Yeah, that would be weird. She’d have to content herself with pretending she wasn’t sneaking glances at the monster he’d tucked into those boxers.
After an unreasonable amount of time spent watching him get off his jeans, she remembered she was at work and shifted her focus to his tattoo. She gasped at the gorgeous yet tragic image inked into his skin.
“Wow,” she whispered on an exhale. “Rip did this?”
“Yes.” If possible, he became even more guarded, as though he detested the fact she was getting a glimpse into his personal space. Dick ogling aside, she was a professional and would act like one. She had no interest in getting a reputation for prying into her client’s private lives. So, while the urge to learn the story of the tat might eat a hole in her stomach, she resisted the impulse to ask.
“Have a seat,” she said, gesturing toward the reclining chair. “What are you looking to add?”
“Flower petals. But I want them to look exactly like the rest of them, so if you can’t make it look just like Rip’s, then we’re done here.”
Under normal circumstances, she’d be offended by his antagonistic tone and words, but she was already lost in her craft, admiring Rip’s incredible work. A dying tree took up the entire expanse of this man’s broad and brawny thigh. The tree itself was massive and done with the darkest of browns, almost black. Each branch was leafless, twisted, and snarled as they decayed. The roots resembled those that had been carelessly ripped from the ground, red and dripping as though bleeding.
Twelve blood-red flower petals fell from the tree in pairs of two, a large and small petal grouped together. They were so well done she could easily imagine them moving, floating to the ground to escape the expiring tree. She didn’t have a clue what it symbolized, but the pairs of petals had an almost parent-child feel to them. One large, one small, falling from the tree together as though unable to be separated.
Whatever happened in his life to inspire this memorial, it was dark and full of pain.
Emotion clogged Izzy’s throat, and for one terrifying second, she worried she might tear up. Used to squashing any sentiment that didn’t serve an express purpose at the moment, Izzy cleared her throat and pushed away her pity. He wouldn’t want it anyway. These macho types of men never did.
“I assume you want another group of two?” she asked, still looking at his leg and giving herself an extra second to gather her composure.
A grunt was all she received in response.
“I can handle this, no problem. It will look just like Rip’s petals. You have my word.” As she spoke the last sentence, she gave him the respect of full eye-contact. It was important to her that he realize how seriously she took her craft and his memories.
Face neutral, he nodded.
“Anywhere specific you want them?”
“No. You pick where you think they should go. I trust you.”
She froze, and her gaze flew back to his face, but he’d already blocked her out. Eyes closed, elbow bent and forearm thrown across his eyes, he appeared totally at ease with the fact that she was about to jab a needle into his skin.
“You got it, bubba.”
“Jig,” he said.
“Huh?”
“My name’s Jigsaw, not fuckin’ Bubba.”
Her gaze flew to his scar again for a fraction of a second.
Jigsaw. Like a puzzle. Interesting.
“Right. Nice to meet you, Jig.” When he didn’t return the pleasantry, she got to it, preparing the ink then creating art on his body. After about three minutes, she slid into the zone and operated in complete silence. Some people liked to chatter away while she worked on them. Something to distract them from the pain. Jig seemed to appreciate the silence, which was fine by her. Quiet was her preference, actually. Small talk and bullshitting had never been her favorite part of the job. She was a loner. Preferred few people in her life and in her business. That was the main reason she left city life in favor of small-town living.
Jig’s MC buddies hung around the entire time but kept off to the side. They seemed to recognize that he might not be thrilled to have them present and were trying to respect his space while supporting him at the same time.
Brothers, family, friends. Whatever it was called, it was kinda nice.
Izzy had been on her own for so long she couldn’t remember what it felt like to have that unspoken backup of other people in her life. Last person who’d had her back, who’d cared about her above themselves, was Len. Or so it had seemed until her mother kicked him to the curb. Izzy hadn’t seen or heard from him since that dreadful day. After Len vanished from their lives, her mom went on to marry twice more before committing suicide when Izzy was seventeen.