Page 2 of Under the Ink

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, placing the big bottle of brandy onto the counter. “I work at the Coffee Stop as a barista, and I serve people like that every day. The only difference is the sun’s out, but that doesn’t make them any nicer.”

“Most people seem all right, though,” he said before telling her the total due.

Naomi shrugged, digging cash out of her pocket. Although she disagreed, she wasn’t about to argue with this guy. After all, he’d done her a huge favor by making that weirdo leave her alone. When he handed her back the change, she asked, “Don’t you have a tip jar?”

He laughed. “I’m no barista.”

“Yeah,” she said, removing the five-dollar bill from the bills he’d handed her, “but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve a tip. Thanks.”

“You don’t need to do that.”

“I sure do. Thanks again.”

“Yeah. Have a good night.”

Naomi nodded, picking up the paper bag off the counter. The guy was nice enough, but she’d had all the fun human interactions she could stand for the day. In fact, thanks to this trip to the liquor store, she was now at capacity.

Which meant it was brandy o’clock. She just had to head back to her apartment and lock the door before letting her own party begin.

It wasn’t that her apartment was a haven. In fact, it was a dunghole. Her roommates didn’t do their dishes or take out their trash—but at least they paid their share of rent and utilities.

Usually.

Sometimes they were late and Naomi would have to dip into her small savings…the account that seemed to never get bigger. But she was close. All she needed was a couple thousand more and then she’d go shopping for a used car. Then a little more to cover gas and first month’s rent somewhere else and she’d be set.

Now that she felt good about the ink covering her flesh, she wouldn’t be spending more on tattoos, so it should be easier.

Her job wasn’t helping her earn money fast enough, though. Had she not made decent tips, she would have left a long time ago and found something else. Maybe the solution was a second job.

Now that her best friend’s time was taken by the man she’d fallen in love with, that would probably be a good next step for Naomi.

But those were all problems for tomorrow. For now, Naomi thought, pulling open the unmarked door between two storefronts on Main Street, she was going to forget all her troubles, thanks to a little help from her friend named Brandy.

Looking up the rickety stairs while smelling the faint old urine smell, Naomi gritted her teeth and put her foot on the first tread. Leaving this place couldn’t happen fast enough.

WINCHESTER, COLORADO

JUNE 2, EARLY MORNING

Sage Jackson was drumming his fingers on the card table in Jimmy’s apartment. He’d promised hot chicks and flowing booze—and, so far, none of it had materialized.

Probably not a huge deal, considering Shock Treatment’s tour was starting in just a few days. Not only would Sage get his pick of chicks as the only band member who hadn’t succumbed to family life, but the road crew (especially Jimmy) knew what kind of female he found himself attracted to and actively sought girls in the crowd who were just his type. Sage would pick one or two who suited him and the rest of the girls wound up with the roadies.

Win-win.

And for some reason, Jimmy, Sage’s drum tech, had promised a local Winchester girl for Sage this evening. “She loves you, man…loves the band. I swore to her I’d let her meet you.”

“Meet?”

“Well, yeah…but she’s also down to fuck.”

“And you know thishow?”

“She fuckin’saidso.”

For being so eager, the woman had yet to show up. When Sage had arrived an hour ago, Jimmy flew out of his apartment, promising to be right back. After three minutes, Sage had started to send him a text message and then decided to chill a little longer. What was the big hurry?

Besides, he’d brought his own bottle and was on his way to demolishing it.

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