Page 32 of Hold the Line

I did.

I opened the tailgate. “Jett. You want to help me get this out?”

“Oh, yeah, man.” He gave Phoebe a squeeze. “Let’s see what kind of magic this guy has made for me.”

Phoebe followed him to the rear of the truck, both peering in to see what I had strapped in the bed.

I’d built most of the furniture in the shop, but Jett had decided to go with some shitty chrome monstrosity for his reception desk. Just like I’d expected, it hadn’t aged well, so I’d built him a new one. He’d tried to decline, but the man had spent countless hours adding ink to my body. As far as I was concerned, we weren’t close to even.

Jett ran his hand over the smooth walnut top. “Dude. What the hell did you do?”

“Built you a desk, like I told you.”

He blinked. “I was thinking something simple. This is a work of art.”

Phoebe came closer, her soft tits brushing the back of my arm. “Oh my…can I help you guys take it out? I’m dying to see it.”

Jett and I barked, “No,” at the same time. We didn’t agree on a lot of things, but not letting a woman carry something heavy was something we did.

Laughter burst from Phoebe, and she raised her hands. “Okay, I hear you. You guys can do the heavy lifting. I’ll go wait inside.”

Tongue-tied, I watched her strut into the tattoo shop like she’d been there a hundred times. She’d been that way from the first time I’d seen her. Like she knew she’d be welcome in every space she entered. Watching her never failed to fascinate me.

I turned back to the truck, and Jett waggled his brows. “Just a friend, huh?”

“Yep,” I stated.

“I bet you’re hoping not for long.” He nudged me with his elbow. “She’s pretty as hell.”

“I know.” I pushed him toward the tailgate. “Now, are you gonna help me or what?”

In the time it took us to carry the new desk inside, Phoebe had already made a friend in the waiting area. Standing at the flash wall next to a tall, lanky tattooed guy, she was looking at the art. He was looking at her.

She whirled around at the sound of us putting the desk down, her eyes lighting as she took it in. “Oh, wow. Deke…” she whispered, her hands clutched at her chest.

I rubbed my nape. “Yeah?”

She crossed the space, her arm brushing mine. “It’s stunning. I can’t believe you made this with your bare hands.”

“There were a few tools involved too.”

Her laughter was light and tinkling, like a delicate wind chime. “Don’t make jokes. This is gorgeous. You’re a true craftsman.”

Jett clapped a hand on my shoulder. “It’s sick, dude. How in the hell did you brand my logo on the front?”

The desk’s base was built from stained walnut strips. I’d mounted a circular plaque on the front bearing the shop’s branded logo. The top, also walnut, was lacquered to a smooth, glossy finish. It was my first reception desk, and I was pretty damn proud of it. Still, it was nice to know I wasn’t the only one who liked it—even if taking compliments wasn’t my strong suit.

“Trade secret,” I replied wryly. “If I told you, you wouldn’t need me anymore.”

It’d been a lot of work. I’d never done well in school, had never taken an interest, but when it came to woodworking, I always wanted to challenge myself to learn and expand my knowledge.

Jett shook his head. “Nah. Even if you laid it out step by step, I’d never come close to replicating what you do. I’ll stick to the needle, thank you very much.”

“Speaking of needles, you ready to get working on me?”

He jerked, like up until that second, he’d forgotten why I was here. “Yeah. Yeah. Let’s get into it.”

Jett led us deeper into the shop. I trailed behind with Phoebe, pointing out the pieces I’d made years ago. They still looked good. Didn’t seem anything had fallen apart while I’d been locked up.

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