“Nice drawing,” the guy next to me interrupts my thoughts, pointing down to my piece of paper.
“Thanks,” I murmur, leaning forward and taking my drink.
“How long did it take for you to draw that?”
“Hmmm.” I swallow some of my drink and then look back at him. “About twenty minutes.”
His eyebrows pull together. “Can I take a look?”
I nod. “Yeah, sure.” I hand it to him, watching his expressions change. He has messy but well-styled light-brown hair, a five o’clock shadow, a straight pointy nose, and olive skin. His shoulders are square, much like his jaw, and he’s wearing a dark leather jacket with a plain white shirt underneath, dark jeans, leather bangles on his wrists, and heavy black biker boots. Oh, God, please don’t be a biker.
“These are fucking mint.” He grins, studying my latest drawing. I don’t know what the term “mint” means, but I take it it’s some kind of New Zealand lingo. The drawing is a pink lotus flower that’s half blossomed. There’s a bullet sitting in the middle, the petals of the flower guarding it protectively. The shading isn’t quite finished, but yeah, it’s not bad.
“Thank you,” I reply shyly.
He looks up at me. “I heard you tell your—” He looks toward Tatum on the pole. “—friend you’re looking for a job?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “We’re from America.”
“Backpacking?”
“Something like that,” I answer through a tight smile.
“Jesse.” He puts his heavily tattooed hand out.
I take it, surprised his palm is a little soft considering what he looks like. “Amira.”
“Amira?” He grins. “Sort of sexy.”
“Ha!” I laugh nervously. “Good one.” Is he flirting? I can’t tell.
His grin relaxes to a sly smirk. “Here.” He slides his card across the bar. “I own Inked, the tattoo parlor two shops down.” He points to my drawing. “I got you a job if you want it.”
“What?” I gasp in disbelief. “I haven’t tattooed anyone—ever!”
He shakes his head. “No, but I have, and do, and you draw fucking amazing. I can teach you. Or, you can just draw for me. I only do custom designs. So if you come in and sit down as I go over each client, you can draw what they say. Catch my drift?”
I swallow. “Shit.”
“Scared?” He grins at me again, a dark eyebrow quirked.
“Sort of.”
“Hey!” Tatum comes bouncing with bills stuffed under her bra. Jesus fucking Christ, this girl. She looks to Jesse and smiles, her eyes lighting up like the Fourth of July. She puts her hand out. “I’m Atalia!”
Jesse looks between us. “Similar names, or…?”
“Sisters,” Tatum chirps, gripping onto the bar, jumping up, and planting her ass on top. Jesse walks over to her, picks her up from under her arms, and shakes his head.
“Don’t go sitting your little ass on tabletops in this country, girl.”
I laugh at Tate’s pouted lip.
“Okay,” I say to Jesse, and his eyes come directly back to me. “I mean,” I correct, “I don’t know if I’m what you’re really looking for, but I’m willing to give it a try. Since, you know… I was rather close to going up”—I point toward the stage—“there.”
He grins. “Yeah, come now.” He nudges his head toward the front door, and I look between it and him and then back again.
“You’re not a murderer, are you?”
“Guess you won’t know until you follow me.”
Pausing, my eyes lock onto his before I down my drink and get off the stool.
Turning to Tatum, I smile. “I’ll be back soon.”
She shrugs and then bounces back onto the stage. I follow Jesse out the door, the cool summer air hitting me across the face. He nudges his head toward the sidewalk.
“This isn’t the part where you kill me, is it?” I chuckle, shoving my hands into my jean pockets.
He laughs, throwing his head back. “This is New Zealand, babe. You’re safe.” From what I’ve seen so far, it is safe here.
We walk down the sidewalk until we come to a shop that has black paint licked over the front with red stripes going diagonally down the brick structure. Jesse pulls out his keys, unlocks the door, and then ushers me inside.
Flicking the lights on, he gestures out in front of himself.
“It’s clean!” is the first thing that comes into my brain, and me being me, of course I say it out loud.
Jesse laughs, closing the door behind himself to shut out the line of boy racers that are flooring it down the main street. “Yeah, I guess it sort of has to be.” He tilts his head and then walks forward to the dark concrete counter. It’s all rustic with a dose of modern. The floors are glass mirror tiles, and the seats are black leather with intricate designs carved into the armrests. All the booths are wide open but have the option to pull a curtain across for privacy. There’s also a private booth at the back.
“Piercings and such,” Jesse mutters, handing me a beer when he sees me looking at the booth.
“Thanks.” I take it. “So what exactly do you want from me?”
He takes a swig and then looks at me. “When clients come in, you can sit in during their consultation, get a vision of what they want, and draw it for them. Just roughly sketch it.”
“Okay, and when you don’t have clients?” I ask, watching him carefully. He has a couple of beauty marks on his face that instantly draw my attention, so I look away quickly, not wanting to get caught ogling. He’s a little more than hot. He has a rough sexiness about him. I wonder how old he is.
“You can stay at the front desk? I can pay you hourly plus give you a percentage out of the drawings you do—all cash in hand.”
I think over his question and then look toward some of the artwork that’s hanging on the walls. “I guess I’m in.”
He steps
