Page 6 of London Inked Boys: The Complete Trilogy
Rocco just grins and accepts his without a grumble.
Looking around, I see she already made a start on the place.
She follows my gaze. “I didn’t want to touch anything that looked like it belonged to the shop.”
A few chairs are stacked on top of one another, and next to them a filing cabinet for the shop’s paperwork, and older folders of tattoo designs. Cardboard boxes containing inks from when we changed suppliers a few years ago are sagged and splitting. Ispot some broken machines I’d thrown up here instead of trying to dispose of them. I wish I’d had the opportunity to empty the place out before she arrived. I should have done it as soon as I received the letter, but I’d truly believed I’d have more time. Circumstances meant I’d been unable to. I hope she hasn’t come across anything I wouldn’t want her to see.
“Yeah, that’s fine,” I say, trying to figure out where I’m going to store all this stuff in the shop. I’ll probably have to get rid of it.
The other two have already got stuck in, picking up rubbish and shoving it into black bags. Rocco turns on some music with his phone, the sound coming through the speakers, and they help themselves to the cans of lager Theresa provided as promised. I try not to watch her as she works, the way her jeans mould to her hips and backside as she bends over to pick something up. She must sense me watching, as she turns her head and catches my eye. I force myself to hold her gaze. She doesn’t intimidate me—no woman intimidates me. But then why does my heart rate step up when she looks at me?
Her lips tweak in a smile, her long dark lashes flicking down over her eyes.
My scowl deepens and I look away.
Someone rings the bell.
“Pizza!” she declares, and vanishes down the stairs, only to reappear a few minutes later balancing a stack of boxes on top of one another. The pile is so high, it’s impossible to see her around it, and I find myself smiling at the sight. I quickly snap off the expression before she sees.
Rocco and Kane whoop at the sight of the food, and before long we’re all chowing down on slices of meat feast and double pepperoni pizza. The girl has done good.
I notice she’s slipped away. I finish what I’m eating, take another swig from my drink, and get up to see what she’s up to.The couple of hours with the four of us working on the place has already made a massive difference.
I walk into the bedroom to find her standing beside the window, flicking through an A2 sized pad of sketching paper. I stop short, frowning. Is she an artist, too? Is that why she wanted to live above the studio, because she appreciates good art? I take a step closer, something still not sitting right with me. As she flips the page, it dawns on me that the paper is mine—a sketch pad I haven’t wanted to look at for the past ten years.
“Hey!” I snarl, storming across the room and snatching the item out of her hands. “You shouldn’t be looking at that.”
She doesn’t seem frightened by my aggression. “Is it yours? Those drawings are beautiful. Who is she?”
“None of your fucking business.”
She holds up her hands. “You’re right, it isn’t. The pad slid out onto the floor and it was open. I couldn’t help but see them. You’re really talented though.”
“Yeah, I know I am. I’m an artist for a living, remember?”
“You’re a tattoo artist,” she says.
“What the fuck do you think tattoo artists create if they’re not artists? The clue is in the name.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, and she shrinks back.
“Sorry.” She glances away. “Of course, you’re completely right. I’ve just never had any experience with tattoos.”
I look at her in disbelief. “You don’t have any tattoos? Not even one, like the lower back or foot one all girls seem to get.”
Slowly, she shakes her head. “Nope, none. It’s never been my thing.”
“And yet here you are living above a tattoo studio.”
She gives a tight smile. “Yeah, go figure.”
“Why?” The beer has loosened my tongue. Where normally I’d have just left it, and not bothered getting into a conversation with some chick I didn’t even like, I find myself wanting to know.
She lifts her dark eyes to mine. “What?”
“Why have you come all the way from America to live in this dump? Why didn’t you just put the place on the market and take the cash?”
She shrugs. “It was the right time for me to make a change.”
“You could have made a damned big change with the amount of money this place would have brought in.”
