Page 44 of Strelitzias in Spring

Turning off the copier, I run back into my room and deposit the original drawing and two of the copies on my desk, stuffing the rest of the prints into a folder and putting them in my leather motor bag. Placing the bag on my stool, I start to sanitize all surfaces and prep for my first client tomorrow. I keep all my equipment in their places and cases, but I take out the plastic coverings, paper towels, and squirt bottle and place them on the tray beside my station. I do a final wipe down of the counters before grabbing the trash bag in the waste basket and tying up the ends to place it just inside the door of the room.

A cleaning company comes each night to clean the general areas, vacuum, mop, and replenish the refreshment station at the front of the shop. Though we have them, I maintain a clean space and mandate that all my artists aren’t assholes who take advantage of the team that comes in after closing. That means they must sanitize their stations, clean up their shit, and tie off their trash bags before they leave the shop. I’m no exception; I follow the same rules I set for the people I employ.

Casting a glance, I make sure that my space is together before I shut the light and walk through the door. Be it fate, God, or the fucking universe, this is one of the few nights I have free from both the gym and clients. After Serena left last night, I went to the gym and did a few late-night rounds with Jedd, a standard for Friday evenings, even though my MMA career has dwindled to just one more fight in three weeks. This morning, I helped him by being the fuckwit’s sparring partner to help Jedd address issues with Gage’s form. At the end of the session, he got stupid and hit me in the eye when I dropped the focus pads.

Kelly, who has become a permanent fixture at these sessions, let out a horrified gasp as though the under-two-hundred-pound piece of shit could do real damage to me. My eye looks worse than it is and should heal within the next few days. However, my anger and annoyance at Gage are omnipresent; they aren’t going away any time soon.

Approaching Trent, Aubrey, and Serena, I catch the tail end of Serena’s words.

“… they’ve always been important to me; they symbolize growth and change, beauty and freedom, luck and perseverance. I’ve always loved them.”

“I hate that they messed it up for you. I should report them to the Better Business Bureau.”

Serena shrugs, looking at her hands as she answers. “It doesn’t matter; I knew better than to go into that shop and had a horrible feeling the moment the artist started. I didn’t stop it when I saw the sketch, nor did I stop it the minute he put his tattoo gun on my back and started digging into my skin. I have a lot of regrets, but they’re self-imposed. I doubt reporting them is going to do anything.”

“Serena, you ready to head out?” I cut in, halting the path of this conversation. I can see she’s uncomfortable; her body language is closed off, and she’s refusing to make eye contact, telling me that she’s both embarrassed and upset. Her emotions seep into the atmosphere, and I need her out of here before I do something stupid, like grab her in front of everyone in here and try to console her.

She nods her head and offers a small wave to Aubrey and Trent. “It was great seeing you both again. Aubrey, should I schedule something with Sloan now or…?” She lets her voice trail off, leaving the question open.

Aubrey’s eyes widen, and she looks at me before responding, “Uhm—”

“Let’s wait until you’re fully healed, then we’ll put you in the books. Okay?” I cut in again, raising an eyebrow at Aubrey and Trent. Neither one of them says anything, but both have wary expressions on their faces.

“Of course. Well…” She pauses, standing and wiping imaginary dust from her body. “I’ll see you guys.”

She starts to walk to the door, but I lightly grab her forearm, stilling her movement. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

She nods, still not looking at my face. “I’m fine, I promise.”

I survey her, taking in how closed off her body language reads. “Okay. Send me a text or call to let me know you made it home safe.”

She looks up, offering a tight smile, before she walks to the door and slips outside. My eyes trail her form as she makes her way to her car, and part of me wants to follow her home. Stealing myself against emotions I don’t want to name, I turn from the wall of windows, trying to expel all thoughts of Serena and her outburst from my mind.

20

Serena

I don’t turn on the radio on my ride home. I don’t plug in my phone to connect my music on my ride, either. And I don’t think of anything other than the disgust I feel over my father’s words and actions.

My hands are tense on the steering wheel as I crawl home, unbothered by the honks I receive for my slow speed and for not shifting out of the left lane. It’s an asshole move, one I would typically never practice, but the blaring horns roll off my skin like they’re nothing more than persistent flies. I slowly eat the miles between Wolf’s shop and campus, pulling into my apartment’s parking lot in a daze.

Throwing the car into park, I don’t bother zipping my jacket, instead letting the cool evening air seep into my bones; at least I know I’m capable of feeling something other than anger and numbness, even if it’s just the cold.

Once I’m through the glass doors, I bypass the elevator and take the stairs, hoping that the burn of the climb will settle me before I enter my apartment; it doesn’t. Instead of being calmer when I walk through my front door, I’m winded and more annoyed that I thought physical exertion would help. I throw my bag and jacket on the hook by the front door and climb onto my couch, sinking into the cushions and letting the vanilla infuser on my coffee table lull me into a sense of false calm. I should probably text Wolf and let him know I made it home safely, but despite his orders, he probably doesn’t care.

Releasing a sigh, I reach forward and grab the remote, turning on the television to block out the outside world.

—

Knocking on my front door rips me out of the 2005Pride & Prejudiceadaptation. I have no right to be annoyed since I’ve seen it no less than one hundred times, but Elizabeth was just denying Darcy in an epic manner, and that scene should never be interrupted.

Pausing the movie, I walk to my front door and rip it open; I realize that I should have looked through the peephole before opening the door. I also should have put a bra on under the white tank I’m wearing.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, confused by my visitor’s presence.

“You never let me know you made it home safe,” Wolf explains, giving me a once-over that warms my insides and has my nipples standing at attention.

“So, you decided to show up at my apartment? Most people would have called.”

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