Enzo (Jinx Tattoos 1)

“Ms. Leahy is after me for a piece for the show again.”

“Dude, take her up on the offer. Last time your work sold well.”

“Yeah. I might dig around and see what I have that I think is fit to show,” Enzo said.

“You’re an amazing tattoo artist, Enz, but you have much more talent than that.”

“Thanks, brother.”

I’ll get back to you tonight once I look at my paintings at home. ~ Enzo

You’d better. If not, I know where you live ;) ~ Colleen

Amused, he couldn’t deny the fact that his spirits were lifted. Those Leahy women had a way of turning you inside out. What he craved was recognition. Something to prove to himself he was doing better than okay. After all t

he work he’d put in, he was ready to see results.

Aibhlinn

What did I say last night? Panic hit as she tried to recall the last few hours of her day with Enzo. Please tell me I didn’t make a fool of myself. They’d polished off a bottle of Scotch between them and moved on to beers. Which had her details fuzzy. Lose lips sink ships. She sucked down the black brew and tried to navigate through the cobwebs of her brain. Her body ached from a night on the couch after numerous hours parked at a drafting table over the past few weeks.

Maybe Enzo was right, we’re getting old. The jolt of caffeine got her brain working and the night came back to her. She hadn’t revealed anything about her emotions, and toward the end, they’d both been silly and sleep deprived. Worth it. She smiled, vaguely recalling hearing Enzo leave earlier.

She touched her forehead. Did he kiss me before he left? Butterflies flapped their tiny wings in her belly. What am I doing? Holding on to the scraps of affection and trying to turn them into grand gestures. They’d been locked in this non-romantic relationship for years, and they’d both gotten way too comfortable. His concerns about getting older weighed on her. In another month, she would turn thirty-five. It was time to ’fess up or move on. I’ll give it a month. This Christmas I’ll give myself happily ever after, or freedom for a fresh start.

Satisfied with her plan, she pushed herself off the couch and walked to the kitchen. The green numbers on the microwave display read 12:00. I guess I needed the sleep. She poured herself a glass of water, drank it down, and moved to the guest room where she’d dumped her overnight bag the night before. A long, hot shower and she would be halfway toward human.

She slowly navigated her way to his bathroom, blinking rapidly to clear the blur going on in her vision. Stiff-limbed and shuffling, she stopped outside the glass encasement feeling like a zombie. She adored his bathroom. It was the one room he’d completely gutted and re-did when he first moved in. He had a thing about showers.

She often wondered about the events that made the basic act of showering difficult, but part of her didn’t want to know. The thought of Enzo so young and alone broke her heart. She loved the white on white, and the rainfall showerhead with six body sprays was on her ‘one day when I have my home’ list. Turning on the spray, she stripped down and stepped into the steamy water. Heaven.

Dressed in a pair of low-slung jeans with a hole in the knee, a white button down, a black sweater, and an over-sized black and white scarf, she folded the blanket. She laid it across the back of the couch and grabbed her bag. She would love to linger, but she had a list a mile long to accomplish. She’d planned on finishing up a few paintings for her mother’s art show.

Hitching the bag onto her shoulder, she left the house that felt just as much like home as her apartment. She stepped outside and frowned at the small blonde walking toward her.

“Who are you?” the blonde snapped.

Really? She’d seen the blonde hanging around the shop many times before. The little tart knew exactly who Aibhlinn was. “If you don’t know the answer to that, it shows how very unimportant you are. Do yourself a favor and avoid the extreme amount of embarrassment you’re about to cause.”

She opened her collagen-enhanced lips and closed them fast. The mystery girl placed a hand on her boney hip and pursed her lips. “And you think you’re so special because ...”

“Honey, I don’t have to think, I know. And so do you.”

“Listen, you foreign bitch. You’re just another notch on his belt. We all want to land him. He’s a catch. Sitting out here playing bodyguard isn’t going to give you a leg up on the competition.”

Was that how people saw Enzo? A walking wallet they hoped got addicted to their sex skills? The thought sickened her. Her stomach twirled. “You’re pathetic. If you want to live well, go out there and work for it, the same way everyone else does.”

“Oh, don’t preach to me. Maybe if you ran on the treadmill more and your mouth less, you’d have him interested. He must really be hard up to lower his standards to you,” the blonde said with a sneer as she gave Aibhlinn an up and down glance.

Aibhlinn scowled. “Silly little girl. You aren’t even in my league. I won’t lower myself by getting into a fight when I’ve already won. I don’t have to put out to get Enzo’s attention. I have it now, I had it years ago, and I’ll still have it when you’re nothing more than a blurry memory.” She closed and locked the door behind herself. “He’s not here for the record, but do please wait for him like a bitch eager to be petted by her master. Oh, wait ... You’re more like a stray, though, aren’t you, darling?” Aibhlinn said. She sashayed her way to her car without looking back.

This is what Enzo wants. While I’m mooning over him, he’s dipping his wick in every girl who’ll spread her legs. Throwing the car into gear, she pulled out of the driveway, burning rubber as she roared up the street. The farther she got from the home, the more her emotions swelled. Her finger itched with the need to express herself. She’d never been one for words. Her tongue got tangled, and her thoughts raced too fast for her to put pen onto paper.

She pulled into her parking space of her apartment and took a deep breath. The old building didn’t bring her any comfort, and the details she adored before barely registered. The ornate iron statue of the woman holding out a flower they’d turned into lights was a blur as she took the steps two in a time. She usually took time to admire the black, white, and grey marble slabs of stone they’d carved into stairs, and the handcrafted maple wood bannister. The wood felt smooth under her skin and the fresh smell of lemon used in the cleansing process of it met her nostrils like a silent welcome home. Even in her foul mood, her home charmed her.

Entering her home, she dropped the bag at the door, hung her keys on the hook, and walked into the guest room where she stored her art supplies. She took the partially finished canvas and placed it in front of the large doors that lead out onto the balcony. The light that flooded in was amazing, and she adored the square glass trim that framed the dark wood panels. The detailed stained glass work featured green and red leaves on a vine that worked its way around the doors. She’d searched high and low before she found the perfect place for it.

The canvas background was a grey landscape with tall trees. Their black leaves blotted out the cloudy storm. Inspired by her run-in, she picked up her palette then added red, black, and white. With her smock on and her vision clear, she began to add a woman in a red dress. When she mixed the red with black for the woman’s hair, she realized the woman was her. To represent her personal style, she added tennis shoes instead of high heels. A red umbrella formed over her head and she held the handle facing the dark form of a man who stood just outside the shelter of the umbrella. It was them ... in a nutshell. Caught in this lonely dance.