Masquerade (5 page)

I talked to Laney once and she mentioned how Adrian is always paying attention. Not that she wants to hide anything from him, but that it’s almost impossible to because he notices things. It wasn’t like I really wanted to sit and have a heart-to-heart with her about her boyfriend, but I’d listened to her, partly because he makes me curious.

I know who I am. It might not be pretty, but I’m honest about it. I’m shut down now, and honestly, I can’t imagine how he does it. I gave him shit and called him a pussy for walking out on Laney and I do believe that, but I also know he’s a better man than I am. I couldn’t be with someone if her family took from me what ours took from him.

Laney said he grew up with an abusive dad. That he kind of lived inside himself, making him see the world and other people differently. I don’t fully get it, but I guess it kind of explains how he notices more than other people do. Why he looks a little deeper.

That’s never been me, except when I had sex with Bee today I suddenly saw a part of her that is buried a little deeper.

I watched her eyes as she began to close off when we were having sex. How there was this sort of veil that separates her from other people. I’ve been with women I knew a whole lot less than I know her, yet there was still some kind of emotion, feelings. Something there that Bee doesn’t have. Or that she keeps locked away.

She lost it afterward when she gave me shit about my piercing, but then when I asked her about her name, it was right back. Not that I’m not pissed at myself for bringing it up anyway.

“You see how I’m doing the shading right here?” Her question wakes me up from wherever I was. “Shading is an art in itself. Not everyone can do it well, but if you can, it’s going to make your piece stand out.”

I watch her hand guide the gun along his skin. The brushed blackness of her shading showing me the branches blowing in the wind. His skin is red, little beads of blood pushing to the surface and mixing with the ink and Vaseline. Bee wipes it away.

Fuck she’s good.

“Is the pressure the same when you have the shader on?” I ask her.

Her eyes don’t leave her work as she speaks. “Less pressure for shading and the amp is almost always turned down.”

I nod and keep watching her work, the look of concentration on her face. When I was at the old shop, it wasn’t like this. He basically admitted that it was a way to make money for him. It’s not like that with Bee. You can see how important it is to her, making me feel like a piece of shit because even though I want this, I don’t know if anything other than my sister has ever mattered to me as much as tattooing obviously matters to her.

It takes about three hours for her to finish Dustin’s tat. The whole time I study everything she does and ask questions even though it’s not like me. It’s almost like needing someone and I won’t let myself need anyone, but then, I think maybe someday I could look at tattooing the way she does.

After she’s done, I wash my hands before cleaning his tat, wrapping it and giving him a sheet with the aftercare instructions. Dustin thanks her and then he’s gone, leaving just the two of us again.

She has her back to me, her nice, little ass perfectly shaped in the tight jeans she’s wearing. I wish like hell I could touch her again, because she’s gorgeous and I want to study every bit of ink on her body.

Without turning to look at me, she says, “Good call on the bird.”

I shrug, turning away from her, too, because seeing that bird was nothing. “It wasn’t a big deal.”
Was it?

“Yeah it was.” I can tell by the sound of her voice that she’s facing me, so I follow her lead. If she can brave looking at me, I need to man up and do the same.

“All I did was say what I saw.”

“Which makes it even more incredible. Not a lot of people would have seen it.
I
drew the fucking thing and I didn’t see it until you mentioned it. You have instinct and you’re not afraid to look for things that might not always be there. A good eye is a good quality to have. I don’t give compliments often, so when I do, you know it’s real.”

For a second, I just stand there. My throat feeling all fucking tight for some reason. I don’t know what to say. I don’t need her to tell me she doesn’t give compliments often to know it’s true, but hearing what she said? It’s almost like this sort of respect in her voice that I’ve never heard from her before.

Even as I want to tell her thank you, my skin feels itchy too. Her words scratch across my skin like that needle on the gun, like they want to push below the surface the same way the ink does when she’s creating magic on someone’s body.

“It’s hard to take credit for something that I didn’t really have to work for.” There’s a good chance she’ll take that the wrong way and maybe some people would, but she nods.

“Fair enough.”

We clean the equipment and put everything away. I’m suddenly craving a cigarette even though they aren’t usually something I crave—they’re just something I compulsively do.

“I’m going outside for a smoke.”

I’m surprised when she follows me out. I lean against the building on one side of the door while she sits on the ground, the side of the building holding her up.

“It’s a good thing I slept with you before I knew you smoked—otherwise we both would have missed out on a good time.”

“Twice,” I tease her before taking a drag. Though I have to admit, it’s a relief she can joke about it.

“Don’t remind me.”

I don’t even consider getting offended because I feel the same way she does.

Surprise takes over me when I open my mouth and say, “Is it fucked up that we can sit around and joke about having sex with each other like this? I’ve never spent a lot of time with anyone I’ve been with.”

“Slut,” she teases. “Who knows if it’s fucked up or not? I don’t care. You don’t care. That’s why it works. We both want the same thing, so it’s not like we’re going to get all attached or get our feelings hurt because the other doesn’t call the next day, ya know? We both know what it is.”

“What is
was
.” The need to stress that comes out of nowhere. Even talking like this feels foreign to me. I don’t do shit like this.

“Exactly.” She moves slightly and something makes me walk over and hold my hand out. I feel like an idiot for a second, but then Bee grabs it and lets me help her up. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” After putting out my cigarette, we go inside.

“I feel like getting out tonight.”

The way she says it makes me think there’s more to it than that. Maybe not that she feels like it, but she needs to.
What the hell is my problem? Why do I think I suddenly know this girl?
It’s not like I’ve ever tried to figure anyone out before. I’m not sure why it keeps happening with Bee.

Because she’s like me…

“I’m down to go to Lunar.” It’s not like I’d be doing anything except sitting in my apartment anyway.

“Yeah?” She stalls for a second. “We could do that. Have a beer or something.”

“Typical thing for people to do after work.”

“And like we said before, we both know there’s nothing more than that going on.”

I leave it at that. It doesn’t matter if we end up going or not. I don’t want to get into some big fucking conversation on if, why, or when we’ll go have a drink. Instead, I do a quick sweep of Masquerade. When I don’t find anything I missed while cleaning up, I tell Bee, “I’m going to go. I have some shit to take care of. Let me know if you wanna go and I’ll meet you there.”

She nods. I make it to the door and pull it open before she speaks. “Maddox?”

“Yeah?” I don’t turn around to face her.

“Thanks.”

There’s more than one thing she could be thanking me for: the bird in the tattoo, cleaning up the shop, talking to her, or even some of the shit that went down in her office. But I wonder if it’s maybe a combination of all of them.

With a simple nod, I walk out, knowing both of us will do better without verbally acknowledging her gratitude.

* * *

Bee doesn’t call until 9:00 p.m. I change my shirt before heading toward Lunar. I’d already showered.

It doesn’t take me long to get there. I’m surprised to find Bee waiting outside for me. I figured she would have gone in.

She’s wearing this short black skirt and her shirt is another tank top, this one camo.

When I reach her, the stupidest fucking thing comes out of my mouth. “I don’t do anything more than T-shirts.” Anger then starts sizzling through me. Why the hell did I say that? It doesn’t matter what I wear and even if she did care, I don’t.

“Let me give you a hint, Maddox. When you look as good as you do, women don’t need you to wear anything more than a T-shirt. They’re hoping to get you out of it anyway.”

Her words throw water on the flames of my anger, but all they do is burn to life again, but this time blending with lust. I don’t say shit like “I don’t do anything more than T-shirts,” and knowing I did puts me on edge. Yet hearing her say she thinks I’m sexy too? It makes me want her again. “Let’s go inside.”

Since it’s not a weekend, there isn’t a line. Not that we would have to stand in one anyway. It doesn’t mean it’s not busy inside. The music is still loud, drunk people still everywhere, dancing, drinking, and looking for someone to take home.

It’s already getting old spending my nights here.

Trevor is behind the bar like always. He never takes a night off. It’s different than it is with his brother, who keeps to himself and only wants to get shit done. Trevor likes to be here because he never shuts up, and when he’s at Lunar, there’s always someone for him to talk to. Like when he let Bee in the Back Room. He’s the type who thinks shit like that is funny, seeing how people react.

The bar’s crowded when we walk up. Trevor and some other bartender I don’t really know are handing out drinks. Bee’s right by my side as we wait. It takes a few minutes before it clears out a little and we step up. Trevor makes his way right over to us.

“Corona with a lime?” He winks at Bee.

“Shot of tequila.” She winks right back.

“You’re breakin’ my heart, darlin’.”

“Pfft.” I cross my arms. What a fucking idiot.

They both ignore me, and she has to yell over the music. “What I drink depends on my mood and what my plans are.” I can’t help but wonder what her response means.

Trevor looks over at me. “Coors?”

I nod. When I drink, it’s only ever a beer or two.

Trevor pours her shot first and then hands me my bottle. We both watch as Bee shakes a little salt on her hand, licks it, downs the shot, and then sucks on a lime.

“Do that often?” I raise an eyebrow at her.

“Nope.” Leaning back on my barstool, I take a gulp of my beer. Trevor’s standing in front of us and it’s annoying the fuck out of me. “We’ll let you know if we need anything else.”

He laughs and holds up his hand. “I got you, man. My bad.” And then he walks down the bar.

“Idiot,” I mumble.

“He’s got you, huh?” Bee grins.

Even though I heard her, I lean close anyway. “What?” My mouth’s close to her ear, which puts her close to mine too.

I repeat what he said. “Just giving you shit, but somehow I think you know that.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” I say, even closer to her than I was before, and then I back away.

Bee rolls her eyes, but I can see the smirk on her face. We sit there quietly for a few minutes, me drinking my beer while she sways her body to the music. Fucking A, this woman is trying to get to me, but I refuse to sleep with her again. It’s not going to happen. I’ve got a good thing going as her apprentice and I don’t want to ruin it. She already shakes me up too much as it is.

The other bartender heads our way and Bee orders another shot. I watch her take that one, too, watch her swallow, her lips as they close over the lime, wishing like hell I could feel that mouth on other parts of my body.

“Dance with me, Scratch.” Bee grabs my hand, but I shake my head.

“I don’t dance. Even if I did, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” My eyes are on her hard, showing her what I mean by that.

“You’re right. First guy I’ve ever met who thinks with the right head.”

“I don’t want to. Believe me, I really don’t fucking want to.”

“That’s my cue to go. I’ll be out there.” She nods toward the dance floor and starts to walk away. I down the rest of my beer as I watch her go.

“You’re a fucking idiot, Cross.” Trevor grabs my bottle, but I don’t reply.

Bee rolls her hips, her arms in the air as her body keeps perfect beat with the music. She’s all confidence out there, open and obviously enjoying herself in a way I’ve never seen her. Those walls aren’t up. She’s not hiding behind her veil or sarcasm—just losing herself in the song.

She’s out there forever, coming up for another shot before heading right back to the dance floor.

As she’s moving, some guy with a Mohawk slips behind her. My hands fist and my teeth grind together. Bee turns toward him and says something. He laughs, making my anger kick up another notch; then he holds up his hands, like he’s surrendering before taking a couple steps away.

She goes right back into dancing but Mohawk is still close behind her. Easing forward, I sit up straighter, my feet planted on the ground as I fight the urge to stand up and go over there. It’s not my business. She’s not mine and I don’t want her to be.

But what if he won’t leave her alone?

I don’t want to protect someone else.

It’s so much fucking pressure to be what other people need you to be. Especially when you fail at it over and over like I did. I tried so fucking hard for Laney, but she’s my sister. I don’t give a shit about anyone else.

When Mohawk turns back to her, trying to dance and grind against her ass, I push to my feet. Trevor grabs my arm.

“A woman like her doesn’t need to be protected. She’s only going to get pissed at you for trying.”

Jerking my arm away, I head toward Bee. Fuck what Trevor said or if he’s right. Fuck if Bee gets pissed at me or not, and fuck that stupid voice in my head telling me to back off. That I’ve dealt with too much of other people’s shit in my life. That there’s a hundred other guys in here who can step in so I don’t have to get involved. I’m not going to let any guy give her or anyone shit while I’m here.