Page 37 of Four Tattoos

The days seem to pass by so quickly, but the hours I’m not with them go much too slowly.

Right now, I’m counting down my time at Club Red, even though my shift’s only just started, and wishing I was at the men’s house instead. Not for the first time, I consider going over to see them when I get off work, but Patrick would be too worried about my whereabouts.

On her way into the showroom, Callie stops by my desk. “Hi!”

“Hi, how are you? Are you running late?” I tease, looking at my watch. She’s arrived late several times, but apparently she’s so quick and efficient at delivering trays full of drinks that she doesn’t get in trouble.

“I’m not late. I’m right on time. In fact, I’m early,” she says, checking the time on her phone.

“How are things going with you?”

“Good,” I tell her automatically. I haven’t told Callie—or anyone—about the men I’ve been seeing, so I keep my response general. “I think I finally found an apartment nearby.”

“That’s exciting. When are you moving?”

“It’s not settled yet. I’m waiting to find out when one of their one-bedrooms will be available.”

“I hope it works out for you.” She holds up her hand, crossing her fingers to wish me luck, and a tattoo on the inside of her wrist catches my eye. I’ve seen it before, but I never paid much attention to it.

I point to the flower that’s inked on her skin. “Did that hurt?”

“What? Oh, yeah, it hurt like hell, but it was totally worth it. I could’ve gotten it put on somewhere less painful, but I wanted to see it every day.”

“It’s really nice.”

“Thanks.” She’s smiling as she starts to move away from the counter. I want to ask her if the tattoo has a special meaning for her, but I’ll have to wait for another time. Despite what she said, Callie is definitely running late again.

Later, when the show has started and the lobby is empty, I send a text to Hutch. “How do I get in your appointment book?”

He replies almost instantly. “For a date? Want to go to dinner?”

“For a tattoo,” I type. “I think I’m ready.”

28

MACE

The shop is closed, so we keep the lights off up front, but Hutch’s stall is brightly lit.

“It’s weird in here, with it being so quiet,” Rose says, the tone of her voice betraying her nervous excitement.

“Do you want the usual music?” Hutch asks.

“Sure, but maybe not as loud.”

“We have to make it loud to drown out the screams,” Christian says.

Rose whirls around to look at him, her eyes wide as dinner plates.

“Knock it off,” Hutch tells him with a growl.

Christian wraps an arm around her, squeezing her shoulder. “I was joking. Have you thought more about what kind of design you want?”

“I don’t want to pick,” she says. “I just want something you all have a part in. I want all of you to decide.”

“Where do you think you’d like it?” I ask, my eyes roaming her bare arms and legs, imagining what spot I’d pick if she leaves that up to us too.

Rose gestures to her inner hip. “I was thinking here.” Her eyes tell me she’s remembering the firefly I drew there in chocolate paint, but much as I’d love to commemorate that memory for her, I need to steer her elsewhere.

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