Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“And you all realized you had an interest in tattooing?” she asks.
“We all had an interest in art,” I tell her. “Most of us sketched when we had the opportunity, and we talked with each other about the types of creative jobs we might have when we got out.”
As Hutch carries platters out to the dining table, he says, “Zipper knew he was going to be a tattoo artist. The more he talked about it, the better it sounded.”
“It’s clear from all of the pictures I’ve seen that you definitely went into the right line of work.”
“Thanks,” is all Hutch says, but I see by the way he dips his head that Rose’s compliment means a lot. Hutch was probably the least artistically inclined out of all of us when we met, but whatever he lacks in creativity, he’s more than made up for in technical skills. He does the best line work in the shop, though I’d never tell him that.
“Are you ready to eat?” I ask Rose.
“Absolutely,” she says, rising from the couch. “It smells delicious.”
Hutch offers her a chair at the table, and pushes it in for her, beating me to it.
“Oh, it looks good, too,” she says as I place the chicken and pasta dishes in the center of the table. “You made all of this?”
“Hutch and I did. All but the rolls. And Zipper helped with the salad.”
“I’m so impressed.”
“Go ahead and start passing dishes. I’ll get the wine.”
I’m surprised Hutch or Mace didn’t already bring the wine over, but they’re probably both too distracted by Rose to care about beverages.
Hutch holds the big pasta bowl so Rose can serve herself, and when she only puts a small helping onto her plate, he says, “Take more. You need to eat.”
Her big eyes are wide as she looks up at him, and then she does as he instructs.
I move around the table pouring wine, and when that’s done, I take my seat and raise my drink. “Let’s toast. To our first dinner together.”
We clink glasses, and I take a quick drink, but my eyes are on Rose, and I’m not the only one watching the way her throat moves when she swallows, and how her tongue darts out to collect a drop of wine from her plump pink lips.
10
ROSE
Every once in a while, I glance down to make sure my heart hasn’t beaten right out of my chest. When it’s not nerves making my pulse pound, it’s attraction, because being in such close proximity to these four men, here in the privacy of their home, is a lot to handle.
I swear that even if I were to close my eyes, I’d still feel their presence, and even that would have my heart skipping beats.
I’m pleased to see that even though I sometimes catch the men arguing at the shop, they seem to have an easy rhythm in the way they interact with one another here, getting out dishes, passing food, handling the flow of conversation. Only Hutch and Christian do much talking, and Zipper seems his usual grumpy self, but I can sense the camaraderie among the men. For the most part, they also seem more at ease here, but I guess that makes sense.
“This food really is incredible,” I say when I’m halfway through my pasta.
“It’s easy, actually,” Christian says.
“I bet you’re just saying that. It tastes like you spent all day cooking this.”
“It’s all about good ingredients.”
I twirl my fork in the noodles and bring a small bite to my mouth, savoring the rich creaminess of the sauce. I must be enjoying it a little too much, because when I look up, I find Hutch and Mace both watching me, their eyes on my lips before they see me looking.
“So I noticed a lot of different styles of art at your shop,” I say, feeling the need to say something, even if only to distract me and help me stay calm. “Do you each specialize in a different style?”
“Somewhat,” Christian says. “We all do a variety of styles, but we each have our favorites.”
As we eat our meals, I keep them talking about their work. Hutch and Christian give me the most information, and Mace contributes to the conversation once or twice. Zipper is quiet, but he appears to be engaged in listening to everything.
When my wine glass is around half full, I accept more from Christian, another tool to help calm my nerves. The men all eat heartily, and when we’re done, they bring out dessert.
“Don’t tell me you made this, too?” I ask. It appears to be tiramisu, with layers of creamy filling dusted with cocoa.
Christian nods.
“Are you going to tell me this was easy, too?”
Hutch laughs, and Christian says, “Not as easy as the dinner.”
I’m guessing they don’t eat like this every night, and I’m very flattered that they went to the trouble. No one’s ever done anything like this for me.