Inked Fighter: Book One (BBW New Adult Romance) (3 page)

My door swung open. Bill stood there in his leather vest over a black t-shirt. He looked me up and down.

“You look like a pussy in those shorts.”

“Thanks,” I said, adjusting my gun needle. I wanted to jam it in his eye.

“Change your clothes or someone’s going to mistake you for a bitch. We’ve got a crew coming down from Oregon for the run tomorrow. Gonna be a busy night, kid. Strap on your balls.”

I rose to my full height. I stood four inches taller than Bill. I was young, fast, and healthy, which was a hell of a lot more than I could say about sick-ass, natty-bearded, potbellied motherfucker Bill. I stepped toward him and expanded my chest. Cargo shorts or not, I could kick his ass in about two seconds and he knew it.

He crossed his arms over his fat chest and sneered at me. I stared him down, my arms flexed and taut at my sides. I was so tempted to throw a punch into his jiggling beer belly that my fingers twitched. He took a step backward, trying to look like he was still in control.

“Just get upstairs.”

I relaxed as he practically ran away. Better not mess with me. They could hold my past over my head all they wanted, but that didn’t mean I would let them talk to me like one of their whores.

I shut my door and changed into a pair of dark jeans and a black t-shirt. I didn’t want to risk getting biker blood on my legs anyway. These dudes put their dicks in anything. Who knew what kind of diseases they had festering among them?

I pulled on some black boots and frowned at myself in the cracked, full-length mirror behind my door. I curled my lip in my best badass expression and rubbed my chin. I was a state-level mixed martial arts, champion after all. I could best any of these guys one-on-one. I sure as hell wouldn’t let them know I preferred drawing roses to busting heads.

Before I started working full time in the shop on Hollywood Boulevard, five years ago, one of my clients offered to exchange martial arts lessons for tats. I figured what the hell. You never know who might jump you on the streets of LA at night. Little did I know I’d become a black belt. I had two state championship belts stored in a dusty storage unit back in LA along with the rest of my stuff from my old life.

I gathered the tray of guns, needles, inks, and rubber gloves in one hand and tucked some tattoo art books under the other arm. Upstairs, the party was already getting loud just as the sun set. They had a fire blazing in a steel barrel and a gas barbeque in the other corner of the clubhouse yard.

I could smell the scent of hamburgers and hot dogs, and my mouth watered. I hadn’t eaten anything all day. The food in the clubhouse was usually questionable at best unless there was a barbeque. The dudes with wives lived at home. Only the losers lived at the clubhouse. Those guys were worse than the worst frat boys.

My diet and training had gone to hell since I’d arrived. Keeping fit had become a way of life for me back in LA. I enjoyed the discipline, much like the discipline of drawing and tattooing. I couldn’t do much about my diet now. I just needed to eat.

A cooler full of bottled domestic beer sat at the end of a table of condiments. I snagged one and popped off the cap. I would need it tonight. Classic rock roared through the stereo speakers inside the clubhouse and blasted through the open windows into the yard. A group of scantily clad women tumbled out the door, already holding beer bottles.

Mike, the club treasurer, stood over the grill and nodded at the girls. The sound of rumbling motors sounded even over the music. I turned to see a group of ten new men pull their bikes into the parking lot beyond the chain-link fence of the yard.

Mike left the barbeque and shouted greetings to them as they parked and stepped through the front door of the clubhouse. The girls got giggly about the new arrivals. What was the matter with these chicks?

I set my stock art books and tray on one of the picnic tables. There wouldn’t be enough light out there to work, but I wanted to avoid the chaos of the main room for as long as possible. Hopefully, I could use one of the well-lit bedrooms. I didn’t want a replay of last time. The last time I set up in the main room, people pushed and shoved to get tats from me. It was fucking anarchy.

Bill came through the side door into the yard and spotted me sipping from my beer bottle. He glared. What the fuck? I was there, wasn’t I? Bill hated me. He didn’t want me around because I wasn’t one of them. The feeling was mutual. Their cocksucker president was the one who was holding my past over my head. He wouldn’t let me leave until I’d tatted up every inch of every degenerate in northern California.

More men and their old ladies stumbled into the yard. Loud voices rang over the sound of blaring music, cackling laughter, and angry shouting. I pursed my lips and picked up my equipment. Time to find a quiet spot. I seriously wanted a burger, though. I wondered if I could get something before the madhouse started.

I ducked inside and found Perez, one of the younger members, walking toward the back door.

“Hey, Perez. Can I use your room to do tats tonight?”

“Fuck no. I’m going to be getting up in at least three bitches tonight, and I don’t like to do that shit in public.”

“I can’t work in the main room. If you let me use your room for at least a few hours, I’ll finish that big back tat you got started last month on my own time.”

Perez considered for a moment and crossed his arms across his slim chest. His brown eyes looked glassy already. It took him awhile to consider.

“Deal, bro. But I’m going to need that room for my hoes before the end of the night.”

“Of course.”

Perez jogged out to the yard, and I made my way to his bedroom. It wasn’t as messy as I expected. I sat my tray and books on his bed. I left my equipment and closed the door behind me, hoping no one saw me go in there. I couldn’t risk my shit getting busted up by these idiots.

A long line stretched out from the barbeque, but I cut past everyone and begged Mike for a burger. The smell of grilling meat made my mouth water. He grumbled but slid a patty and bun onto a paper plate before shoving it in my waiting hands.

The condiments looked disgusting. People were sticking their fingers in the pickle jar and the mustard had slimy black residue coating the nozzle. I decided to go without hamburger toppings, but grabbed a single-serve chip package from a bowl. 

I slipped back to Perez’s room and shoved the burger in my mouth. I knew it wouldn’t be long before a flood of cocksuckers invaded the room. Mike’s barbeque was pretty damn good, even though it could have used pickles. Just as I took my last bite, there was a tentative knock at the door. Those assholes never knocked.

“Come in,” I said with my mouth full.

A girl wearing Daisy Dukes and a cropped tank top walked through the door. Her top barely covered her boobs. She had long bleached blond hair and too much makeup. What did this princess want?

“Hi,” she said, giggling. “Bill told me I could get a tattoo in here.”

I wiped the crumbs from my hands and thrust my chin toward the tattoo art books.

“Pick your poison.”

“Do you have any pictures of Tweety Bird?”

Of course…

“Yeah, that top book. It’s near the front of the cartoon section.”

I slathered my hands in hand sanitizer and got a piece of tracing paper ready. She picked a picture of Tweety looking coy and innocent. Did that character ever look any other way? I quickly traced the line drawing.

“Where do you want this?” I asked.

She pointed to her hip. I sat on the bed and looked at her, waiting for her to make the move to take off her shorts.

She slid them off, revealing the tiniest G-string imaginable. She must not have had any pubes, because that thing was seriously tiny. My dick twitched.

“Okay,” I said putting my tray on the bedside table. “Go ahead and lie down on your side and I’ll place the stencil.”

She lay down beside me. The bed jiggled under her movement. I watched her long tanned legs and flat torso. I gulped and reminded myself I was a professional. At the shop, something like this wouldn’t have fazed me even a little. But here?

I laid the stencil across her hip and transferred the ink to her skin. After I peeled it away, I asked her what she thought of the positioning. She tilted her head from where it rested on her hand and examined my stencil.

“Perfect,” she said.

I prepared my inks, plugged in my gun, cleaned my hands again, and slipped on a pair of rubber gloves. I gripped my gun and it buzzed to life. The girl made a little yelping noise when I pressed into her flesh. She bit her lip and grabbed the blankets.

“Is this okay?” I asked.

“It’s good,” she breathed.

I quickly drew the outline and filled in the colors while she made little moaning noises. It was a fast tattoo, boring as hell, but that’s what she wanted. She hopped up from the bed and gazed at herself in the closet door mirror. Her face lit up with a huge toothy grin. It made her look more natural. I cleaned up my equipment and changed my needle, getting ready for the asshole onslaught. I was actually surprised no one had come barging in yet.

“Put this over the tattoo,” I said, handing her a tube of ointment.

She slathered it on the raw skin, standing in front of me in her G-string. When she was done, she crawled onto the bed next to me. My eyes widened, and I leaned away.

“How can I repay you?” she asked in a husky voice, running her finger down my arm.

“It’s on the house.”

“No, I don’t feel right about that.” Her hand slipped down my thigh and glided up over my growing cock.
Okay.
I wasn’t expecting that. She dug her fingers into the folds of my jeans, looking for the zipper. I watched her breasts jiggle under her tiny shirt. Was this really going down right now?

Going down was exactly what happened. The girl slid to her knees on the floor in front of me and unzipped my pants. I wasn’t sure if I should let her or not. I mean, she wasn’t ugly, that was for sure. She obviously had some idea of what she wanted, and that was apparently my dick. Why not let her have it?

Generally, I had a rule about getting blowjobs from skanks. I didn’t see any visible sores on her mouth, so that was a good sign. The last time I got a hummer was from a “friends-with-benefits” coworker in LA. I knew Colleen was safe, and we had an understanding. With this chick, on the other hand, I had no idea where she’d been.

Her hand dug inside my jeans and under my briefs to find my erection. I sucked in a deep breath.

“Someone is going to come in here any second,” I told her, trying to keep my cool.

She bounced up and locked the door. When she turned back to me, she stripped off her tank top and pulled the tiny triangles of her bra to the sides of her tits. Her diminutive breasts had big round areolas and her tight little nipples pointed right at me.
Oh, crap
.

She fell to her knees in a flash. Her confidence had grown. She got my dick out and stroked the shaft with a firm grip. Her pink tongue tickled the head. I bit my lip as pleasure shot from my cock and up into my chest. I tilted my head back. If she wanted to suck me, I wasn’t going to stop her.

Her wet mouth descended on my length, and she gripped me with her full lips and fisted hand. She bobbed up and down, rubbing my thigh and balls as her intensity quickened. Her grip commanded my cock, and I could feel my orgasm reaching for release. I would come deep in her throat.

I panted and moved my hips to the rhythm of her bobbing head. She had me all the way inside her face. The most primal part of me wanted to grip her head and smash my cock into her on my own terms. One hand reached up and gripped her hair at the root. She moaned. The feeling of her moan tickled the last of my reserves, and I shot my come into her hot little mouth.

She pulled away, smiling and wiping her face. I looked at her, instantly regretting that I let her suck me off. It wasn’t my style, but sometimes these things were too hard to resist. She stood and pulled her clothes back on. I pursed my lips as I watched her dress. So she gave me a blowjob, so what? It wasn’t like I’ve never gotten one from a stranger before. I just didn’t want to be that guy anymore.

“Hey, babe, could you get me a beer?” I figured, what the hell, might as well get her to do me another favor while she was at it.

“Sure,” she said, giggling. I smirked as she turned to leave the room. I felt like a jerk-off, but when in Rome…  Outside, I could see a few guys ready for tats. It was going to be a long night.

Morning light streamed through the kitchen window, and I listened to the silence as I sipped my third cup of coffee. Rose had been sleeping through the night for months, but she had fussed all last night. I hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep. Rose was already down for her morning nap, and I thankfully had a moment of peace to myself.

Squirrels scampered along the green grass in the side yard, sniffing for seeds in the dewy air. Bradly, out for his morning piss, spotted them and chased them up the wide oak on the border of the yard. I ran my hand over my messy hair and turned my attention to the fabric on the table.

My dresses sold well at the local clothing store. If I just had more time, if I just didn’t always feel so tired, I could have made a lot more. 

I stroked the hand-dyed cotton. It would be a smart, sassy sundress. They were always popular in the summer. Emily at the clothing store told me to bring in as many as I could make. If I had four of me, maybe we could afford to keep our kitchen stocked.

Regan was God-knew-where and Zoe was already at work. Zoe never said she wanted anything more. Before Mom died, she had been a cheerleader and a hip-hop dancer. After Mom, we all got depressed. Zoe almost dropped out of school.

Regan — well, Regan had her first mental break. A local sheriff, found her running down the highway naked in the rain. I was informed later that she had been talking gibberish and was ready for a fight. The sheriff took her to jail. They had a psych evaluation done on her at the local clinic. Then they shipped her to the psych ward in Ukiah for further observation.

She was there for a week and came out with a ton of medication and a diagnosis of rapid cycling bipolar disorder with psychotic features. She took her meds as she was told. I had to drive her to Ukiah twice a week to see a psychiatrist. Most of the time she sat in her room, staring out the window.

After six months, she stopped taking her medication, told off her doctors, and devolved into cycles of madness. There were good days and bad days with Regan. She wasn’t always cracked up, but it was like walking on eggshells most of the time.

It is funny what you can get used to if you love someone. Sometimes I caught an expression of hers; then I remembered how she used to be, and all I could think was how much I wanted my sister back. 

I laid the fabric out on the table and pinned down the size eight pattern. The tracing paper crinkled in my hands as I pulled pins from my mouth and poked them through the paper and fabric. I took out my scissors and cut the fabric along the edge of the pattern.

My skilled hands had the pattern cut in no time, and I began pinning the skirt to the bodice. I moved my old sewing machine to the table and made my first stitch. It didn’t take long before I had the dress sewn.

I laid it flat across my ironing board to iron before putting it on a hanger. I hung it on my makeshift rack and stared at it with pride. I had made one of in each of the most popular sizes. With clothing as cheap as it was, the retail price couldn’t be over fifty dollars. My take was forty. Minus supplies, I made twenty-five per dress. Half a week’s work would bring me a hundred and twenty-five dollars.

  I rubbed my face. We needed food, and Rose needed diapers even more. I had to go to town soon. When I heard Rose whimper, I went to our room and got her ready. I covered the dresses in plastic and laid them across the back seat of the car, then went back to get Rose. Bradly wagged his tail at me as if we were going somewhere. I frowned at him and put my hand on my hip. He frowned back at me with his big puppy-dog eyes. I couldn’t make everyone happy all the time.

I drove into town and parked outside the clothing store. There was only one place to get clothes in town. Most people did their major shopping down in Ukiah or up in Eureka. Luckily, Leggetville was a tourist town along the redwood coast, so it could support an upscale boutique like Dream Weavers.

I struggled into the shop, with its airy bright windows and blond wood floors, with Rose in one arm and the dresses in the other. Emily sat behind the counter wearing her hipster glasses and two expensive tank tops that were designed to look old. Layers of necklaces hung over her breasts. She was only a few years older than me, but she had finished school and had taken over the boutique with her partner a few months ago.

Her eyes lit up when she saw me and she immediately went to Rose with her hands held out, goo-gooing in baby talk. Rose giggled, and I let Emily take Rose and bounce her on her hip.

“I love this fabric, Claire,” she said, running her hand down the front of one of the dresses I’d uncovered. “Mel and I are going to buy your dresses outright. They fly off the rack as soon as they come in. Which reminds me. I’ve got your sales from last week." From the cash register she pulled bills folded up in a sticky note, and she shoved the bundle toward me. Emily looked back at Rose, who was sucking on one of her necklaces.

“How many did you bring in today?”

“Five,” I said, counting the cash she’d given me.

“I’m going to pay you ten dollars extra per dress as an incentive to make more,” she said. Rose grabbed at her underarm, and Emily giggled. 

I said, “You have no idea how helpful that is.” She counted money from the till and set it on the counter. She looked up at me with an expression that bordered on pity, and then broke back into her normal, lighthearted smile.

“Don’t mention it, it’s purely selfish. Your dresses are some of the most popular items in our store.”

I shoved the money in my purse and reached out for Rose. Emily handed her over with a pout. I gave her a big smile, the kind of smile that rarely showed up on my face lately.

“As fast as you can sew, Claire. I’m not kidding. This time of year people are driving up the coast in droves. Cute unique dresses like yours are always in demand.”

“Awesome. You can count on it,” I said, turning to leave. Emily gave Rose a baby-talk bye-bye as we walked out the door. All I could think about was groceries, diapers, fabric, work, and fucking chaos.

I thought of going to Eureka or down to Ukiah to shop for fabric, but I didn’t have the energy for such a long drive. We had a Hobby Lobby in town, and I could get the supplies for another batch of dresses there.

I needed high white cotton that I could hand dye in small batches. I used a technique I learned in my first months at fashion school. I made unique designs, with the dye, that turned out looking like abstract floral patterns. People said they looked chic.

Inside Hobby Lobby, Ethel waved at me from the checkout line as I put Rose in a shopping cart. I’d known Ethel since I was a kid. Old ladies always loved it when girls did traditional woman hobbies. They didn’t love it so much when you got knocked up out of wedlock at eighteen.

I wheeled my cart down the aisle to where I knew I could find my fabric. I glanced over the art supplies as I strolled by. Down one of the art supply aisles I saw
him
— the guy from the beach. Damien

My heart skipped, and my face went hot just seeing him. I pushed my cart forward, feeling too embarrassed and too stupid to say anything. I knew I looked ridiculous. Had I even brushed my hair today? I was wearing the same crumby sweatshirt. It was clean, but still, I was wearing the same damn thing. God, I was a slob. When did that happen to me?

“Hey. Claire, wait up.”

I heard his footsteps jog up behind me. I turned, not wanting to look in his face. I brushed a lock of hair behind my ear.

“What’s up?” he asked, smiling down at me. He was wearing a tight t-shirt that strained over his taut shoulders. His scorching blue eyes radiated heat. I could practically feel the energy coming off of him.

“Hi,” I said meekly. I was thinking of a way to get away from his intense gaze. I didn’t want him to see me like this. If he could just see me looking hot and ten pounds — no, twenty pounds — lighter. If he could just see eighteen-year-old me. College girl me. Unbroken me. The girl without all the baggage. Then maybe…

I glanced at Rose and felt guilty. She was my world. I didn’t have time for guys. I needed fabric.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested. Damn it. He was hot and an artist. I really hadn’t thought I’d ever see him again.

“I’m buying fabric. I’m a seamstress. A designer, actually.”

“Wow. That’s awesome. What do you make?”

“Right now—” I saw Ethel glaring at me out of the corner of my eye. Apparently, since I had sex one time, now I was the town slut. Go figure. “Right now, I’m making sun dresses for Dream Weavers. It’s a dress shop on Main Street.”

He looked at me as if he might salivate. I shuffled in my flip-flop-clad feet and felt the need to pull up my baggy yoga pants.

“I’d love to see your work.”

“You can see my dresses at Dream Weavers; it’s right across the street from the Brier Café.”

“I have no idea where that is. I’m new in town.”

“It’s on Main. You can’t miss it.” I had no idea why I was being so dismissive. I imagined myself pressed against his chest with his arms wrapped around me.

He raised his eyebrows. My gaze darted over his tattooed arms. God, he was hot. He was older than me by a few years. I could tell by the chiseled angles of his jaw and the rough morning stubble on his chin. The look in his eyes told me he had taken his share of hard blows.

He was so unlike Rose’s dad. Jessy had been a sweet kid who liked skateboarding in parking lots after school. It wasn’t until later that he started getting into real trouble — trouble I didn’t know about until it was too late.

“Why don’t you show me where it is? We can get some coffee at that café and you can point it out.”

Was he seriously asking me out? I felt self-conscious and glanced down at my sweatshirt. Sure enough, I had a baby cereal stain on my chest. Why was this guy paying any attention to me? I looked into his eyes, and something about his presence made me feel safe. I could fall into those eyes and escape my troubles forever.

“Sure,” I said. My head felt submerged underwater. I agreed to go out for coffee with Mr. Tattooed Hotness. He was so the type old Claire would have gone for. New Claire, though? New Claire didn’t even have a type. New Claire had an appointment with Social Services and an overdue utility bill. “Just let me get what I need here.”

I pushed my cart toward the cotton fabric. I checked the price and felt a rush of pleasure knowing I had a wad of cash in my pocket. I drew the bolt from the shelf and put it in my cart. Moving down the aisle to the dyes, I pulled rich purple, golden yellow, and hot pink from the shelves. I needed a few more zippers and thread spools, so I picked up those as well.

When I had everything, I went to the register. Damien stood behind me with his art supplies. Ethel looked at me like I was a good girl gone bad. That was the worst thing about living in a small town. No one ever gave you a break. I paid, then Damien did, and we took our bags out into the parking lot.

The late June sun shone soft and warm on my face. Rose shifted in my arms and wanted to get down. I put my fabric in the backseat of my car with one hand while holding Rose in the other arm. Damien hurried to help me. Frustration swirled in my brain. I should be able to do everything myself, so why did I like his help so much?

“The café is right down the street,” I said, pointing.

We strolled down the street side by side. I could sense his rich masculine vitality next to me. It felt complete to be beside him. Having a kid alone was like missing an essential part of the equation. My mind jumped into delusional fantasies about us living happily ever after, growing tomatoes and stuff.

Main Street was lined with small local shops and wide sidewalks. Diagonal parking narrowed the two-lane road, allowing the tourist traffic off the highway to find plenty of room to spend their money in our stores. Across the street, an ancient Ace Hardware shared a wall with Dream Weavers. Beyond Dream Weavers, a metaphysical bookstore nestled against an empty storefront. Damien and I passed a store that sold sterling silver jewelry, incense, and hash pipes on our way to the restaurant.

We stood outside Brier Café. It had big windows looking out on the street with blue-and-white checkered curtains. Under the blue awnings were a few white-painted iron tables and chairs with the same old men playing checkers as did every day.

Inside, it smelled of bacon and coffee. The tinkle of conversation filled the small restaurant. Zoe worked at the Brier Café. I got a massive lump in my throat wondering what she would think about me coming in with Damien. Unlike me, Zoe had no problem being a normal young woman. She didn’t sleep around, but she wasn’t a virgin mother like me.

We took a seat near the window looking out on Main Street and the guys playing checkers outside. I placed Rose in a high chair and grabbed a menu from between the napkin holder and the ketchup. I was so hungry my stomach grumbled at the prospect of food. I hadn’t had anything but coffee all day. You would think with the lack of food in my life, I would have lost all my baby weight already, but no — it was still holding on for dear life.

“Dream Weavers is just across the street. See?” I pointed to the dress shop with its striped gray-and-white awning and stylish scrolled signage on the façade. Why did he care about my clothes? What guy likes looking at dresses?