Page 9 of Saint
“Just be yourself and relax, then I think she will too.” I pat his shoulder.
He nods, then darts back into his cubicle. Immediately, I hear him introduce himself again and then get back to work.
I pull a new pair of gloves on, and with a quick apology, get back to Grant. “He’s cute,” Grant says with a gleam in his eye.
“Leave him alone, Grant. He’s not your type.” I give him a look that should tell him I mean business.
“No, maybe not, but he’s yours. How are you keeping your hands off him?” Grant’s voice is a little louder than I would like, and with a quick glance at Noah, I can see his ears are pink. Yep, he heard.
“Noah is my employee, Grant. A bloody good artist and I’m lucky to have him. Please keep your thoughts to yourself.” I pick up my gun, “Are you ready to start again.”
It’s a late night for both of us, so at six o’clock, we have a break, and I order a pizza. “Noah, it’s here.”
He looks up from his station and gives me a broad smile, one that is much more relaxed than earlier. “Great, I’m starving.”
“I probably should’ve asked what type you like before I ordered. I don’t know what you like on your pizza.”
“I eat anything. I learnt very early on that being fussy could lead to being hungry,” he says happily.
“How did the tattoo of the butterfly go?”
He goes a bit pink. “So, well… It’s going to be lovely. And she calmed down when we started to talk, and she told me the story behind it. She hasn’t had cancer, but her family history of breast cancer is long and sad, most died before or in their forties, including her mum and her auntie. After testing, she found out that she also carried the faulty gene, and after she’d talked it through with her family, she chose elective mastectomy. She’s booked in for next week to get it finished. She said she wanted to come here, and her family gave her the money to have it done. I’m blown away at how amazing she is, I don’t think I’d be brave enough.”
“Not if your life depended on it?”
“Not that, I’d totally do that. I’d not be brave enough to expose myself to someone, to trust them with a part of my body that was already scarred and would be for the rest of my life.”
“Comp it and I’ll pay you for the work, she deserves a kindness done for her.” The knock on the door ends that conversation. “Pizza’s here.”
“Has my dad stopped trying to feed you every minute you’re at home?” I bite into the cheesy gooeyness and groan. “I needed this.”
“Yes, Kip told him to leave me alone.” Noah bites eagerly into his slice of pizza. It would be nice to learn a little more about him, to get to know him better. Maybe I can stop thinking of him as a perfect match for me if I do.
“What was the studio you did your apprenticeship like? Was it a big studio?” I’d looked it up when I read his reference, which was basic at the very least, but did confirm his ability. The testimonials were a much better insight to him.
“There were three others. They got the best work, and I got what was left. Then people started asking for me. It was better then, even though I was watched like a hawk. He saw I was getting better than the others, even him. Which meant he wasn’t going to take me on, so I bit the bullet and came here. You’ve been my role model, it’s the way you make your work come to life. I’ve read every article about you I could find. When my apprenticeship finished, and I had some money saved, I came to you.”
“He was crazy not to keep you, but his loss is my gain. I’m happy enough with you that I’d like you stay on permanently, if you’re still interested.”
Noah’s eyes widen, and he chokes on a bite of pizza. When he stops coughing, he smiles, his blue eyes shining brightly. “Really? Thank you so much, Saint. I love it here.”
The way he lights up when he gets any praise from me has me wanting him more every day. He’s slowly coming out of his shell and laughs at all the ribbing and teasing that goes on at my parents’ house. My dads love having someone to fuss over again, and I find myself more and more attracted to him. My resolve to keep our relationship purely professional is weakening.
The other problem, one that’s more important is whether Noah is gay. He hasn’t talked about his past much—and never mentioned an ex, either male or female. But my Spidey-senses ping when I’m around him, and I’m not wrong very often.
Why am I suddenly wanting to know this? He came here for a job, not a relationship.
Relationship! Where the hell did that come from?
I’ve been here over a month now, and I love it here. Saint is everything I wanted him to be as a mentor, and I’ve already learnt so much. My attraction to him is off the charts. I love watching him work, the way his forearms flex and his tattoos look alive, the way he concentrates and still manages to keep up a banter with the client or talk to me to teach me the technique. He’s friendly, and sometimes, I think he’s flirting with me, but I expect it’s all in my head. I see him watching me, his eyes heating up as they roam over me, and it makes my stomach flutter and heat spread through my body.
It's easy to agree to everything he says just to get the lazy smile that looks like sin. Which is why I’m in the predicament I am this morning.
“Noah, sweetie, what has you looking so pale?” Robin looks across the table as I try to eat the bacon and eggs he cooked for breakfast.
“Um, Saint’s taking me to the gym.” I think that should be enough explanation, but by his frown, he doesn’t understand. I’ve finally caved after all Saint’s cajoling and nagging. All I can think of is the terrors of school PE sessions and always being the last one picked. Or the bullying in the changing rooms, the constant jokes about how skinny I was and shorter than all ofthem I was as they hit puberty and had massive growth spurts. I stopped at five-six, there were plenty of girls taller than me too. I hated it.
I can already feel the eyes of all the gym rats. The heavily tattooed bulging biceps and broad chests, bare and covered in sweat men who will stare at the scrawny kid. I know I look about eighteen and only have to shave a couple of times a week. I’m going to be laughed out of the place.
