Alpha Fighter (9 page)

"No!" I breathe in and try again, this time less pitchy and quieter. "I mean, no. No. Nothing happened." It's true. Nothing happened. Cooper didn't try to kiss me. He didn't try to push for anything. I'm still as pure as the driven snow. I'm still the owner of a perfectly intact hymen and an untouched, untainted sex.

Unfortunately.

"Fine, fine!" Tamryn pretends to be hurt. "Don't tell me, then. Just wait and see. I won' t share a word of gossip with you ever again. Not a word!"

I give her a look. "Uh-huh," I say, skeptically. I'm pretty sure Tamryn would burst if she tried to keep something to herself. We've become fast friends, but the girl really can't keep anything to herself. Heck, she'd probably explode if she didn't tell me about her neighbors hanging out the laundry, much less something actually interesting.

"Okay, fine." She rolls her eyes, giving in. "I'll tell you stuff. But only because I'm an awesome friend."

"You are." I lean over and give her a quick mini-hug. "But Tamryn, are you forgetting something?" 

"Yeah?" She looks confused for a second. "Oh, right! I have exciting news for you!" She does a little happy dance with her shoulders.

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow. "I could use some good news."

"Today is your big day!" she squeals and bounces on her toes a little. "You're getting to do your first professional ink."

"WHAT?" I'm usually fairly composed, thanks to my upbringing, but this excites me so much that I can't contain myself. I leap out of my chair, knocking over the pile of paperwork I had been sorting through and flipping my chair clear over. "What the—how did—when—why—am I? But, but, but!"

I can't even put together a sentence. I have been waiting for this moment, dreaming of this moment, for as long as I can remember. Since long before it was even a possibility, I have held the idea of becoming a professional tattoo artist in my heart. I dreamt of being a professional inker, creating works of art that last a lifetime, just like my mother's tats. I knew that it could never happen, because I would never be allowed to do something as common as work a job, but I still wanted it.

And here it is.

Tamryn looks a little amused. "I would suggest that you pull yourself together a little before your first client arrives in two hours." 

"Wait," I say again, collecting my wits. "What happened? How did this happen?"

Tamryn shrugs. "Apparently the guy called and asked for you by name. Roxie tried to explain that you're just support staff and not an artist, but he wasn't having
any
of it. He insisted that he wanted ink by you and only you. The look on Roxie's face was priceless!" Tamryn savors the memory for a second. Roxie is the owner of The Ink Joint and Tamryn has a love-hate thing going with her. Tamryn loves that Roxie gives her a job and a regular paycheck, without always been around to hover, but she hates that Roxie has such a strict hierarchy among her employees. She plays clear favorites and leaves little room for vertical growth in the parlor. Tamryn's been ticked off, on my account, that Roxie wouldn't even take a look at my art after hiring me. She really only hired me as a favor and kept me around because I work hard.

"Who is it?" I ask.

"Don't interrupt! Rude," Tamryn chides, jokingly. "Anyway,
then
Roxie tries to convince him to set his appointment for a month or two from now, so she can 'train' you first." Tamryn makes a face.

"And?" I prompt.

"And he wasn't having that, either! He says he has a special piece in mind and he needs it done today,
by you
, because it needs to be healed enough by Saturday night for his
big fight
!"

"Fight?" My mind is racing. It couldn't be.  He wouldn't. But in the split second that my eyes are closed when I blink, I see Cooper's sleeves, etched onto his rock-hard biceps and running all the way down over his hard forearms. They aren't the usual colorful, cheap-looking, poorly done pieces that some tough guys like to get, but really solid artwork. There are interesting patterns, interesting designs, and probably all sorts of great meaningful art etched in just black all the way down both arms. I've wanted to examine them, and have him tell me all about them, but I can't go there. That would be too personal.

Still, I haven't seen collective ink on anyone that I appreciate as much as I appreciate Cooper's since my mother. To get to add to that? The idea of that honor has me speechless.

I can't say the same for Tamryn.

"Wooo-eeeee, how did you land that hunk of a man?" Tamryn asks, plopping herself down on her desk. "Seriously, girl, dish. What do you do in bed? Is it the deepthroat thing? Or do you let him—
you know—
during sex?"

I didn't know. But the thought of Cooper's naked body on top of mine, him thrusting his hard erection deep into my wet pussy, was enough to send an electric shock up my body, originating in my sex. I clench my legs together.

"Tamryn, I told you," I say. "There's nothing going on between us. We're just roommates."

"Uh-huh" she says, raising an eyebrow. She's not buying it. 

"Let me do my work!" I'm still blushing, and as hard as I try to be stern with her, I can't stop smiling. "He's just a nice guy."

"You go, girl," Tamryn says. "You get yourself that man!"

Savannah

I
don't get much done over the next two hours. I file maybe ten files, and end up having to re-file three of those when I realize that I’d filed by first instead of last name. I'm so busy staring at the framed photos on the wall of some of the most impressive works done in the parlor that I keep tripping over things and bumping into the furniture. Finally, Tamryn gives up entirely on getting any useful work out of me and sends me to the back room with a book of designs to flip through until it's 4:30.

I lose myself in the designs for a bit, but by 4:15 p.m. I'm out of the back room and bustling around the store, eyes trained on the door like I'm expecting a miracle to come walking through the door. I kind of am.

At exactly 4:30 p.m. on the dot, my miracle comes walking through the door, looking as crushingly handsome as ever, with an easy smile on his face.

He walks up to the front desk. "I'm here for a 4:30 p.m. appointment with Savannah."

"Hi," squeaks Tamryn. "Can I have your autograph?" Her voice is at least five octaves higher than normal. She clears her throat. "It's for my, um, nephew. He wants to be a fighter."

"Sure thing," says Cooper. "Tell your nephew he better hit the gym hard before he gets to the ring. Maybe I'll get to fight him someday."

Tamryn pretty much slides right down off of her seat in a swoon. She giggles and hands Cooper a piece of paper to sign. It's sweet of him to do it, and I know it's making Tamryn's day, but I want them to hurry up so I can get started on his new tat. I've only been waiting for this moment for all of my life!

"Thanks," Tamryn breathes, as she takes the signed paper back from Cooper and folds it carefully before placing it tenderly back in her desk drawer. "Right this way, sir." She gets up and leads him back to the backroom. I'm confused for a moment. Why would she bring him to the private bodywork room? I hear her say, "Savannah will be with you momentarily." Then she comes back out of the room and winks at me.

As she passes me as I head back to the bodywork room and she returns to the front desk, she whispers in my ear, "You're welcome for the private time with Hunk McSteamy."

I open my mouth to protest, but she waves me off.

"I'm a great friend, I know." She rolls her eyes. "I guess you're just a lucky girl to have a friend like me."

I shake my head and smile as I walk back towards the bodywork room.

"Hi, there," says Cooper. "Where do you want me?" He raises an eyebrow and I can tell he phrased it that way on purpose. My stomach swoops.

"Listen, thanks for this," I say. "Really. But you didn't have to...I mean, understand if you want someone who's done this before. Your tats are perfect. I don't want to pretend like I've done this professionally before."

"Don't give me that." Cooper's face is serious now. "Can you do it." It's not a question.

"Yes," I say, putting my chin up.

"I know." Cooper nods. "So don't think you're the grunt worker around here because you aren't more talented than everyone else here. I want a tattoo from a talented artist. That's why I'm here to see you. Now, where do you want me?

"Over there is good," I say, pointing at the padded table. "What do you want to get today?"

"Whatever you want to give me," Cooper says. It sends shivers up my spine.

"But—" I protest.

He holds up a hand and shakes his head. "Give me what I need and what you dare to give. That's all I'm asking."

I wonder if he's still talking only about the tattoo, but I nod.

"My sleeves are done, but I want something on my left shoulder blade," Cooper

says. Right behind his heart.

"Do you mind if I take a look at your other ink first?" I ask.

"Help yourself," Cooper says. He pulls his shirt over his head. I breathe in at the sight of his perfect, naked chest. I resist the urge to reach out and run my fingers down his perfectly distinguished pecs, down to his chiseled eight pack, snug between a ripped V-line pointing down to happier places.

The tattoos are even more mesmerizing up close than from a distance and I'm in awe. They're also inked on a flawless canvas, but the art itself is interesting.

"I got the sleeves over many years," Cooper explains softly. "I got my first one, this one here, after finishing my first boot camp as a Navy officer. I finished my right sleeve when I left the SEALs and started my left sleeve when I started fighting. This one here is from my first tournament victory."

He lets me examine the tats a little longer, then gently lifts my chin to look me straight in the eyes. I catch my breath, heart racing out of control as I look up at his face, mere inches from mine.

"Everything I've done, everything I've experienced, is part of who I am." He says it softly but firmly. "My ink immortalizes my experiences and lets me always carry my memories, and their lessons, with me." He pauses then, and even quieter, murmurs, "Sometimes you have to take a chance, pretty girl. Life is going to happen whether or not you live it."

I'm not sure how long we stay that way, our faces inches from each other, because time stops for me. After an eternity, but also much too soon, Cooper releases my chin. 

I take a deep breath and clear my throat before I trust my voice enough to ask a question. "Would you like me to sketch out your shoulder blade piece for approval before I ink?" It's a courtesy question, but I have no doubt that the answer will be yes.

Cooper surprises me, shaking his head. "No. I trust you. Give what you want, I'll take it."

He turns and shows me his back. I reach out a hand and rest it on his shoulder blade. It's stacked with muscle, but still on bone. This won't be a painless tattoo.

I pick up my instrument, suddenly no longer hesitant or uncertain at all. I don't have a clear image of the final result in my mind, but as I work and etch the black ink into Cooper's skin, I always know the next move instinctively.

We don't talk the whole time that I work and neither of us looks at the clock. In the back of my peripheral consciousness, I notice that the parlor goes quiet after a while. I keep working, looking at nothing but Cooper's skin, illuminated under the bright, florescent light. When I finally put down my instrument, I'm exhausted but so thoroughly satisfied, like never before. I step back and admire my work. 

It's the most amazing thing I've ever done.

Cooper turns and meets my eyes. Though we haven't said a word to each other in hours, it feels like we have just been through something incredibly intimate together. He takes my hands in his and pulls me closer to him. I'm standing between his legs, breathing in sync with him, and mesmerized by his gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he gently lifts my hands in his and gives them a kiss.

"Thank you, pretty girl."

Cooper

I
'm killing it at the gym the next day, but this time it isn't because I'm frustrated or angry or need to get laid. This time, it's different. This time, my energy isn't coming from a place of anger and hurt, it's coming from a strong, positive place. I want to be a winner for Savannah. I want to be the best man I can be, and then a little better, because that's the kind of man Savannah deserves.

And I'm going to get Savannah. She will be mine.

That's the thought that I ride on all through training and I don't tire out, even though I'm fighting hard.

Vlad pounds me on the back, getting me right on my sore, fresh tat, as I walk out of the training ring. "Well done, my man!"

"Thanks," I say, "I'm feeling pretty good today."

Vlad gives me a knowing smirk. "Does it have something to do with the girl I saw heading for the locker rooms a little while ago?"

"How long ago?" I demand. I know Savannah felt something last night, but I wasn't expecting her to show up here.

"Oh, thirty minutes or so" says Vlad, "But she hasn't come out yet. Go get your girl."

I push Vlad aside and head straight for the locker room.

"Savannah?" I call out the moment I push the door open.

"Savannah?" Trixie, or Trudy, or whatever her name is, pouts playfully up at me. She's sitting on the bench between two rows of lockers, her cleavage up and out as she leans back on her elbows and pushes her double Ds toward me, so the light bounces off their rounded tops. One leg is crossed over the other, making her show even more skin than her little hot pants already were. She gets up slowly, arching her back so her breasts stay in focus the whole way up, and struts towards me, hips swaying. "Now I'm put out. But I have some ideas of how you can make it up to me."

"Look, I—" I start, pushing her back as she tries to wrap an arm around my neck. I don't want her on me. I don't want her touching me.

"It's okay, baby," she purrs. "Let me make you forget this Savannah girl ever existed."