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.
“You’re right,” I said with a sticky voice, trying to slowly back out of his touch. “I’ll… I’ll focus on relaxing.”
“Good,” he said, and then he eliminated what little space I’d managed to put between us. His eyes searched mine, and then he reached out and tucked my hair behind one ear. “You’re talented, Mary. And fucking beautiful, too. That combination will take you far in this career.”
My skin crawled at his close attention, stomach roiling violently as I chanted no no no over and over in my head.
I looked up to Nero. I respected him. Everything I’d learned in the last year had come from the same hands still squeezing my knees.
When he leaned in just a centimeter, I panicked, hopping up and breaking all contact.
“Fuck, man,” I said on a laugh, running my hands through my hair. “What a night. Nothing an edible can’t fix.”
Nero chuckled, slipping back into the persona of the boss I knew as he braced his hands on his knees and stood. “Get out of here and go wind down. It’s slow, anyway, and I can clean up.”
“You’re sure?” I asked even as I started packing up my bag. I had to get out of there. Now.
“I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow. And hey,” he said, grabbing me by the shoulders and hauling me up to look at him again. I fought the urge to squirm out of his hold. “It’s going to be okay. You’re doing great. And you’ll have your own spot in this shop before you know it.”
My heart did a somersault.
If he’d said this to me even ten minutes ago, I would have leapt into his arms.
Now, I wondered if he meant it, if I really was ready, if I deserved to have my own chair and clients to fill it.
Or if he just wanted in my pants.
“Thanks, Nero,” I said.
I squirmed out of his hold without another word and darted out the door, trying and failing to calm my breaths as I fumbled for my keys on the way to my car. Once I was inside, I locked the doors as if that could keep out the questions assaulting me.
What the hell was that?
Was he… hitting on me?
I shook my head even as I thought it, sure I was wrong.
Then, I shook my head at myself for not trusting in my gut that I knew was the only thing I could really rely on.
But to actually believe he was hitting on me? What would that mean for my apprenticeship, for the last year of my life, for my future, my career?
What about his wife?
It made me sick to even consider, so I banished all thought with a squeal of my tires out of the parking lot and a twist of the volume knob on my stereo. I blasted The White Stripes, rolling down all my windows and letting the cool evening air waft in.