“I didn’t know el Rey León was your client,” my client whispers, as if speaking the name of the devil himself and not the title of a Disney flick.
I stare at him. “Leo Reyes?” I bark a laugh. “You seriously call him that? Jesus, what a fucking ego the bastard must have by now.”
“He’s a scary bastard is what he is,” the man says, darting a wary look toward the doors. “Some say scarier than Gustavo because he’s so nice most of the time, so when he gets angry it’s even worse.”
“Anyone can be scarier than a dead man. That isn’t saying much.”
The man’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “No, hermano. Didn’t you hear? Gustavo’s alive. Word on the street is he’s working for Amador now and on the hunt for whoever stole all that money from him. I don’t want to be caught on the bad side of either of those dudes.”
A chill skitters up my spine at the news, but I maintain my calm stoicism. “Well, this shop is neutral territory. Trust me, he won’t do more than look. You’re safe to go.”
I stand and push open the doors, then step aside and gesture for the man to exit. He casts one glance toward the back before I brush past him and block the way to the garage. No way for him to go but straight out the front doors. Finally, he turns and hustles out the door while Leo chats with Sam, oblivious to the presence of anyone else until I belly up to the counter.
“Long time no see. How’s the shoulder?” I keep my tone casual, but my insides are a mess. I need to check in with J.J., but talking to Leo again after all the silence overwhelms every other emotion. He looks good—definitely better than the last time I saw him, still pale and groggy from pain pills, his hair a tangled mess.
Now he’s clean-shaven, his hair the usual stylishly messy mop on his head, and he wears a purple button-down dress shirt and dark slacks that look tailored to fit his athletic frame.
Leo and I haven’t really spoken more than a few words since the night of my confession. The two days he was an invalid in my bed, I didn’t say more than to ask if he was hungry or thirsty before Celeste whisked him off to her father’s house to finish recuperating. During his last session, he was civil but otherwise silent beyond discussing his tattoo.
He rubs at the juncture of his shoulder and rolls it. “Not bad. I still owe you for everything, but I’m here to ask for something.”
“It’s probably too soon for a cover-up. You need to give it at least another year—the skin is too delicate to tattoo.”
“I have no plans to cover it,” he says. “That bullet was the last thing I shared with my brother.” He pauses and clears his throat while I give him a stiff nod of understanding. “I have an idea for more ink. But it’s a little more involved. You have time for a consultation?”
I glance at Sam, who observes us with a serious, businesslike expression. He nods. The kid started taking the job seriously after Toni’s visit, so I can’t complain. “Nothing on the schedule unless we have walk-ins, and you’ve got me covering consultations for artwork anyway.”
“Care to join me in my office?” I ask, gesturing to the cubicle.
“Actually, can we do this upstairs?”
Surprised, I nod and continue to the lift, stepping in and waiting for him to follow before pushing the gate shut and hitting the button. A million questions shoot through my head, but I don’t say a thing. I’m wildly curious about what he wants to discuss up in my loft. Maybe he left something behind, but I’ve cleaned the place dozens of times since that weekend and haven’t found a thing.
When we exit, I finally break the silence. “Tell me about this tattoo.”
Instead of answering, he makes a beeline to the corner and stops in front of the wall of photos, then turns around. “Where are they?”
“The porn is stashed in a box, if that’s what you’re asking.” I chuckle and shake my head. “Mom visited at Thanksgiving for the first time and naturally wasn’t thrilled that I had those hanging on the wall when Sam and Elle spend most weekdays studying here. She said I know better than to be that kind of influence. So I replaced them with more family-friendly pieces.”
He crosses his arms and smiles. “No shit. She doesn’t know you too well if she saw that as bad.”
Snorting, I turn toward the bedroom and gesture. “Come on, I’ll pull them out. You want to buy one or something?”
“I don’t need to see them. What I want is to hire you to do a shoot like that with me and Celeste.”
I stop in my tracks, positive I’m hearing things. Pivoting, I stare at him, not sure what the hell to say to that, but the image of the pair of them tangled up like James and Sequoia makes my mouth go dry.
Leo rubs his hands together as he meets my gaze, then swallows and darts his eyes toward the bed. “The one picture, where the girl’s face looks like she just saw Jesus . . . I want you to get one of Celeste like that. And I want you to turn it into a tattoo.”
Clearing my throat, I cross my arms. “You do realize in order to capture her in the midst of literal rapture, she needs to have a real orgasm in front of my camera, right? Either by herself or with you. That is, unless you wanted me to be the one to give it to her.”
“Don’t be an asshole,” he mutters and glances away again.
Realizing how uncomfortable he is about asking me this, I laugh. “It’s okay, dude. I’m just surprised. You two have only been together a few months.
