Page 23 of Rome
I’d gotten used to dealing with it, since it had been happening for years. It started my first week here. I’d just been eighteen years old, still a prospect then and just starting my apprenticeship, but that hadn’t made any difference. Giggling college girls, emo goth dropouts, and bored soccer moms looking for a walk on the wild side had all come on to me, and I ate that shit up at first. Abby had still been underage then, so I’d had to keep my distance from her. I’d been single, lovesick, and horny as fuck. I was ashamed to think of how many women I’d taken up on the offer for a blowjob, or a quick fuck in the back room, but I couldn’t change that now.
Since Abby and I had gotten together though, I’d become adept at fielding their passes, politely declining their offers, and evading their wandering hands. Today though, I just didn’t have the patience for that shit. I’d barely hidden my eyeroll when the first woman slipped me her number. I was less than tactful when I handed it back to her with a sneer and flashed my wedding ring at her.
The second woman wanted a handprint inked on the cheek of her ass. She became angry when I declined to use my own hand as the model for the design, even offering to let me smack her ass, and then trace the imprint left behind. I probably could have handled it better than snarling “Fuck, no. Get out.” She did, but not before threatening to leave a shitty online review. What the fuck ever. Go for it, bitch.
After the third woman tried to grab my junk as I leaned over to ink a feather just under her collarbone, I’d given the damned cunt a harsh lecture on the definition of sexual assault and kicked her out, too. After that, I told Lacey I wouldn’t take any other female walk-ins for the rest of the day.
“Understood, boss,” she’d said, not even trying to hide her raised brows and widened eyes as she’d watched the last woman storm out the door to her car, grumbling about assholes who ought to be flattered that she’d wanted to touch them. Yeah, that was so not gonna fucking happen.
That’s how I found myself inking a chihuahua – wearing a yellow, polka-dot bikini, a tiara, and smoking a joint, of all fucking things – onto the scrawny bicep of a seventy-four-year-old man. “That’s my Daphne,” the man told me proudly, showing me a picture of the little mutt on his phone. I just drew up what he asked for and didn’t bother asking questions like I normally would have. I just didn’t have it in me to deal with people today. I also wasn’t sure I really wanted to know the answers in this particular situation.
Saint and Dax gave me a wide berth, making Lacey deal with me all afternoon. When Christy stormed in like she owned the place a little after six o’clock, I’d fucking had it. I was in my suite, alone, working on a design for a client who was coming in next week. I was finally able to relax as I let my art put me in the zone. My focus was destroyed when I heard a familiar screech from the lobby.
I stood up so fast that the stool I’d been sitting on shot out from under me and hit the wall. I flung open the door and stomped down the hall to see Christy standing nose-to-nose with Lacey, who was blocking the way so Christy couldn’t get down the hall to my suite.
“It’s OK, Lace. I’ve got it from here, thanks,” I said from behind her. Lacey glanced over her shoulder at me and shot me a sympathetic look. She was familiar with my egg donor from previous visits to the shop.
“Let’s talk outside,” I muttered, grabbing Christy by the elbow, and marching her out the door.
“Dammit, Rome, let go of me.”
I ignored the smoke-roughened voice as I pulled her away from the entrance, stopping at the corner of the building near where her rusted-out car was parked.
I wasn’t too gentle as I jerked her around to face me, and I let all of the pent-up anger from the week’s ongoing shitshow bleed into my tone.
“What the fuck are you doin’ here, Christy?”
She flinched at the rage in my voice, then squared her shoulders and tried to brazen her way through it. “I needed to see you.”
“I figured that out. Question is, why?” I cocked my head and raised one brow. “Wait, let me guess. You need some fuckin’ cash, just to get by this week. Am I right?”
Christy’s eyes narrowed at my sarcasm, then she flipped her over-processed blonde hair over one scrawny shoulder and scratched at her neck. I took a good look at her then, shocked at how fucking bad she really looked. Her make-up was caked on, trying to cover up the extra wrinkles she had from too many cigarettes and way too many sessions in a tanning bed over the years.
She’d always been thin, but now she was nothing but skin and bones, dressed in a low-cut leopard print shirt that showed way too much of the shitty boob job she’d gotten years ago. She had on a tiny black skirt that would have made a hooker blush. The idea that she was running around with her tits and ass hanging half out was enough to make my stomach turn. The ankle monitor, courtesy of her recent DUI conviction, and the clear acrylic platform heels she was wearing completed the Stripper Barbie look that she seemed to be going for.
“Look, Rome, I just need a little bit. I’m short on rent this month, and my landlord is on my ass about it. Just a couple hundred dollars, baby. That’s all I need.” She fidgeted under my stare, shifting her weight on her feet, and scratching her arm. If I had to guess, she was tweaking, bad.
“What are you on?” I demanded harshly. She tried to glare at me, but dropped her gaze after a few seconds, then reached up to scratch at her neck again.
“Nothin’ baby. You know I gotta get tested for the court.” She pointed down toward the ankle monitor. “Now come on, are you gonna give me the cash?”
“Nope.”
“What the fuck do you mean, nope? You’re gonna let them put me out of my place? You’re gonna make me live in my fuckin’ car?”
“I’m not making you do anything, Christy. Why aren’t you working?”
“I got kicked out of my salon space after some bitch complained about my damned ankle monitor,” she whined, and the sound made me cringe like nails on a chalkboard. “Like it’s my fault the court made me wear it.”
“You are un-fucking-believable. Of course it’s your fault. You drove your car into a ditch while you were drunk.You did that. Nobody else. You’re just lucky you didn’t hurt anybody, or your ass would be in prison now.” I shook my head in disgust. “I’m not givin’ you any money.”
“But Rome, I – “
“I’m done,” I snarled, getting right in her face so there was no way for her to ignore what I was saying. “I am fuckin’ done with you. Don’t call me, don’t text me, don’t show up at my house, and don’t show up here. I’d hate to have to contact your probation officer to report that you’re using. You and I both know there’s no fuckin’ way you’d pass if he calls you in for a piss test.”
She had the audacity to look hurt. “You would do that to your mother?”
“No, but I’d do it toyouin a heartbeat. You’re no mother to me. Never were. Now get gone.” I turned on my heel and stormed back into the shop, trying to get my temper under control before I put my fist through the wall.
