Page 13 of Four Tattoos

“I guess you’re right,” Hutch says thoughtfully, as if he’s never noticed the empty walls here.

“It’s funny that you live and work together,” Rose says, “because it’s like that for my brother and me, too.”

“Is that right?” Hutch says.

Zipper, who’s sitting on a stool at the counter, pipes in. “I don’t recommend it. Some space would be good.”

“We have enough space here to each keep to ourselves,” Hutch says, sounding tired of Zipper’s negativity.

If I could reach Zipper, I’d kick him, because Rose had started looking more at ease here, but he’s made her uncomfortable again. She looks nervous as she sits on the couch, but as I watch her, her face changes, shifting back to her usual bright smile. Does she put it on intentionally? “How did you all meet? In the military?” she asks.

“The army,” Hutch tells her. He’s back in the kitchen with me, helping with the final details.

“Where were you stationed?”

“Iraq.” Zipper’s tone is flat, which isn’t unusual for him, but Rose’s expression tells me that she takes this as a cue that we don’t care to discuss the details of our duty, which is correct. I like her smile, and stories of our experiences in the desert would wipe it off her face for a long time.

“And you all realized you had an interest in tattooing?” she asks.

“We all had an interest in art,” I tell her. “Most of us sketched when we had the opportunity, and we talked with each other about the types of creative jobs we might have when we got out.”

As Hutch carries platters out to the dining table, he says, “Zipper knew he was going to be a tattoo artist. The more he talked about it, the better it sounded.”

“It’s clear from all of the pictures I’ve seen that you definitely went into the right line of work.”

“Thanks,” is all Hutch says, but I see by the way he dips his head that Rose’s compliment means a lot. Hutch was probably the least artistically inclined out of all of us when we met, but whatever he lacks in creativity, he’s more than made up for in technical skills. He does the best line work in the shop, though I’d never tell him that.

“Are you ready to eat?” I ask Rose.

“Absolutely,” she says, rising from the couch. “It smells delicious.”

Hutch offers her a chair at the table, and pushes it in for her, beating me to it.

“Oh, it looks good, too,” she says as I place the chicken and pasta dishes in the center of the table. “You made all of this?”

“Hutch and I did. All but the rolls. And Zipper helped with the salad.”

“I’m so impressed.”

“Go ahead and start passing dishes. I’ll get the wine.”

I’m surprised Hutch or Mace didn’t already bring the wine over, but they’re probably both too distracted by Rose to care about beverages.

Hutch holds the big pasta bowl so Rose can serve herself, and when she only puts a small helping onto her plate, he says, “Take more. You need to eat.”

Her big eyes are wide as she looks up at him, and then she does as he instructs.

I move around the table pouring wine, and when that’s done, I take my seat and raise my drink. “Let’s toast. To our first dinner together.”

We clink glasses, and I take a quick drink, but my eyes are on Rose, and I’m not the only one watching the way her throat moves when she swallows, and how her tongue darts out to collect a drop of wine from her plump pink lips.

10

ROSE

Every once in a while, I glance down to make sure my heart hasn’t beaten right out of my chest. When it’s not nerves making my pulse pound, it’s attraction, because being in such close proximity to these four men, here in the privacy of their home, is a lot to handle.

I swear that even if I were to close my eyes, I’d still feel their presence, and even that would have my heart skipping beats.

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