Razor's Edge (Afflictions) (5 page)

"Dude. If you don’t–"

"I said give me a minute!" I flinch at my shout, hoping Shay didn’t hear me. My trip into the memories I’ve laid to rest has me irritable. Given the time I’ve been in here, she probably does think I’m a low-life druggie or that I took the biggest dump of my life.

The knocking turns into pounding.
Fuckin’ A. Can’t a guy take a leak in peace?
I fling the door open so hard it smacks against the wall. "What?"

A pair of beautiful sea green eyes looks up at me with confusion.

Fuck!

             
Six

Shay

Morgan’s blue eyes shoot icicles to my heart. I freeze. Earlier I couldn’t keep my mouth from running. When I get nervous, it just says whatever’s on my mind. I didn’t mean to accuse him of being a junkie. It’s just... well, I’ve had too many customers in the past shoot up in my bathroom. I’ve never allowed it, but Gary always did.

The way his eyes looked, all dark and bloodshot—I’ve seen the same in Gary’s after a three-night bender. I resist the urge to see if he’s left any paraphernalia in the waste bin next to the toilet, and try to keep accusation out of my eyes. The thing is, he’s been in here the whole time I was outside smoking a cigarette.

His friend Bryan leans against the stairs and mean-mugs him.

Is Morgan a druggie, and that’s why his friend looks like that? Morgan told me he’s never used hard drugs, but junkies have lied to me countless times before.

Morgan runs a hand through his spiky black hair. "Sorry, I thought you were Bryan."

Stepping aside, he passes me and parts the beads, retreating into the shop. Bryan ducks behind me into the bathroom, and slams the door before I can even ask if Morgan lied about using drugs.

The bikers that come in here know and respect my wishes because they understand I have a kid living upstairs.
I might have to set this group straight.
Bryan didn’t look like he was high, but some people are good at hiding it.

The bathroom door opens and Bryan walks into the hall, brows arched over brown eyes. He runs a hand over his blue Mohawk and scratches his neck.

Yeah, I waited for him. If Morgan lied I’m sure his friend will know the truth. Would he tell me if he’s a junkie, too? He doesn’t know about the convo Morgan and I had. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

He grins. "Sure, but if it’s about my size, ask my girlfriend, Lina. I don’t think she likes me to share that info."

I shake my head and bite back a laugh. "You’ve been friends with Morgan a while?"

"Yeah. Why?" His brown eyes sparkle and it looks like he’s trying to hold in a laugh. "You like him?"

Like him? I don’t even know him. Sure, he's sexy as hell, but— "Is he on something?"

"What do you mean?"

Seriously?
"Speed? Coke? Smack? Ecstasy? Shrooms? Do I really have to name them all?"

“Why? You dealing?” He laughs. When he sees that I don’t think it’s funny, he sighs. "Just
messin’ with you. No, I can honestly say Morgan is drug free. Why’d you think that?"

"His eyes–"

"He had a rough night. A record producer came out to see our show, and we didn’t do so great." He makes his way down the hall and I follow him.

"That sucks. But I thought you guys were great." More like Morgan was great. The way he commanded the stage replays in my mind like it’s been doing all day. When I remember the part where it felt like he was staring straight at me, my stomach flutters again.

"Thanks." Bryan pushes through the beaded curtain out into my shop.

My heart is somewhere in my throat, and after the run-in I had with Morgan, I’m a little apprehensive about joining everyone. That’s nuts. I shouldn’t be feeling this
way. Who cares what he thinks? So what, I’m a blunt person. If he doesn’t like it, he doesn’t have to be here. I part the beads and try to act cool.

"What the hell were you two doing back there?"
Bebe laughs and waggles her brows, then goes back to tattooing the blond guy in her chair.

The redhead under Tryst’s gun shoots me a glare.
Must be Bryan’s girlfriend, Lina
.

Bryan moves to her side and whispers in her ear. She looks at me and laughs.

What the hell is so funny?
I look around the room and see Morgan lounging in Gary’s unused chair. He’s eying me.
Ignore him.

"Who needs a
tatt?" I glance at Bryan.

He shakes his head. "Waiting on Tryst. Think I should get it done by the same guy who's doing my girlfriend."

Morgan’s misplaced laughter has me turning my head. He shakes his then reaches for the hem of his shirt. Every inch of his smooth, tan muscles bunch. His biceps, pecs and abs all move fluidly, sending torpedoes of lightening from my head to my toes. I stare and probably look like a crazy person hopped up on too many meds.

"Hey, space cadet?"
Bebe pulls me from my stupor and nods toward Morgan. "Are you going to do him or what?"

Do
him?
Hell yeah, I want to do him. But not the way Bebe’s implying. That’s a very dangerous thought. The man has “another Gary” written all over him. He’s the bad boy type I fell for long ago. Him sitting in Gary’s chair slams the truth home.
Ben
. I have to think about him. That means no more Mr. Wrongs.

Morgan smiles and his lip ring shines. "So, you
gonna work on me?"

God, that lip ring.

The image of taking his mouth then slowly kissing my way down his body clouds my thoughts. Having complete power over him while he sits in my chair has my core clenching and wishing that we were the only ones in the shop. It's odd—I haven't had sexual thoughts about a man since Gary, over three years ago. Why am I having them now? But damn, the man screams “sex god.”

Okay girl, chill.
It isn’t going to happen.
Not going to happen for so many reasons. He may not be a junkie, but the man is setting off warning bells in my head. Getting too worked up over him could be dangerous. I shake the images of my fantasy out of my head and cross the room to my chair. "Follow me."

"There’s a gun and ink over here."

Tryst and Bebe both stop working. Tryst’s looking at me with an arched brow, and Bebe looks like she’s waiting for me to slip a needle. No one uses Gary’s chair or his equipment. It’s the unwritten rule of the shop.

I clear my throat. "I’m more comfortable with my own gun."

Morgan’s eyes search mine from across the room, probably looking for clues to my sanity. God knows I’ve only acted like a wacko since I’ve met him.
I haven’t met him. Not formally.

He sighs, then grabs his shirt and strolls over to my chair. He plops down, and the enchanting scent of Egyptian musk hits me. It's like the smell of the sandalwood incense I burn, only darker, spicier, and maybe a little herbal. Spellbound, my body wants to crawl into his arms so it surrounds me.
That's ludicrous.
I shake my head to clear the cloud of his provocative aroma and try not to breathe in too deep.

He hands me a picture of a flaming rock crushing into a skull—his band’s logo. I recognize it from the flyer earlier.

"I want it on my right pec."

His chest rises and falls with each breath, and I hold mine. My fingers twitch with the urge to touch him. Besides
a few sporadic tatts along his abs, both pecs are ink free. Lightly running my hand over the spot where his tattoo will be, tiny zaps of electricity tingle my palm. He laughs and his chest vibrates. I snatch my hand away as though he just bit me.

"That tickled." His voice is as dark as his eyes and my stomach flips.

My cheeks heat. "Sorry. Just checking the spot where I'm gonna put the tatt." It's a lie. I didn't need to. My hand worked as if something else was moving it.
Spellbound indeed
. "Why the right?"

His blue gaze has me stumbling onto my stool. "I’m saving the left for something special." 

#####

Fifteen minutes later, I have his band’s logo on tracing paper. My gun is ready to go with a tight round, size three needle. It’s great for outlining. Heart pounding, I run my hand over his smooth
pec to check for hair.
God, they feel amazing.
The warm, hard feel of his skin sends heat blasting to my core. I want to explore more of his well-toned body. His breath rises and falls and he coughs. Oh, yeah! Right. No need to shave him.

I spray his
pec down with a green soap solution so the stencil will stick. Carefully, I place the tracing paper over him, smooth it out, then remove it. Grabbing my mirror, I hold it so that he can see where I positioned it. "This good?"

He eyes it. "I think it needs to be a tad to the left."

Seriously?
I positioned it perfectly.

Morgan's lips quirk. "Nah, just
messin’. It’s good."

Letting out a sigh, I smile back at him and he laughs. I click on my machine and dip my needles into the black ink. Grabbing my paper towel, I wipe the spot where I’m
gonna start and then follow the line left by the tracing paper. My needles graze part of his nipple.

Morgan flinches.

I raise the gun just in time.

His
pec moves. "Sorry, won't happen again. You just startled me." He breathes in deep and plays with his lip ring. His heated stare locks on to me.

Adrenaline chases heat through my body. No man since Gary has ever made me feel this hyperaware of my femininity, and like the Shania Twain song, I feel totally like a woman. I can't do this. But then he'll think I'm even crazier if I back out. Taking a shaky breath, I try to clear my head of all things Morgan. "It's okay. Just don't move."

I’m a bundle of nerves. This is Morgan—the man who entranced me last night on stage. A replay of his performance runs through my mind and has me feeling like I am a rookie doing my first tattoo. It’s damn important that I don’t mess this up. So I try banishing the wayward, wanton thoughts and focus on the lines in front of me.

"You’re good with a needle." Morgan’s observation sounds a little strained, but he doesn’t flinch or make noises like some of my clients do.

"Thanks." I keep my focus on my needle work and do only the thick lines. I’ll have to change out the size of the needle for the thinner ones. Keeping my calm, I slowly slip into my zone. That’s where I need to be. If I talk to him, my nerves will get the best of me.

Normally I don’t have a problem concentrating and talking to the client. But the way my body is reacting to him, it’s hard to keep my focus.

"How long have you been doing this?" His words startle me, and lucky for him my hand didn’t jump.

"Since I was eighteen."

He chuckles.

I raise the needle just in time so that I don’t slip the needle or tear his skin, and let out a breath.

"Sorry. Didn’t mean to move. I don’t know your age so that doesn’t answer my question." He smirks.

God, get a grip.
It’s only a ring. Tons of clients come in here with piercings all over the place, but never has a lip ring been more attractive on a man. Some men look a little fruity with one. Not him. Hell no. I wipe his skin and continue with my line. "Thirteen years this May."

"So you’re thirty-one?"

I laugh, wipe again and put the needle to skin. "Thirty. I was born in October."

"Not much younger than me. I’m thirty-three. Born in June."

He’s watching me. I can feel his eyes, or maybe it’s the lamp. I stop, wipe again, and glance at him.
No, he’s staring at me.

"Mom."

I jump, then notice my son standing next to me. Why is he out of bed? I didn’t hear him come down the stairs. In fact, I haven’t heard much of the conversation going on with our friends. I’ve been too wrapped up in not fucking up with Morgan. Not messing up
on
Morgan, I mean.

Morgan quirks a brow.

What will he think of me now that he knows I have a kid?

Morgan

Shay’s got that “oh shit, he found out I have a kid” look on her face. It’s freakin’ adorable. I don’t know why, but I need to see this chick again, outside the tattoo shop.

Her hands on me send vibes of electricity through me. The feeling it leaves is warm and soothing. Like I could spend all day rubbing myself up against her just to prolong the sensations she gives me. Her skin is soft and she smells like an orange blossom.
I wonder what a morning in bed with her would be like.

"Why are you awake?" She’s looking at her son. He’s
freakin’ cute too, in his black PJs with white skulls. And are those skull slippers? His hair is black like hers, and other than the eyes he looks just like her.

He eyes me and the rest of the people in the shop. “I had a nightmare.”

"Aw, sweetie. I’m sorry." She bites her lip. "Do you mind if we take a break for a minute, Morgan?"

What am I supposed to do, say no? I shrug. The poor kid had a nightmare.

"Your kid sleeps in a tattoo shop?" I regret the question as I’m asking it. I don’t know her situation, so I should have kept the question to myself. If I had my damn pot and was high, my mouth wouldn’t have shot out an offensive question like that. I would have been smoother about it.

She shuts off the machine, wipes my chest, and removes her gloves. "No, he doesn’t sleep in the shop. He sleeps in my loft above it." She places a paper towel over my
pec. "I’ll be right back." She turns to her son. "Come on, Ben. I’ll tuck you in."