Page 38 of Ink & Desire

“It is,” she agrees. “And it isn’t.”

I pat the table before me, and she shifts to turn her back to me. Lifting her shirt up to reveal most of her back, she lies face-down on the table. I study the work I’ve already done as she talks. This will be the third time I’ve added ink to my sister’s back. She doesn’t have any other tattoos, but this one is going to be massive when it’s finished. It’s a piece that took years for her to dream up and months for me to design and draw according to her vision. It’s one of my most detailed works ever and I’m damned proud of it. It’s too bad Henley will probably always keep it covered. A piece like this deserves to be shown off.

“I thought it would be different when I made it to VP,” she says. “Youngest female VP in the history of the company. Bigger office, more respect. I don’t know. It’s the same shit but with different bosses.”

She sounds wistful. Almost sad. I feel a pang of sympathy. Henley and I have always had each other’s backs. Growing up the way we did, there weren’t a lot of options. No one else seemed to be on our team, so we were each other’s team. That hasn’t changed a whole lot in the years since we left that life behind. Not being able to fix this for her is like a knife in my gut.

“Not what you thought it would be?” I ask.

She shrugs as best she can while lying down. “I don’t know. It’s still new. I shouldn’t complain. It’s what I wanted. I’m still just figuring it all out. That’s all.”

If I know my sister, she won’t tell me anything if she doesn’t want to. She’ll tell me about it when she’s ready. And I’ll be here for her when she does. Or, maybe it’s as she said, and she just needs time to adjust to her new position. Either way, I’ll be here to listen. Or to fix it if I can. Not that she’s not capable of fixing her own problems. But the point is that I’m here for her, no matter what.

“I think I’ll start down here on the right,” I say, touching the spot on her lower back. “I’m going to finish the tail and the outlines of the flames. I can probably get most of the line work finished today. We’ll see how time goes and how you feel. If it gets to be too much, just let me know.”

I add the last part knowing she won’t take me up on it. It’s the same thing I say to all my clients. Some ask for breaks, and some don’t. But I know Henley. She goes to a different headspace when she’s getting tattooed. It’s almost like she leaves her body. Some people will flinch or suck in a breath when the needles get to a particularly sensitive spot, but not her. It’s like she doesn’t feel it. I’ve asked her about it before, but she just shrugged it off.

“You know I won’t,” she teases. “Wake me up when you’re finished.”

I shake my head, amused. “We’ll see.”

I clean and shave her skin, eliminating even the short fuzz that might be there. Then I affix the stencil that outlines the bottom half of a massive phoenix rising from the flames. When she’d come to me with the ambitious idea for such a large design, I’d been skeptical that I could come up with a piece of art that could do her vision justice. But I’d worked on it for months, perfecting it. The final result might be the best piece I’ve ever created. Now, I just need to make sure it translates well onto her skin. I can’t fuck this one up. Henley will never let me hear the end of it.

Chapter 17

Avery

Corbin is different around his sister. He’s less grumpy, and he’s smiling more. More? That would imply he smiles at all. Well, that’s not entirely true. Sometimes he laughs at something Jessie says, or he jokes with her or Noah and there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. But then it’s as if he remembers I’m there and goes back to his usual grumpy asshole persona. I’d love to say it’s not personal, except I knowit is.

He doesn’t want me here. He’s made no secret of that fact. But I assumed he would eventually stop being hostile every time I’m around. I’m starting to wonder if I was wrong. It’s only been 2 weeks, but I’m not sure he’s ever going to stop hating me for the way we met. ‘Hate’ might be a bit of an exaggeration. I’m not sure he hates me, exactly. It’s more that he refuses to be nice to me. Instead, I get this grouchy version of him when I can tell there’s at least some semblance of a decent human being somewhere in there. He just won't show it to me.

I was shocked when he offered me a brownie earlier. I’d walked over to him, intending to try and make conversation. But when he’d made the crack about Jessie’s favorite cookie, I’d spoken without thinking. To my shock, he’d responded without his usual grumpiness. His nearness coupled with his low, sexy voice had almost been enough to make my knees go weak. What the hell is wrong me that one small token of kindness is enough to make me forget that he’s a total dick to me the rest of the time? Never mind. I know exactly what’s wrong with me. I’m a straight woman with a pulse. That’s literally all that’s required to fall under Corbin’s spell.

Jessie seems somehow immune to him, though. I wonder why that is. She’s into guys. That much I know from some of the conversations we’ve had over the past few days. But she seems totally unaffected by Corbin’s sexiness. She treats him more like Henley does, which is to say more like a sister. I wish I could flip a switch and think of him that way. Because being soattracted to him that I’m willing to overlook all his assholery over one small gesture? That’s against the code of feminism or something.

Still, I can’t stop watching him as he works on his sister’s back. I’ve seen him tattoo at least a dozen people over the last 2 weeks and he’s always professional and methodical. But there’s something different about the way he is with his sister. He’s softer somehow, gentler. Not that gentle or soft are words I’d have associated with Corbin before today. But the descriptions fit. And somehow, I’m mesmerized by it.

I hover nearby, watching him work. I know he’s aware of my presence, but he doesn’t look up from his work or acknowledge me. It’s almost hypnotic, watching the ink flow into Henley’s skin, turning it from a blank canvas into a work of art. As for Henley, she seems unfazed by all of this. The buzzing of the machine, the fluorescent lights overhead, the audience of one, not to mention the pain she must be feeling. Her head is resting on her folded arms and her eyes are closed. Her breathing is slow and even. She hasn’t flinched even once. The only sign she’s still awake is that she responded to Corbin when he asked if she needed a break after the first 45 minutes passed.

“I’m good. If you need to stretch your fingers, go for it.”

He just smiles and shakes his head but continues working. I can’t tell if either of them is in any discomfort simply by looking at them. If they are, they hide it well.

“You like to watch?”

Hearing Henley speak after being silent for so long startles me out of the trance I’d been in while watching Corbin work. My gaze shoots to her face and I’m surprised to find her dark eyes open and fixed on me. Her expression is one of amused interest, which immediately makes me uncomfortable. Henley seems like the kind of woman who’s always been the cool girl. She probably showed up on her first day of kindergarten and was immediately the popular girl. She’s tall and willowy with long, wavy blonde hair and the kind of curves I wish I had. She doesn’t look anything like Corbin with his dark hair and beard. Except maybe the eyes. They both have the same deep brown eyes that seem to be able to glean all of someone's secrets just by looking at them. I remember she asked me a question and force a smile.

“Since I can’t tattoo anyone yet, watching is a good way to learn,” I say. “I’ve ordered some supplies of my own to practice. But I like watching the different techniques.”

“Hmm,” Henley says. “I get that.”

“Besides,” I say. “It’s a beautiful design. I’ve never seen a tattoo like it.”

“That’s the point,” she says. “Besides, Corbin doesn’t do anything that’s not original.”

“No flash art,” I say, smiling.

“Exactly,” she agrees.

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