Page 163 of Rose
Taylor had always tried to nudge her toward dating, especially since Ahzii practically lived in the shop. Between the murals, machines, and managing, love had been the last thing on her mind. But Taylor never gave up, and now, apparently, neither did fate.
“Looks like you’re free,” William said, his voice low and flirtatious, eyes already tracing every detail of her like he was memorizing her presence.
Ahzii met his gaze—steady, assessing. He was handsome. Tall, brown-skinned, with smooth locs tucked beneath a fitted hat. His shoulders were broad, his vibe mysterious, but calm. Dangerous, maybe. Her type. Unfortunately.
But this was work. Not a date.
“I see,” she murmured, her eyes sliding to Taylor, who wore a smug grin of success.
Ahzii sighed softly, then turned toward the hallway. “Right this way.”
William followed, his footsteps light, but his gaze... heavy.
He tried to play it cool, but his eyes betrayed him. The way her shorts hugged her curves, the gentle sway of her hips, the toned muscle in her thighs, it all had his thoughts doing backflips.
She led him to a room with a red-and-gold crescent rose on the door. As she opened it, vibrant light spilled out.
“Welcome to The Rose Room,” she said with a professional calm.
William stepped inside, and immediately paused.
The space was alive.
Art covered every inch of the walls—paintings, sketches, even a neon sign that read “Escape or Die Trying.” A snack station was tucked into the corner, and a massive TV played a muted anime film on the wall. The centerpiece, though, was the sleek black tattoo chair beneath a rose-shaped light fixture, casting warm shadows over the room.
“This is all your work?” he asked, eyes scanning the wall with awe.
“Well... most of it,” she replied, pulling on gloves and setting out her tools. “Some pieces are my brother’s, some are Taylor’s, and a few came from artists we’ve collaborated with from all over.”
William nodded, still looking around.
It didn’t feel like a shop. It felt like her soul had been poured into the walls. And for a man who’d been running for years, the strangest thought crossed his mind: He didn’t want to leave.
It didn’t take long for Ahzii to start his tattoo. This wasn’t William’s first time under the needle, but it was the first time he found himself distracted—not by the pain, but by the woman wielding the machine.
She was breathtaking.
They joked and laughed as she worked, effortlessly falling into a rhythm of conversation and comfort. Her presence was disarming. He hadn’t felt peace in years, but in this moment, it found him.
“So, how old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” William asked, watching her sketch with a practiced hand.
She smirked without looking up. “Your people never told you not to ask a woman her age?”
He chuckled, caught off guard by her charm. “I never had ‘people.’ My parents died when I was three. It was just me and my brother after that. We’re... not close. So it’s really just been me.”
He wasn’t sure why he shared that.
Maybe it was her softness.
Her quiet strength.
Maybe it was because, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel like a monster in someone else’s presence.
“Damn. I’m sorry to hear that,” she said gently. “I’m twenty-six. Be twenty-seven in a few months.”
William smiled.
“And how old are you?” she asked, side-eyeing him like she was trying to figure him out.
