Hail Mary: Chapter 10

I never thought I’d be so happy scrubbing a toilet, but here I was with rubber gloves, bleach, and a giant ass grin on my face.

Because today, I would get to tattoo skin.

Not fake skin, not a grapefruit, not my skin — but a real live human being who trusted me enough to lay permanent ink into their body.

It was all I could do not to hum and skip around the shop as I cleaned, making sure it looked pristine from the moment the client walked through the door all the way back to the bathroom. I sanitized the iPads at the front desk, tidied up all the artist stations, swept and mopped and ordered the supplies we were running low on. All the while, the shop buzzed with conversation between artist and client, bass-heavy deep house music playing as a background to all of it.

“Mary, do you know where the—”

I handed a fresh bottle of black ink to Tray before they could finish their sentence, and they chuckled, taking it out of my hand.

“Don’t know where we’d be without you,” they said, the light gleaming off their turquoise hair.

“I’m sure you’d find someone else who could stock the shelves.”

“Maybe. But no one else who could organize our lives the way you do.”

With one last smile, Tray skipped over to where their client was waiting, and I beamed under the praise even if I knew it was superficial. Anyone could do my job, really, except for the tattooing part. But that was only really starting today.

Today.

I was tattooing skin today!

With more pep in my step, I continued through the shop, stopping by each artist station to make sure they had everything they needed for the week.

I was used to these duties — they were the same ones I’d had since I started as an apprentice at Moonstruck Tattoos over a year ago now. In the time I’d been here, I’d spent half my hours cleaning the shop like it was my home, and the other half studying every artist in here, notebook in tow, my eyes trained on their hands and watching their every movement.

My boss and the owner of the shop, Nero, was my favorite to shadow.

Not only was he skilled in a way I aspired to be, with steady hands and perfect lines and shading that made me physically drool, but he was also so comfortable in his work that he could answer my questions without a hint of annoyance in his voice. I’d peer over his massive shoulder and ask why he chose a specific needle, and he’d answer in full detail without breaking concentration with his art. I never had to wait for a break or worry I’d mess him up when a question popped into my head, and if anything, he’d give me a look of disappointment if too much time went by without me asking a question.

The rest of the artists?

Well, they all had their own ways of teaching, and most of them preferred me to stay unseen and quiet until they were done with their work before I asked anything.

I’d first come around Moonstruck as a fresh-skinned eighteen-year-old just desperate to get some ink on me. I’d still lived with my parents then, and Mom had actually fainted when she saw my first one — a little heart on my ribcage that I thought I would be able to hide.

And I had, until she’d accidentally walked in on me changing one morning.

After that, the rule was no more tattoos while I lived under their roof.

Naturally, that meant I had to leave.

My first apartment was a shanty that Dad didn’t really want me moving into, but I told him he didn’t have a choice. I worked day and night at a restaurant, hosting and bussing at first before I finally got bumped up to waitressing and could make some decent tips.

And any time I wasn’t spending making money, I was here — spending it.

I had a little piece of every artist who worked here on me, some more than others, and once I learned enough from them to feel confident trying it on my own, I was tattooing any piece of my skin I could reach.

Finally, maybe more out of pity than anything, Nero offered me an apprenticeship.

I’d never said yes to anything so fast.

In my year tenure, I’d learned that what made the difference between a good tattoo artist and a great one was style.

You had to have a voice, a vibe, an aesthetic — one that called to a certain kind of clientele. If you failed to have a style, you would end up doing the kind of tattoos brought in off the Internet, the ones with no artistic freedom. Hey, can you do this exact lotus flower on my wrist? How about the word ‘breathe’ in a script font you just trace from the stencil?

Not that there was anything wrong with those kinds of tattoos — in fact, I was over the goddamn moon about the fact that I got to do a flower and script tattoo on a willing client today. I didn’t care that it wasn’t my design, that it was one from Pinterest.

Because I would be the one driving the needle.

Still, I longed for the day when I’d have a chair at this shop, when clients would seek me out because of my art, my vision, my style.

I just had to figure out what exactly my style was, first.

I peeled off the rubber gloves when the bathroom was sparkling, putting all the supplies away before I slipped into the back and grabbed my water bottle. I downed half of it before I heard Nero chuckle.

“You’re drinking that water like you’re about to hike the desert,” he commented from where he was at the computer, finalizing the design I’d be working with. It was a Saturday, one of our busiest nights of the week, and every artist was either with a client already, or scarfing down a quick snack before their next one came in. Nero had the ability to be picky with his time, and he only did larger pieces now, a minimum of four hours work. His client had canceled today, and so he’d taken on a last-minute request from some girl on Instagram.

Some girl on Instagram who was willing to let an apprentice mark her for life.

God bless her.

“With how dry my mouth is, it feels about the same.”

He smiled, a toothy grin just barely visible through his thick beard. Nero was what I imagined the Roman ruler he was named after would have looked like if he was taller, beefier, covered in tattoos, and so full of metal he’d never get through any airport without a good pat down. His dark hair was pulled back in a messy bun near the nape of his neck tonight, his beard neatly trimmed where it framed his jaw.

“You’ll be fine. I mean, look at this shit,” he said, holding his palm toward the computer screen. “If you manage to fuck this up? You might as well change careers tomorrow.”

“Gee, thanks. Now I feel absolutely zero pressure.”

He just shook his head, eyes on the screen. “‘No is a full sentence,’” he read. “Who would get that tattooed on them for life?”

“Someone who has said yes one too many times and paid the price for it,” I replied.

“Could never be me.” He took a long hit from his pen, and the sweet, pungent scent of marijuana filled my nostrils before he handed it to me.

Maybe this was another reason Nero was my favorite.

I took a pull, feeling a bit of calm come over me as the smoke left my lips. I handed it back to him after just one hit, though, because one would center me, but any more than that and I’d risk losing my focus.

“What if we tied in the poppy to the end of the script,” I offered, stepping up behind him with my eyes on the screen. “See where the e trails off? What if we turned that into the bottom of the stem, the poppies blooming out of the words.”

Nero considered. “I mean, I like it — but the client sent in this exact picture.”

“It’s going on her forearm, right?” I pointed at how it was laid out currently. “That’s going to look funky, too block-like instead of lengthening. What if we just showed her the options side by side? I bet she’d see it then, how this is a better layout.”

He smirked up at me, pushing back from the computer to let me take his place. I was slightly blushing as I slipped in and made the edits on the iPad, connecting the design and the script and making the poppies a little bit my own, too — dainty, airy, dreamy. When I finished tweaking, I crooked my gaze up to look at my boss.

“It’s better,” he agreed. “But you still have to convince her.”

“And you think I can’t?”

Nero’s eyes landed on me then. “I think if anyone can, it’s you.”

His dark eyes lingered for a moment in a way that made my neck heat. Nero was an attractive man — there was just no way around noticing it. But he was also married, with a tattoo shop his wife named, and her name sprawled across his left pec.

I wasn’t an angel — that much I could easily admit. I liked having a guy’s face between my legs for a night or railing me in the morning before breakfast. And most times, we didn’t talk enough for me to know if they were in a relationship or not.

With Nero, the age gap didn’t bother me, but as Giana would say, I wasn’t into love triangles or the cheating trope. I knew he was married, and he was also the one who signed my paychecks.

He was my boss and my boss only — that was a firm rule.

Before I could reply, my phone rang, Julep’s face lighting up the screen. I smiled at the picture of my former roomie, ducking out the back door and into the alleyway as I accepted the video chat.

“Damn, girl — you trying to get a daddy tonight?” she said in lieu of a normal greeting, her eyes catching on my cleavage before she waggled her brows.

“Mommy, actually. I’m tattooing my first skin. Here’s hoping she loves my work and leaves a big tip.”

Julep’s mouth popped open at that. “Shut up! Are you freaking out?”

“Very much so, but trying not to, so please — distract me.”

“You’ll crush it,” she said with full belief, and my icy heart warmed a bit at the sight of the smile she wore so effortlessly. The way her skin glowed, how her eyes didn’t carry so much weight anymore… it was enough to defrost me. She’d really turned a corner since the first time I’d seen her strung out in our living room on moving day. That ragged girl with the dark circles under her eyes was nothing more than a memory now, permanently banned now that Julep had found true happiness with Holden.

I narrowed my eyes at the screen. “Where are you?”

Julep looked around her before sitting back with a sigh. “Waiting outside a nursery while Holden decides which seventeen plant babies he’s going to bring home with us. I told him he had to narrow it down from thirty.”

I cracked a smile. “He’s having a heyday now that he’s in warmer climate, isn’t he?”

“You would not believe the amount of squash and watermelon we have in our backyard.”

“Tell him his peonies are still thriving at The Pit.”

“This far into June? He’ll be tickled pink.” She raised a brow. “Speaking of which, how’s that been going? It’s been a couple weeks now since you moved in, right?”

“Tomorrow makes two,” I said, leaning against the brick wall of the building. “And surprisingly… it hasn’t been too bad, yet. I feel like the guys have been on their best behavior, roommate wise. They’re not as gross as I suspected.”

“Color me surprised.” She paused, seemingly weighing her next question. “Has Leo left you alone?”

I snorted. “I don’t think he’s capable of such restraint.”

“You never told me why you hate him so much.”

I shifted, cracking my neck. “For the same reason I hate all football players. They’re cocky playboys with an attitude like they own everything. It’s infuriating.”

“Yeah, but you don’t act the same way toward Holden, or Zeke, or Clay, or even Kyle.”

Suddenly, my mouth was dry again. “He just… dated a friend of mine and broke her heart,” I lied. “But it’s fine, she’s moved on and Leo has been tolerable.” I paused. “I would like it if they’d wear more clothes around the house, though. I swear to God, Julep, I’ve never seen so many naked muscles in my life.”

She barked out a laugh at that. “Hey, gives you an excuse not to wear pants. If they’re comfortable naked, why shouldn’t you be?”

Before I could answer, her eyes shifted to somewhere behind her phone and she lit up with a smile. “Gotta go,” she said as she stood, shaking her head. “He’s got two carts full. Two carts, Mary.”

“Good luck with that.”

“And good luck with your skin,” she said with a little squeal. “Take pictures!”

Julep blew me a kiss through the screen before the call ended, and I smirked, tucking my phone into my back pocket before making my way inside the shop.

My stomach was a little uneasy from the lie I so easily gave one of my only friends, but it twisted even more at the thought of telling her the truth. I wasn’t sure if it was because I felt pathetic for still holding a grudge all these years later, or because it would hurt to relive the pain out loud. It was enough to see him day in and day out and know that, even with me living in his house, he didn’t recognize me. But to speak the words into the universe, to admit to someone what happened?

It made me sick to even consider.

For a second, I let myself wonder what would happen if I told him, if I waited for him to give me some smart-ass remark about what a great, humble guy he was and then threw his cruelty right back in his face. Would he wave it off with a laugh? Call me sensitive and a weirdo for even remembering it? Would he call me out for not telling him? Call me a creep?

Would he be sorry?

I laughed out loud at that thought because I knew with full certainty that he didn’t even remember what he’d done to me, it had been that insignificant in his life.

I had been that insignificant.

With another drop of my stomach, I swallowed, shaking the thoughts away just as the front door opened, our little shop bell ringing.

Nero caught my gaze with a smile. “Bet that’s your skin.”

And for the rest of the night, excitement and nerves were the only thing I felt, Leo completely out of my mind.

I woke the next morning at an ungodly hour.

Okay, it was nine — but after having my first skin and being at the shop until after two, it was an ungodly hour for me.

Still, I was somehow unusually awake as I threw the covers off, the energy from last night still buzzing through me. The client had been an absolute sweetheart. Not only did she hug me when we met as if we’d been friends since middle school and she hadn’t seen me in years, but she’d quite literally jumped for joy when I showed her my amendments to her design. And suddenly, I wasn’t just doing a tattoo that had been done a hundred times on a hundred different people.

I was leaving a piece of me, of my art, on someone else.

It was her first tattoo, but she handled it like a champ, and she was encouraging me the entire time rather than me having to do much comforting her. In the end, she cried not from pain, but from how much she loved the little piece on her forearm, and I saw the way Nero crooked a smile at me when the girl wrapped me in another fierce hug.

I’d done it.

I’d tattooed my first client and I couldn’t have asked for it to go better than it had.

When I ambled into my en-suite bathroom, I chuckled a little at my reflection. My hair was a matted mess, eyes dark from where I hadn’t been successful in taking all my makeup off last night. Still, I looked happy in my chaotic, sleep-deprived state, and I gave myself nothing more but a quick sweep of a hairbrush through my locks and a cold splash of water to the face before I was ready to venture downstairs for some coffee.

I had my hand on the door handle when I paused, glancing down at my bare legs. I was in a pair of boy shorts that hiked themselves up my ass without me trying — mostly because my ass was so big, it ate every piece of underwear I wore, regardless of size. You couldn’t even see my panties, really, under the oversized Cold War Kids t-shirt I wore.

I glanced over my shoulder at the dresser, debating sweatpants.

And then, I remembered what Julep said last night.

If I were at our house across the street, I wouldn’t think twice about walking out like this. And the guys all insisted on how they wanted me to feel at home, to not walk on eggshells.

With a shrug, I opened the door and headed downstairs with a fuck it attitude. It was too hot for sweatpants, anyway.

I skipped down the stairs, humming happily to myself as I rounded the bottom of them. I smiled at the sight of the guys all piled on the couch, Braden and Kyle playing a game of Madden while Leo ate a gigantic bowl of cereal and watched.

They were all focused on the screen as I sang, “Good morning.”

I leaned a hip against the back of the recliner chair, folding my arms and watching as they lined up for the next play.

“Morning,” Braden said without taking his eyes off the game.

“Coffee’s still hot,” Kyle added, but he did take his eyes off the screen.

And then, the controller went limp in his hands.

Braden celebrated a victorious play with Kyle distracted, but then he followed his roommate’s gaze, and I flushed when their eyes landed on my legs. Braden’s eyebrows shot up. Kyle crooked an appreciative smile.

Leo, on the other hand, looked like he was two seconds away from committing homicide.

His jaw was set, brows a hard line over his warm eyes as he took in the sight of me. He didn’t stare too long before his glare was on his roommates, and he smacked the back of Kyle’s head.

“Ow!” Kyle yelped, making a fist and laying it into Leo’s bicep in retaliation. “Fucker.”

“Pay attention to the game,” he said.

Kyle made a face. “You’re not even playing.”

“Neither are you.”

Braden looked to Leo, who was glaring at me again, before he gave me a curious smile over his shoulder. Then, the next play started, and I continued on to the kitchen, pretending like nothing was out of the ordinary.

I reached into the cabinet above the coffee pot, pulling out an NBU mug and filling it to the top.

“Goddamn, I didn’t realize she had so many tattoos,” Kyle said from the living room, low enough he probably thought I couldn’t hear him over the TV.

“Did you see that one on her inner thigh?” Braden whispered back. “That shit had to hurt.”

“That girl is nasty,” Kyle said, but he said it in a way that made me feel strangely… honored? Like nasty was a good thing.

Was it?

I didn’t have time to contemplate more before the clattering of dishes in the sink made me jump. I whipped around, finding Leo angrily rinsing his cereal bowl and spoon before all but throwing them in the dishwasher and slamming it shut.

“Jesus,” I said, a hand to my chest as I caught my breath. “Scared me.”

I smiled with that, wrapping my hands around my fresh mug of coffee. I typically liked a sweet creamer in mine, but I didn’t have the spare cash for such luxuries at the moment. My heart squeezed with the memory of having coffee with my dad in the mornings when I visited home, how he always had the best creamer even though he drank his black.

He did it for me.

“What did the dishwasher do to make you so mad?” I teased as I leaned against the counter.

A muscle in Leo’s jaw popped as he turned to face me, and this time, he let his eyes wash all the way over me, from where I knew my nipple piercings were visible under my t-shirt to where the hem of it dropped off and left my legs in full view.

“Did you forget pants this morning?”

I hiked up my shirt, which had his eyes flaring as he took in my black boy shorts. “I have pants on.”

“Those are not pants,” he argued.

An unattractive snort left me as I dropped my shirt back down. “Wow. You really are going for that daddy title, aren’t you?”

“I’m pretty sure Kyle has a boner right now.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“Look, I’m not here to tell you how to dress, I just—”

“Really? Because that’s exactly what this feels like. And you three,” I said, pointing at him first and then toward the living room. “Are naked from the waist up every single day, so you have zero room to talk.”

A smirk painted itself slowly on Leo’s lips, and he folded his arm over his bare chest — which was proving my point so well I couldn’t contain the pleased purse of my lips.

“Ah,” he said. “So that’s what this is. Giving us a dose of our own medicine.”

“We’re roommates,” I said. “And we’re all adults. I think we can handle seeing skin, if it makes the other more comfortable. Don’t you agree?”

His jaw ticked again, like he didn’t feel safe to answer that question.

“You’re different this morning,” he stated instead.

“Why, because I’m pantless?”

“Because you’re smiling.”

My cheeks flushed for some reason, and I looked down at the mug in my hands, another wide smile surfacing on my lips without any power for me to restrain it. “It was a good night.”

I peeked back up at Leo just in time to see him swallow hard. “Did you have a date or something?”

“Ew, no,” I said with a wrinkle of my nose, waving him off. “Who has time to date? I had my first skin last night.”

That made him arch a brow.

“My first tattoo on someone who’s not me. Or a grapefruit.”

At that, Leo’s entire face lit up, and he flashed one of those goofy boy-grins that made my stomach hurt because it reminded me so much of him in high school. “No shit? That’s bad ass. Did you take pictures?”

For a moment, I was fifteen again, that boy’s excited voice in my ears as he told me about football camp, about how pumped he was for the season.

About how ready he was to meet me.

I blinked, pulling my phone from where I’d had it tucked in the back of my shorts. Leo popped another brow at that, like it was a magic trick, but then his eyes were on the screen when I showed him the final piece from last night.

“Wow,” he said, taking my phone and zooming in on the picture. He studied the tattoo like he actually gave a shit.

That made my stomach hurt, too.

“This is really good, Mary,” he said, peeking up at me from where he still held my phone.

I reached out and snatched it back. “It’s not a big piece or anything, and the script was from the computer. I just added the poppies. It’s not really—”

“It’s fucking awesome,” he said, cutting me off.

My eyes met his, finding him looking back at me with reverence.

“I’m sure that was scary, but you did great. Congratulations.”

I swallowed, my voice quiet when I responded, “Thanks.”

Leo kept his eyes on me as I tucked my hair behind one ear and took a sip of my coffee. I hated that he didn’t look away, that he didn’t feel the need to the way I did. He was so fucking confident he would stare the hottest person in the world right in the eyes and make them feel inferior somehow.

“Have you heard anything about the house?” he asked after a moment.

“Trying to get rid of me already?”

“Might be trying to save my sanity, because if I wake up to this every morning,” he said, waving a hand over where I stood. “I’m bound for the looney bin.”

I rolled my eyes. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious!”

“Margie said they should be getting started soon,” I said, ignoring him and the way my chest fluttered at the thought that maybe I was a temptation to Leo Hernandez.

Then I gritted my teeth with annoyance at myself.

Who cares even if I am? He’s a prick, remember?

“Apparently, they were in the middle of another project. But by the time they assess fully, remove all the damaged shit in there, fix the pipes, redo the walls, the floors, the ceiling…” I sighed, thumbing the handle of my coffee mug. “I don’t know what we’re looking at, time wise.”

Leo almost looked like he felt sorry for me. “You can stay here as long as you want, as long as you need to.”

“Not true,” I argued. “Eventually, you’re going to have another teammate in the room I’m squatting in now.”

“Then you can stay in mine,” Leo quipped back, and he crossed the kitchen into my space with a salacious grin. “My bed is the best in the house.”

“And you’d be where, on the couch?”

He shrugged. “I guess — until you realize you want me in there with you.” He stepped even closer. “I’m a great big spoon.” His voice lowered a bit then, his eyes raking over me inch by inch. The golden flakes in them dazzled in the light. “An even better fork.”

I wanted to snort, to press my hand into his chest and push him away like he annoyed me. Because he did. And if it was just him saying those words, maybe I could have.

But it was the way he said them, all rugged and daring. It was how he stepped into my space, how I could smell his body wash and feel the heat from his skin.

He pissed me off.

But he also turned me all the way on.

I fought the urge to squeeze my thighs together against the sensation building there, like if I ignored it, that would make it easier to pretend like it didn’t exist. My nipples hardened under my shirt without my consent, the metal in them heavier somehow as I kept my gaze locked on Leo’s like he didn’t intimidate me.

Like I was bored instead of wanting.

“Mary! Come play with us!” Braden called from the other room.

Leo was still staring at me.

I stared right back.

“Mary doesn’t play Xbox,” he called over his shoulder. “Or any of our lesser than games.”

There was a challenge in his eyes, and I met it with my own as I pushed off where I was leaning against the counter and slipped past him. My ass rubbed against his hip as I passed, careful not to spill my coffee, and that became even more of a chore as Leo sucked in a groan under his breath.

I plopped that half-covered ass down right in-between Kyle and Braden once I made it to the living room, and I snatched the controller out of Kyle’s hands.

“Anything but football.”

“Halo?” Braden offered.

My eyes shot to Leo, who was standing behind the recliner now so he could see the screen. I waited to see if there was some sort of recognition on his face when the game was suggested, but I didn’t know why I did. He didn’t so much as blink, just wore that same cocky smile as he waited for us to start the game.

I ground my teeth together, and I no longer had to pretend to be annoyed. “How about COD, instead?”

Braden smiled, seemingly impressed by that alone, which made me want to roll my eyes. But he keyed up the game, and I ignored Leo standing in the corner as I proceeded to surprise every single one of them.

We played co-op mode, and Kyle and I had no sooner finished our first round before Braden was yanking the controller out of his hands so he could play with me next. Sunday morning slipped by like that, until I grew bored with the game of making Leo eat his words and stood, stretching.

“I’m going to shower,” I announced, reaching my hands up to the sky before twisting my body left and right to crack my back.

Leo, who had been quiet most of the morning, stared at where my shirt rode up over my panties as I did.

When I dropped my hands and the shirt fell back into place, his eyes found mine, and I smiled. “As long as it’s okay with you, Daddy.”

Kyle and Braden exchanged looks, and Leo grinned. “I’ll allow it, since you’ve been such a good girl.”

I rolled my eyes. “Someone needs to mow the lawn,” I said as I grabbed my empty mug off the table. “I’ll start the dishes, but I scrub toilets too much at the shop to do it here. One of you needs to hit the guest bath. And for God’s sake, please take care of whatever that is,” I added as I rounded into the kitchen, pointing behind me to the pile of gym bags overflowing with smelly socks, shorts, sneakers, and who knew what else that cluttered the front bay window.

As I rinsed my mug and set it in the top rack of the dishwasher, I heard Kyle say, “Maybe we should call her daddy.”