One More Day (3 page)

"My doodles?"

He nodded.  "What was it you did before you got fired today?"

She sighed, closing her eyes.  "Call center stuff.  Incoming sales."

"Can you do
that
on demand?"  He pointed at the page with his chin.

"That, which that?"

"Say I want a black dragon, with iridescent wings that breaths blue fire?  Can you draw it?"

She nodded.

"How long?"

"I dunno, thirty minutes, depending upon how detailed you want.  I mean..." she flipped through her pages, and found a miniature dragon perched on a flower.  "That was something I did at lunch."

Ryan nodded and pushed himself away from the door, glancing at the dragon while he grabbed her cup.  He didn't say anything, but she could see he was thinking about something as he dumped out her cold coffee and poured each of them another cup.  With a chuckle, he added cream and sugar, then brought it back. 

"Let me see that again?" he asked, sinking into the chair beside her.

She just passed over her sketch pad.  It was nothing but childish drawings.  She kept her real art in her apartment.  Oil paints and canvases weren't exactly something easy to haul around, but her hand always wanted to make something, so she let it.  It kept her in practice.

He looked through the pages again, pausing at a few.  When he got to the phoenix, he stopped, staring at the unfinished lines.  He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, and then flipped to her page of tribal flowers, smiling.

"Thing is, Mack, I could really use an artist.  The pay isn't great, the hours are kinda weird, but, it's a job."  He looked up at her, smiling shyly.  "Ten hour days, from two pm to midnight, Thursday, through Monday, with options to work Tuesday and Wednesday, too."

"Full time?"  She couldn't believe it.  "Why?"

"Plus overtime.  Well, like I said, I don't work so good under pressure.  The weekends, we get hit with the college crowd.  They all have an idea, and no ability to schedule an appointment.  If you can draw up their design while we're finishing someone's tat, then yeah.  It'd make all of our lives a lot easier."

"You want the crazy girl to draw tattoos?"  She couldn't believe what she was hearing.  What a weird day.  What a very weird day.

"If you're interested.  I mean, dress code is pretty casual, hours aren't so great, and I could only give you ten bucks an hour, but you'd get twenty five for every tattoo you design."

"Serious?" 

She could draw and get paid for it?  That didn't even take into consideration that the scenery was amazing - well, the hot boss.

"Serious," he said.  "If you show up at the same time on Thursday, I'll even buy you a caramel macchiato before we do paperwork."

"So, when you said this is your shop, you weren't kidding."  She didn't ask.  She'd pretty much already figured that part out, but she just couldn't believe it. 

Ryan nodded.  "My shop.  My baby.  This was kinda my dream since I was like ten years old, trying to give myself tattoos with markers and safety pins."

She'd been walking down the street bawling her eyes out a few hours ago, and now she would not only have a job, but be working for the sexiest man alive.  No, Super Hot Guy.  Which ever!  He was nice, beautiful, and offering her a damned job.  For the first time in Mackenzie's life, it looked like something was trying to go right.

Chapter 3

Wednesday passed in a blur of hospital gowns, bad news, and more appointments.  Yes, she had stage IIB cervical cancer.  No, there wasn't any way she could have prevented it.  Yes, she would need chemotherapy and radiation.  No, she wouldn't have surgery for a few months.  No, she would never be able to have children.  Yes, Monday would be a perfect time to start the treatments.  No, there wasn't anyone she wanted to have with her.

That was the thought that hung in her mind as she made her way to the coffee shop on Thursday.  One pm, same time as always, and that's when Ryan said he wanted her to show up.  She pulled open the quaint door and walked in, letting her eyes adjust to the dim ambiance.

"Hey, Mack," she heard from the corner.  He sounded actually pleased to see her.  "Wasn't sure if you'd really show up."  He pushed at a large paper cup on his table.

Instead of braving the line, she just ducked through the crowd and pulled up the too tall chair across from him.  Ryan slipped a piece of paper between the pages and closed his book, pushing it to the side.  She couldn't help but notice that he had perfectly manicured nails.  His hands were flawless. 

"Carmel macchiato, same as always," he said, glancing at the cup. 

"Thanks.  I didn't expect you to buy."

He shrugged, and that boyish smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.  "Think of it as my way of being a good boss?"

"Bribing me with coffee?"

"Oh hell yeah.  If you're that easy to bribe, I'll be happy."

Mack smiled.  Yeah, maybe things weren't that bad.  She felt fine, except for the stupid fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach when he smiled like that, but anyone would feel like that sitting across from Ryan, right?  She glanced over at the book, surprised to see that the leather cover was plain, and what ever had once been on the spine had long since worn away.

"Old book?" she asked.

His hand instinctively touched it, and pushed it just a bit further to the side.  "Yeah.  Um.  It's kinda my hobby."

"Thought you painted?"

"That's more like my job."  He glanced up at her quickly, looking almost embarrassed.  "It's Lord Byron.  The copy was printed in the 1800s.  There's original lithographs, and crap."

"As in, the poet?"

She could barely believe what he was saying.  The man who appreciated art also read poetry for entertainment?  He was absolutely nothing like she'd expected.

Ryan sighed and looked very intent on his coffee.  "Yeah.  I dunno, I just like how he can convey an entire image with a handful of words.  It's like drawing with language.  So, you still wanting that job?"

"Yep," Mack agreed, hoping she didn't sound too chipper.  "Believe it or not, it's the best offer I've had all year."

"Well, let's go next door, and I'll show you the shop."

He slipped down from the chair and tucked the book under his arm before grabbing his cup of coffee, waiting for her.  Falling in beside him, she wove through the mass of people and into the sharp daylight outside.  It was entirely possible that she looked at how his jeans molded to the shape of his ass, but since no one saw, she didn't think she needed to dwell on that.

Ryan dug in his pocket, pulled out a set of keys, and unlocked the door, holding it open for her.  He followed her through, then turned the knob, locking it behind them, gesturing toward the same hall he'd led her up the night before.

"The office is the first door," he said, moving past her.  "Kinda cheating to get to know you like this.  Although, I don't think the government asks what your favorite color is, yet."

She'd expected him to be arrogant, self centered, or at least overly confident.  Instead, he damned near blushed when he admitted that he liked poetry, but hadn't flinched away from the question.  He seemed almost shy but not ashamed of who he was.  It fit him, and unfortunately made him just that much more attractive.  His awkward humor made her giggle under her breath.

"Yellow.  Well, highlighter yellow, but all yellow is good."

"Wow."  He paused with his hand on the knob.  For a moment, he looked at her - his face showing a pleased surprise - then realized what he was doing.  Pushing the office door open, he made his way to a desk.  "Yellow.  That's not a common one.  You know they say the colors you like say a lot about a person."

"So what does yellow say about me, then?"

"That you're happy?" He grabbed a manila folder and dropped it on her side of the desk, then sat at his chair on the other side.

Mack grabbed it, flipping to the first page and taking a pen from the container.  "Yep, think they might have gotten that a bit wrong.  What's yours?"

"Red.  Not dark red, but like, the sun sinking below the horizon red.  The kind that burns holes in your retinas."

Her pen stopped halfway through her name.  Unable to hide the smile, she looked up.  "So, you're supposed to be mad?"

He raised his hands and shrugged.  "Something like that.  Yeah, so, the last form is medical.  Um, the basic part's paid, but I can pull some out of your check and increase the coverage.  Most people don't want it, not at our age, but - "

"Yeah," Mack said quickly.  "Wow, didn't realize you had insurance, too.  Yeah, I want it."

Ryan looked at her for a moment.  "Really?  You want the Cadillac package?"

Focusing on printing clearly and legibly, she just nodded. 

"That's like a quarter of your check, Mack."

She waved that away.  "It's good.  Learned the hard way not to take it for granted, ya know?"

He nodded and turned his attention to the monitor on his desk, his hands finding the keyboard.  While she completed the stack of forms, he lost himself on the other side of the screen.  She'd done this all too often lately, filling out paperwork for a new job.  It seemed like every time she found something that might work, it never did.  This time felt different.  Granted, she was grasping for straws of hope, lately, but a straw was better than the steaming pile of crap she'd been dealing with all week.

It took less than thirty minutes.  When she signed the last page, having read through everything, she stacked them neatly in the folder again, and dropped the pen in the wire container alongside the rest.  Ryan's desk was shockingly organized, she realized belatedly.  He had a small stack of files, the monitor, and that was about it.  So far, nothing about this place was what she expected of a tattoo parlor.  Not the owner, not the decor, nothing.  He ran it like a business, and it showed.

"So," she said, breaking the silence, "I thought tattoo artists were supposed to show off their tattoos."

"Huh?" he asked, glancing over.  He'd been absorbed in what ever it was he was messing with.  "Oh, yeah.  Um.  I do, it's just too cold out lately to run around in a T-shirt.  Once I'm working I usually pull off the long sleeve."

"Can I ask how many you have?"

He smiled and looked away.  "Sure, but it depends on how you count.  I really only have three.  They're just kinda big."

"Like the sleeve?" 

"Yeah.  So, lemme show you the shop."

She stood, and was falling in behind him when she heard the front lock click.  The faint chime for the door sounded, followed by a loud voice.

"What up, bitch?"

"Colby," Ryan told her before yelling back.  "Get the lights man, we're open in fifteen."

"You lazy shit," the man yelled back.  "What have you been - "

When they walked into the room he paused.  Colby was everything a tattoo artist should be, from the large curved ring in his septum to the ink crawling up the side of his neck.  His head was shaved and his goatee was long.  Without shame, he looked her over slowly and grinned.

"Hey, baby."

"Colby, meet Mack, she's the one that did the chameleon."

"Dude!  No shit?  That's some kick ass work.  Ryan said you can whip that shit out over and over too.  Fuckin' impressive."

"Yeah."  She felt completely caught off guard.  "Kinda why I'm here."

"She'll be drawing for us tonight," Ryan added, before turning back to her.  "You any good with a computer?"

She nodded.  Who wasn't these days?  That didn't really require an answer did it?  She kept her professional demeanor in place.  Smile, nod, be friendly, learn quickly.  That's all she had to do, and she had a full time job, with overtime.  Sure, she didn't know a single thing about tattoos, but she could learn.

Ryan led her to the monitor behind the counter and shoved at the mouse.  The screen clicked and flared to life, showing a nearly empty time schedule.  He gestured for her to come closer, and explained.

"Yeah, so if we're in the middle of ink, just add them in.  Most simple tattoos take about an hour.  Not really, but it'll work for now.  Um.  Yeah, walk-ins come after scheduled appointments, piercings are usually thirty minutes.  You're kinda going to have to wing it today.  It's an art to knowing how long to schedule something, and if we go over, we'll just stay until we're done."

"I can do that."

"You're freakin' her out, man," Colby said.  "Baby, this shit is easy.  Find out what they want, run it past one of us - and yeah you can talk to us while we're skin deep - and um, it's like an hour for every four inches of one color."

Mack pointed to a picture on the wall.  "So, the skull and daggers would be an hour in all black, and two in color?"

"She's got it, man.  Nice fuckin' find.  Where'd you come from, baby?  His bed?"

Her eyes went wide, and she looked at Ryan quickly.  "No!"

"Lay off," Ryan said, blushing.  "Coffee shop.  Just finally got the balls to snatch her up."

"Yeah, if she drew the lizard.  Oh, you want me to put that on you?"

Ryan shook his head.  "Not tonight.  Week before finals, we're going to be slammed in a couple of hours."

"Gotcha.  Yeah, well, just lemme know when.  When ya gonna draw me one, babe?"

"It's Mack," Ryan corrected.

"Yeah," Colby drawled.  "When ya gonna do me a piece, Mack?"

"What do you want?"  She kinda expected the worst.

With a devious grin, he pulled his shirt over his head without removing his arms, and turned, showing her his heavily inked back.  "I got a bare patch."

The art was amazing.  Colors and vivid blacks wove across his skin, moving from idea to concept, weaving an almost dream like pattern in his flesh.  Without reservation, she stepped closer and touched him.  Her fingers lightly traced across metal rivets and industrial looking images then, spanning the gap, she caressed almost Asian blossoms and stylized waterfalls.

"Can I trace out the gap?"  Her mind whirled with ideas.

"Fuck yeah!"

Ryan made an appreciative noise and grabbed something.  Before Mack could even reach for a pen, he passed her a thin type of paper and a marker, tilting his head at Colby.

"Perfect," she said, smiling at him as she took it. 

While she made a rough but accurate tracing of the edges of his tattoos, she could almost feel Ryan watching.  Colby never moved, holding as still as a canvas while she shifted her hold and realigned the paper.

"How far down?" she asked.

Colby shoved at the waist of his pants.  "Not fucking tattooing my ass."

"You should," she teased.  "I hear the babes go crazy for it."

That was all he could take.  Ryan laughed and walked around the corner.  She could still hear chuckling as he made his way up the hall.

"You're good," Colby said softly, "but, ya know, if ya wanna fuck him, there's prolly better ways than workin' for him."

The words kinda came out of nowhere, but Mack knew it was because they were finally alone.  She sighed and continued to trace the last of the empty space, finishing before she decided to answer.

"He's hot, yeah, but that's not why I'm working here.  I need to pay the bills.  That's it."

"Serious?"  He pulled his shirt on while she moved the paper to the desk.  "Every woman that walks in here is damned near drooling over him.  He fuckin' hates that shit."

"I'm serious.  I just gotta get some things together, and fucking my boss is about the worst way to even try to do that, ok?"

Colby looked at her, crossing his arms over his chest.  After a pause, he smiled.  "So what about your co-workers?"

"Not happening," she said.  "Don't think it, don't even go there."

"So you got a boyfriend, then." He nodded that away as if it was a plausible excuse.

"Has nothing to do with this."

"So you gonna flip out when we start talking crass in the shop?"

She laughed.  "Like about the chicks going crazy for your tattooed ass?  No.  I'm not some prude, and if I was, why the fuck would I be here?"

"To pay the bills," he tossed back.  "Last bitch who worked here fuckin' flipped out.  We ain't had a damned receptionist since.  Ya ain't got a drop of ink on ya, and I can't see any piercings either, so you can't really blame me for wondering."

She just patted him on the shoulder.  "No, I can't.  I got the job, I'm thrilled about the job, and I'm gonna do my damned job.  You guys just don't even worry about me being here, ok?"