Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 130380 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130380 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Instead, I wanted to throttle him.
I didn’t know which option upset me more — the one where he took pity on me and my low cash fund and decided to be a savior by purchasing me a bunch of stupid candles, or the one where he actually wasn’t showing pity, but kindness, and thoughtfulness.
Okay, it was definitely that one.
The fact that he could possibly be a good human being went against everything I’d believed about him since that summer in high school. When he did things like this, it was almost like he was that boy I talked to until early in the morning, the one who had layers he didn’t let anyone else see but me.
I much preferred believing he was a self-centered asshole.
My hand hurt from how hard I’d been gripping the writing tool I used on my iPad, and I flexed my fingers as I leaned away from the screen and studied what I’d drawn. My aim was to create an underwater-themed sleeve, and I’d achieved it.
The issue was that it looked like every other fucking tattoo artist in the world.
I bit back a huff as I tapped the menu, and I was a second away from trashing the entire thing when my wrist was snatched in a fierce grip.
“Whoa, whoa,” Nero said, frowning at me and then the screen. “I know you weren’t about to delete this.”
“It’s garbage.”
His hand softened where it held my wrist, and I almost thought I felt him smooth his thumb over my skin as he released me and grabbed the pen out of my hand.
“It’s very good,” he argued, and his eyes studied the screen for a long moment before he tapped the butt end of the pen to where I’d drawn coral reef connecting the massive stingray on the upper arm down to the sand and shells of the forearm. “This isn’t you, though.”
I sighed. “I know.”
“So why’d you draw it?”
“Because I don’t fucking know what else to put there.”
Nero frowned more as I crossed my arms like a child and sat back in my chair. He dropped the pen to the desk. “What’s wrong?”
I looked at him, at the screen, then at my shoes as I sighed. “Just a bad night.”
He nodded, then rounded until he was standing behind me. Without warning, his gargantuan hands wrapped around my shoulders, and he began to knead the tense muscles.
I wanted to sigh with how good it felt, those massive fingers pressing into my sore muscles. A groan I didn’t want to release came out without permission, because it felt good to be touched, and my muscles needed the release.
But when his hands swept over me in a slower motion, when I felt the heat of him behind me, my body went rigid.
Nero was my boss — my married boss — and him rubbing my shoulders felt a whole lot like it shouldn’t be happening.
“You need to relax,” he said, his voice low from where he stood above me. I still hadn’t unfolded my arms, and even as he worked the muscles, I only tensed under his touch. We had always been friendly with each other. Flirty? Maybe occasionally.
But he’d never touched me, not like this.
And everything about it gave me the ick.
“You’re so focused on finding your style that you’re suffocating your creativity and any chance it has of showing you what it can do.”
That made me soften a bit.
He wasn’t being weird. He was just trying to calm me down, to guide me as his apprentice. I blamed my bitter attitude and general annoyance with men at the moment for assuming the worst.
If Nero only knew the main reason for the knots of stress in my neck were from my roommate and my rather inconvenient feelings about him.
“It’s just confusing,” I said, deciding to focus on what I did feel regarding my apprenticeship and stay away from any other thoughts swimming in my head. “I feel like I’m ready to start with my own clients, but I also feel like I have nothing to offer that they can’t find from someone else.”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
I frowned up at him, and he squeezed my shoulders once more before rounding me and plopping down on the stool to my right. He grabbed the edge of my chair and rolled me over to him, until I was almost in-between his spread legs.
“Everything you want will come in time,” he promised me. “But you’re holding yourself back waiting for perfection when the truth is that you just need to practice. You’ve worked on several skins now,” he reminded me. “All of which have been beyond happy with your work. So tell me — why aren’t you?”
I could barely focus on anything he said because I was in-between his legs, and his hands were on my knees now, holding me in a way that was far more intimate than a boss and employee.