Page 23 of The Opposite Effect

“How are you finding the move? I bet your boy is growing up fast?”

Hugo, one of my regular clients at Inked, smiles a beaming grin. “Yeah, Joel is…” He stops talking as his eyes sheen with moisture. “He’s good. So much like his mother.”

I pull my tattoo gun back from the rainbow rose I’m adding to his vast collection of tattoos on his right rib and inspect my work. “So what’s the deal with this tat? Most of your pieces have some sort of connection to Ava, but this is the first time I’ve ever inked a flower on your body.” My voice comes out shaky, hindered by a small bout of laughter dying to break free.

Nothing against Hugo. He’s a tall brute of a man who could easily put any guy on his ass, but the majority of his torso is covered with a range of oddly chosen tattoos. Although his ink selection is one-of-a-kind, every one I’ve placed on his body has a significant meaning to his life before he moved to Ravenshoe. It didn’t take a genius to realize his tattoos revolved around one woman.

If the hidden inclusion of the name Ava in most of his tattoos didn’t give enough of a hint, the stories he shared while I added to his collection were a surefire indication. Tattoo artists are the male equivalent of hairdressers for women. The stories clients have shared while sitting in my tattoo chair could fill at least a hundred books.

After wiping the freshly-inked skin with my cloth, I lift my eyes to Hugo. He’s grinning a smile I’ve only seen on his face once before—when I inked his son’s name onto his chest. It sits just above his heart.

“I asked Ava to marry me,” Hugo admits, his smile enlarging.

My lips curl into a broad grin. “Shit, man, you work fast,” I jest. He only moved back to Rochdale three months ago.

He laughs. “That’s only the beginning. We are having a baby at the end of the year.”

I cock my brow. “Damn, you better watch out. You’ll run out of skin to ink with all those memories you’re creating.” I nudge my head to the bathroom while pulling off my latex gloves. “Go tell me what you think. You’ll have to switch off the light to see Ava’s name since you went with the invisible ink again.”

Hugo stands from my tattoo chair, filling my cubicle with his six-foot-five frame. I clean up my station while he checks out his newly inked piece in the bathroom attached to my cubicle.

He emerges thirty seconds later with a broad grin on his face.

“Good?” I query, already knowing his answer.

“Perfect.” No more words are needed. His face tells the entire story.

Hugo throws his shirt over his head while shadowing me to the counter to ring up his purchase. I’ve worked at Inked for over ten years, and he is the only client I’ve agreed to tattoo a name on without seeing a wedding band wrapped around his finger. I didn’t need to warn him about the lifetime commitment that comes withhaving a person’s name inked onto your skin. His eyes relayed he was well aware of the commitment he was making. The fact he’s getting married proves I didn’t misread his loyalty to Ava.

My brisk pace to the cash register slows when “Brax” sounds from a pair of lips that can cause my dick and spikes to bristle at the same time.

Things between Clara and me the past three weeks have followed a similar path they did the weeks prior to my disastrous attempt at sharing a meal with her. Although she’s a little standoffish with both the staff and me, she does exactly what she’s paid to do. And she does it well.

The only thing that has changed is our game of tit for tat. It came to a screeching halt the instant she exited the restaurant three weeks ago. I guess finding out your scornful tongue gives your boss a raging hard-on would dampen anyone’s eagerness to take part in a bit of friendly banter.

Clara walks out of my office balancing a planner in one hand while twirling a pencil in the other. “Your seven o’clock appointment just canceled. Did you want me to bump up one of your following appointments? Or…” Her words stop when they lift from the leather-stitched planner to the enormity of Hugo standing beside me.

The longer her eyes roam Hugo, the more the raging tornado in her eyes grows. I can see her short temper flaring, dying to break free.

I’m not the only one who has noticed her blazing reaction to Hugo’s presence. The buzzing of tattoo guns quiets down, and the usual hum of conversation dulls to barely a whisper.

The longer Clara glares at Hugo, the more attention she garners from her colleagues.

After sucking in a deep breath, Clara finally shifts her widened gaze to me. “You’re busy. I’ll come back.”

I balk, staggered by her odd behavior.

She’s never been concerned about interrupting me before, so what’s changed now?

“No, let’s do this shit now, Princess. The quicker I get these appointments over with, the quicker my weekend will start.”

Her throat works hard to swallow before her narrowed gaze rockets back to Hugo. She stares at him as if she’s daring him to say something while I bounce my confused eyes between them, trying to work out how they know each other. From the dazed expression on Clara’s face and the shit-eating grin on Hugo’s, it doesn’t take a genius to realize they’ve met before.

My back molars smack together as my mind runs through various scenarios of how well they could know each other. All my skits follow along a similar path—Hugo and Clara naked together.

“Yeah, come on,Princess,” Hugo says, his voice a thick drawl. “Brax hasn’t got all day.”

My brow cocks. Just from the contempt displayed in Hugo’s words, I think my initial assumption of hisfriendliness with Clara may have been wrong. But even with having my unwarranted jealousy checked, my mood is still woeful. I’ve been working with a massive headache the past two hours.

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