letting her get a tattoo from a guy who’s only doing it to try to get into her pants.”

“Fuck,” I grind out, rubbing the back of my neck.

The truth is she’s right. If anyone is going to give Harlow a tattoo in this shop, it’s going to be me. I justify this by agreeing with Delia. I am supposed to be watching out for Harlow. But in reality, it’s because I can’t stand the thought of anyone but me permanently inking her body. One, because I don’t trust anyone else to do it to my standard, and two, because at this point I’ll use any excuse I can to be able to touch her.

It’s fucked up, I know. But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about running my hands along her smooth skin since I walked into the bedroom last night to see her sprawled out, asleep in my bed, way too much of her perfect body visible. The t-shirt I’d given her to sleep in had ridden up, putting her slender stomach and barely there panties on full fucking display. It took everything in me not to crawl into that bed and take her right then and there.

It’s been the only thing I’ve been able to see since last night. It’s like the image is burned into the back of my retinas and everything I look at is overcast by her almost nakedness.

“Go. I’ll finish up here.” Delia gives me a knowing smirk.

I open my mouth to argue but end up snapping it closed without saying a word. Nodding only once, I hand Delia the sanitizer and head out into the main area of the shop.

Chuck is prepping one of his regulars for an addition to his sleeve, but there’s no sign of Tubbs or Harlow.

“Hey, Chuck, have you seen Tubbs?”

“Yeah, I think he’s in Room C,” he says, referring to one of the four private rooms.

I nod and spin around, heading back in the direction I came. When I reach Room C, I push my way inside without knocking.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” My gaze goes directly to Harlow who’s laying on the tattoo chair in shorts and a pale pink bra.

“Tubbs is going to give me a tattoo.” She smiles excitedly, but it quickly falls when she registers my reaction.

“Like fuck, he is,” I growl, spinning my gaze to Tubbs who’s standing next to the supply counter, a transfer paper in his hands. “You, out.” I jerk my head toward the door.

“Miles,” he starts, but I quickly cut him off.

“No one in this shop touches her, you hear me? Spread it around. If I find out anyone of you inks or pierces her without going through me, you’ll be finding yourself a new job. We clear?”

“Understood.” He nods once, hands the transfer paper to me, and quickly exits the room.

When my gaze goes back to Harlow, she’s looking at me like I have five heads and I swear every ounce of color has drained from her face.

“What the hell were you thinking going to Tubbs for a tattoo?” I bite out harshly.

“What does it matter who I go to? I’ve been off the clock for the last hour,” she stumbles out, apparently confused by my reaction.

“It’s not about you being on the clock or not, Harlow. Why would you not come to me?”

“Because you were busy and it was kind of a spur of the moment thing,” she explains. “Tubbs was in the back on break, and we got to talking about tattoos. He said he was free for the next few hours and offered to do one for me. I didn’t really think it through. I just kind of accepted. I thought you’d be happy I was getting one.”

“It’s not about the tattoo, Harlow. It’s about who does it. Tubbs is good, don’t get me wrong. But I’m better. And if you’re going to get one done, I’m going to do it. Besides, I’m pretty sure your brother would be pissed if I let anyone else ink you.”

“So this is about Winston?” She gives me a doubtful look.

“And it’s about you. A tattoo is forever, Harlow. At least if I do it, I know that it will be perfect.”

“Um, confident much?” She crosses her arms over her chest.

“There’s nothing wrong with being confident when you know you’re that good,” I smirk, holding up the transfer paper to get a look at what she chose. “Inhale the future, exhale the past,” I read the scripted font out loud, my eyes scanning along the three small birds that extend out from the last word.

“I thought it was fitting. A reminder to look forward.” She smiles softly.

If only she had any idea just how hard I’ve tried to do just that. To let go of my past. To forgive myself. But sometimes we aren’t meant to move on. Sometimes we don’t deserve to. Of course, I don’t say any of this to her.

“Where are we doing it?” I ask, stepping toward the chair.

“Wait, you’re going to do it?” she asks, her eyebrows knitting together.

“I thought we already established this.” I let out a breath.

“Well yeah, but you don’t have to do it right now,” she objects. “I was going to let Tubbs do it because he was free.”

“Well, lucky for you, so am I.” I hold up the transfer paper.

“Are you sure? We really don’t have to do this right now. You’ve been working all day.”

“Harlow,” I interrupt. “Will you shut the hell up and tell me where we’re putting this?” I grin.

She studies me for a long moment before a small smile graces her lips.

“Right here.” She leans back and traces her finger directly below her left collarbone.

“Okay then. You’re sure about this?”

“I’m sure.” She smiles nervously.

“You’ll need to pull your bra strap down.” When she does, I swallow hard, the swell of her breast making it difficult for me to focus on what the fuck I’m supposed to be doing.

Trying to keep my eyes on her collarbone, I press the transfer paper down on the spot she indicated, holding it there for a few long moments. I can feel her eyes on me, but I don’t look at her. I’m afraid if I do I’ll end up doing something I’ll regret.

It’s one thing sitting across a table from her. It’s quite another to be this close to her when she’s half-naked and breathing heavily in anticipation.

Once I feel confident that the design has fully transferred onto her skin, I peel back the paper and discard it in the trash can next to the workstation.

Luckily Tubbs has already prepped everything, so all I have to do is pull the tray next to the chair and sit down. Once I have myself settled, I slowly recline the tattoo chair, so Harlow is lying flat on her back before inching my stool closer, the tattoo gun in my hand.

“Last chance to back out,” I tell her, dipping the gun in ink before holding it centimeters from her skin.

“Do it.” She glances at me and our eyes meet.

“Okay.” I nod, “Here goes nothing.” The gun buzzes to life and Harlow flinches the instant the needle hits her skin.

“You okay?” I ask, chuckling at the grimace on her face.

“Yeah, it stings a little more than I anticipated.”

“Well, it’s only going to get worse so be prepared.”

“I can handle it,” she assures me. “I’ll take this kind of pain over emotional pain any day.”

I’m tempted to agree with her but decide against it, not wanting it to spark a conversation that may lead to yet another thing I’m unwilling to talk about.

Instead, I focus on my work, stopping a few minutes in to turn some music on before continuing. Harlow stays completely still, but I feel her heart beating rapidly against my hand that’s pressed to her shoulder holding her in place.

Normally when I’m tattooing, I lose myself in the art. I forget about who I’m working on or where I even am. All I see is the art. But with Harlow, that’s not the case. I’m hyper-aware of every move she makes, every sound, every little gasp she makes when I hit a sensitive area.

Her body is the perfect canvas, and I’m enjoying inking her more than I realized I would. I lie to myself and say it’s because I get a rush being someone’s first, but in reality, I’m enjoying having an excuse to touch her. To have my hands on her body and no one, including her, having any reason to question my intention.

I take extra care with Harlow. Paying close attention to the curve of the letters. Making sure each and every swipe of my gun leaves a perfect mark.

Because of the simplicity of the tattoo, it only takes me about forty-five minutes from start to finish. By the time I finish, her pale skin is raised and red around the tattoo but otherwise looks incredible.

I wipe away the excess ink on her skin and smile down at the finished product.

“All done,” I announce, turning to grab a handheld mirror off the workstation before handing it to her so she can get a look.

She angles the mirror so she can see, her hand reaching up to trace beneath the ink as she stares at the reflection in the mirror.

“It’s perfect.” She smiles, turning her gaze to me.

“You’re perfect,” I say, wishing I could take it back the moment it leaves my lips.

I watch her expression shift, something dark stirring in her eyes. And try as I might, I can’t stop myself from wrapping my hand around the back of her neck and pulling her face to mine. It’s less than a second before my mouth crashes to hers, but the instant it does my entire body ignites.

Harlow opens up to me effortlessly, allowing my tongue to slide into her mouth and taste her. I hadn’t realized until now just how badly I had been craving to do exactly that.

She moans into my mouth when I deepen the kiss and her reaction only spurs me on more. With one hand still around the back of her neck, the other slides along her bare stomach and across her back. With one swift jerk, I pull her out of the chair, her feet barely hitting the floor before my mouth is on hers again.

There is no gentleness to the kiss. I’m not soft or sweet, but rough and punishing instead. I’ve wanted to do this so badly that now that I am I can’t control myself. I want to kiss her so hard that she’ll still be able to feel me on her lips hours from now.

I don’t think. I do. All I can see is her. All I can taste is her. All I can feel is her. All I want is her. And just when I feel like I’ve lost all control, a firm knock sounds against the door causing us to jump apart.

Harlow stumbles back into the chair, her fingers going up to trace her lips while I try to catch my breath and figure out what the fuck I just did. It’s like all reasonable thought went out the fucking door, and now I’m standing here trying to figure out how it happened.

The knock sounds again, reminding me of what broke us apart, to begin with. I clear my throat and straighten my shirt, meeting Harlow’s gaze for a brief moment before turning back toward my workstation.

“Yeah,” I holler over the music.

The door swings open and Winston steps inside, catching sight of his sister laying in the tattoo chair topless.

“For fuck’s sake, Harlow, put some clothes on.” He quickly slides his gaze to me. “What the hell are you two doing in here? And why is my sister half naked?”

“I’ll let her show you,” I say, giving him a casual smile. As long as I don’t act like he just interrupted me about to fuck his sister, he’ll never know. Fucked up logic, I know, but right now it’s all I got.

“You can turn around now,” Harlow calls, and we both turn to see her sitting up, her legs draped over the side of the chair. “Look.” She pulls down the front of her shirt just enough that her brother can see the fresh ink below her collarbone.

“Shut the fuck up.” He smiles, taking a step closer to get a better look. “I can’t believe you finally talked her stuck up ass into some ink.” He looks back at me impressed.

“It was all her idea.” I shrug.

“Damn, it looks good too.” He nods.

“What are you doing here anyway?” Harlow asks, her gaze bouncing to me and then back to her brother.

While she definitely seems a little flustered, I don’t think it’s enough to give Winston the impression that anything was going on in here other than me giving her a tattoo. I’m not even sure he’d give a shit that I was kissing her. He’d probably just tell me not to fucking hurt her, and move on because that’s Winston’s style.

No, this is more about me than Winston. If Winston accepts that I’m into his sister, then nothing is stopping me from being with her. And being with her means hurting her and that’s the last thing I want to do.

“I’m meeting Stella at Nicholson’s. Wanted to see if either of you wanted to join,” he says, looking to me and then back to Harlow.

“I love Nicholson’s.” Harlow smiles.

“I know you do. Hence why I’m here.”

“What do you say, boss man? Can I steal her away?”

“Her shift has been over for quite some time. She’s good to go.” I turn, trying to keep myself busy by cleaning up the station.

“What about you?” He turns toward me. “You in?”

“I probably shouldn’t. I’ve got a ton of shit to finish up here.” It’s a lie. But the last thing I need right now is to spend another night staring across a table at Harlow. I nearly slipped and lost all control tonight. I can’t let that happen again.

I need to put some distance between me and this girl, and I need to do it now.

“You work too hard,” Winston tells me, clapping me on the shoulder.

“So I’ve been told,” I smirk.

“Alright then. If you’re sure.” He gives me one more chance before turning back to his sister. “Okay, looks like it’s a party of three.”

“Let me grab my purse from the back.” Harlow slides out of the tattoo chair and quickly exits the room.

“She seems to be doing good,” Winston says out loud, but the statement feels more like he’s talking to himself.

“Well she’s doing one hell of a job, I can tell you that.” I slide my tray to the side before turning to face him.

“Thanks again for giving her this job. I know I wasn’t thrilled about it in the beginning, but I think this is exactly what she needed. To put herself out in the world.”

“Of course, man. It was my pleasure. Like I said, she’s doing amazing.”

“Okay, I’m ready.” Harlow reappears before Winston can say anything else.

“Right. Okay.” Winston heads toward the door. “We’ll talk later. Maybe catch a beer later this week?” he asks, pausing in the doorway.

“Yeah, sounds good.” I nod.

“See ya,” he calls, slipping into the hallway.

“Later,” I call back.

Harlow hesitates on the other side of the doorway. She looks up and meets my gaze, a million things running behind those big green eyes of hers, but she doesn’t voice a single one. Instead, she gives me a small, hesitant smile and turns on her heel, following her brother out of the shop.