The Sinister Silhouette

“Fuck, man. That shit is badass,” Garrett says, looking very pleased with the finished design. He comes back to the chair and grabs his shirt. “Gonna try to talk Mitzy into letting me get the rabbit in a few months,” he says as he pulls the shirt over his head, being careful not to drag the material across his new tattoo.

“Good luck with that,” Luca grunts with a chuckle.

“Yeah. Lord knows I must love the woman to put up with her all these years. I’ll get with you when I can.” He looks at me. “It was nice meeting you, Jules.”

I smile kindly at him. “It was nice meeting you too, Garrett.”

“Ella will take care of you out front.”

With a nod, Garrett walks out of the room. Not wanting to leave yet, I resume my seat on my stool and watch Luca as he straightens the room and cleans his tools.

I run my eyes over the colorful ink on his arms. “Who did your tattoos?” I ask.

His hand pauses on putting away a bottle of ink and he looks at me before resuming. “Most of them my dad did. But Ella has done a few.”

“Your dad owned the shop before you, right?”

He starts dismantling his tattoo machine as he answers. “Yeah. He opened it twenty-eight years ago. I always knew growing up that one day it would be mine.”

“Did you know that Aria wants to work here when she gets older?”

A smile touches his lips as he puts all the pieces of his t

attoo machine in the autoclave. “She’s told me.”

“She’s really good at drawing.”

I know I’m rambling and should probably shut up, but I like being with Luca and hearing him talk.

“She always has been. It used to piss Theo off,” he remarks.

I frown. “Why would her being good at drawing make him angry?”

He shrugs then takes a seat on his stool and starts pulling out items and putting them on top of the tool box he uses to store all his supplies. “I don’t know. Maybe because she takes after me, Ella, and our dad, and he can’t draw worth shit. It’s something we all four have in common that he doesn’t.”

“He should be proud of her,” I say heatedly, angry on Aria’s behalf. What kind of father gets jealous over their kids? “That’s why he doesn’t put her pictures on the fridge.”

It wasn’t a question, more of a statement, but Luca nods anyway. “It’s also why my, Ella’s, and my parents’ fridges are covered in them. She needs to realize her talent at drawing is a gift that she should be proud of.”

I twist back and forth on my chair and watch as he pulls out a bottle of dark ink and squirts some in a tiny cup. He then pulls out another tattoo machine, opens a package of needles and puts them in the machine. Everything comes so natural to him, I’m sure he could probably do it with his eyes closed.

My gaze slides over his face. He still hasn’t shaved, so the scruff on his face is thicker. I normally don’t care for the rugged look, but on Luca, it’s very appealing. The piercing in his eyebrow is a simple silver ball on both sides. The gauges in his ears aren’t very large, probably the size of a pencil eraser. I’ve also seen a silver ball in his tongue peek out sometimes when he talks. His arms are covered in tattoos, and I know his torso must carry some as well from the color that shows just above the collar of his shirt. Tattoos and piercings also have never been really attractive to me—not that I find them repulsive, I just never went gaga over them like many girls have. On Luca though, it’s alluring, almost seductive even. I couldn’t imagine him without all the body modifications, and I wouldn’t want to even if I could.

“You know…,” I start. He looks up from what he’s doing when I pause. I clear my throat and continue. “Just from looking at you, I wouldn’t have taken you for being such a nice guy.”

His brows rise, and I realize too late how my statement sounded. Heat creeps up my cheeks.

“I d-didn’t… mean it like that.” My shoulders hunch; I feel like an idiot. “I just meant you give off this vibe that says don’t fuck with me, not the caring guy you apparently are.”

His smirk looks entirely way too good on his face, and I’ve already made a fool of myself, so it’s time for me to leave.

I get up, tossing my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m gonna go back out front.”

His smirk turns into a grin. Before I can turn away, he pats the chair in front of him. “Come sit.”

Unsure of what he’s up to, I walk to him slowly. He pushes his stool back for me to fit between him and the chair. When I sit, he scoots his stool forward again and messes around with his tattoo machine. I’m still facing him with my feet dangling just above the floor.

“What are you doing?” I ask curiously.