a running list of the reasons why no one would want me for long, and Gordo already had his hands full with his baby. I should be able to be as professional with him as I was with this client, who was clearly coming on to me, and who I was having no trouble deflecting.
But I was having trouble. Trouble keeping Gordo out of my mind, trouble staying away from him. Too many times I’d wondered what he was doing and how he’d come to be a single father. What his lips would feel like pressed against mine.
What he looked like without clothes.
God, I needed to get my head together.
A little over an hour and a half passed with the client telling me about his job, his last ex, the car he was thinking about buying. I worked silently, intent on finishing as quickly as possible while still doing quality work. Most of what he said went in one ear and out the other.
Dane left as I was nearing the last of the shading, being sure to say a smarmy goodbye and make yet another joke about the hookup he was headed to. I really hoped he didn’t screw it up—literally.
“Your friend sounds like fun,” my client said as I shaded a large area.
“He’s a good guy,” I managed to get out. I worked hard to keep my mind in that place of meditative focus and not get caught up in the provocative tone of the man I was tattooing. “He just likes to d-date a lot.”
Dating, of course, was me being generous.
“You look like you could be fun, too.” Now there was no denying Roger’s intentions.
“Nah,” I replied, trying to deflect. “I’m boring as shit.”
My breath had almost caught on -sh, my stutter prepared to make an appearance. An itch of irritation crawled down my spine.
“Sure,” the man said before laughing. “The dark and broody ones like you are my favorites.”
Flirting like this used to be my bread and butter, and I’d eaten it up since I was old enough to recognize it, the kind of over-the-top meaningless come-ons that promised a one-off fun time. Something to feel good for a while and release some steam before getting back to the daily grind.
But tonight, even though I’m sure Roger didn’t mean anything by it, it rankled to be talked about like I was a dessert and not a person. I sped up a bit, allowing my work to be just a little sloppy if it meant being through with this interaction sooner.
As I started the finishing sweeps, my client pressed me. “Javi. I’m not looking for much—I know how guys like you work. Let’s just have a good time after this.”
The crotch of his pants had grown hard while I tattooed, the outline of his cock visible. It looked big, and I was still uninterested.
“Sorry, we have rules. No fucking the clientele.”
“Bullshit,” Roger quickly shot back. “As soon as you finish, I’m not your client anymore. What I am is horny, and you’re fucking beautiful.”
Maybe I should have been flattered, but all I felt was irritated. This was my job, for Chrissakes, not a club or a bar. I should be able to go to my job, do it well, and then go home after without being accosted by some asshole.
I just wanted to go home. I wanted the chance to see Gordo and Giuliana, even if it was only in passing. It was a masochistic want that set me off balance, but it was what it was.
I finished the tattoo without saying anything, and then cleaned and bandaged it. “I’m going t-to go piss and then we can wrap up here.”
Pushing away, I practically ran to the bathroom. The wrong kind of heat flooded me, the kind that felt like needles in my stomach. It felt like something was wrong with me, and my brain was quick to agree with that theory. I gripped the white porcelain of the sink and breathed deep, trying to tamp down the hurricane of emotions.
It was done. I’d collect his money and wait out the remaining shop time. There had been some bad times in my past, both in foster homes and in juvie in my early teens, when there’d been a vibe. The wrong kind of vibe, one that spoke of power instead of lust, and it was the same vibe rolling off of Roger.
I’d learned to try and get some distance, regroup, and escape as unharmed as possible, which is