He brushed the soles of his boots against the sisal mat inside, hands in his coat pockets, before glancing up with a sheepish smile. “How long did you know I was out there?”
“Saw you come up the stairs.” Rhea’s heathery eyes were bright with amusement. “I thought I’d see how long it took you to try the door.”
“Employee intelligence test?”
Rhea laughed. “The opposite of what you’re thinking, though. I like mine a little bit stupid.” She meant her employees, of course, but for a split second he heard it as how she liked her men.
Before the heat in his cheeks at his foolishness could give him away, he took his hands from his pockets and blew on them, rubbing them together. “Well, you’re in luck, then, because I’m an idiot. I didn’t even think to put gloves on. Guess the joke’s on me.”
“The joke was already on you.” Rhea grinned at him, those starkly outlined irises merciless. “There’s a coatrack in the back if you want to hang your jacket up.”
“Thanks.” Leo headed past the counter to the back room, pulling off his hat as he went. At least he’d had the sense to wear it. Both the hat and coat were already significantly damp from standing in the snowfall. He found the rack and hung them on it, noting the sturdy, adjustable dentist’s-style tattoo chair. It might work in a pinch if he had to close some night and didn’t want to chance being late. Of course, he’d have to bring his own restraints, though he always carried them out of sheer necessity.
“Did you get lost back there?” Rhea’s perpetually amused voice carried from the front.
Leo tried to ruffle his hair back into place as he returned to the reception area. It was usually a losing battle, hat or no hat.
Rhea was eyeing his marks. He’d worn a T-shirt despite the cold, and the fading ink of his gauntlets and the band around his upper arm peeking out under the sleeve seemed more visible than usual under the fluorescent light.
“I thought you didn’t have any ink.”
He thought about saying he wasn’t sure it even was ink. How crazy would he sound if he said he didn’t remember getting tattooed?
“I didn’t say I didn’t have any ink. I said I didn’t have any experience with tattooing.” He glanced at his arm. “I got these done ages ago, so I’m not sure they even count anymore.”
Rhea came out from around the counter to look them over. “You must have been underage when you got them to have that much fading. Are they home jobs?”
“You could say that.” Let her think they were prison tattoos if that’s what she meant. Gang tattoos he’d gotten in juvie. Hell, maybe they were.
Rhea took his arm to inspect one of the marks more closely, and his skin rippled along his spine. “It’s nice work for a home job.” Her palm moved up his arm, warm and soft, and he flinched involuntarily. Rhea let go and took a step back. “Sorry. I should have asked first. I hate it when people touch my skin without asking just because it’s decorated.”
“No, it’s fine.” He couldn’t help wondering where she was decorated, since nothing was visible. “It’s just goose bumps. Feels like the temperature’s dropped a bit.”
Rhea tucked her hands into her back pockets, looking up at him. “Can I ask what they mean?” He hadn’t realized how stark the difference was in their heights until now, despite having dated her twin. But she seemed somehow smaller, more petite than he’d expected. He had a good six or seven inches on her.
She was still waiting for his answer.
Leo held out his right forearm. “This one is the allrune.” Two sets of three parallel lines crossed each other diagonally over three vertical lines. “It symbolizes the Web of Wyrd.”
Rhea’s eyes crinkled. “The web of what, now?”
“Wyrd.” He spelled it out to clarify. “One of the Norse fates. It’s supposed to symbolize the tapestry fate weaves.”
“Oh, Urd, sister of Skuld and Verdande.”
Leo smiled. “You know your Norns.”
“Actually, I know manga and anime.” Rhea laughed. “The series Oh My Goddess! The third Norn is called Belldandy in the series, which always made me giggle, so I do know a little bit about Norns, but only enough to know the names.”
Leo was intrigued. It was the first he’d heard of Norn manga. “I’ll have to check it out.” He held up his other arm, turning his wrist to reveal the knotted designs of the wraparound. “This one’s Mjölnir—”
“Thor’s hammer.”
Leo cocked his head. “You’re sure you don’t know Norse mythology?”
Rhea grinned. “Marvel Comics. And the other?”
One of Jörmungandr’s coils was visible under his sleeve at his right biceps. Leo pushed the sleeve up to reveal the coiling solid cuff. “The Midgard Serpent.” A look of apprehension and surprise flashed in Rhea’s eyes. “I know what you’re thinking. I have all these Nordic tattoos. I promise I’m not a Nazi skinhead. I’m just proud of my Swedish heritage. And apparently, as you’ve already noted, fairly stupid.” He smiled wryly. “I never realized most of these symbols had been co-opted by white nationalists. I tend to keep them covered most of the time.”
“I wasn’t thinking that.” Rhea’s look was guarded. She was so thinking that. “But now that you mention it, I can see where someone might make that mistake.” Uh-huh. “I have to say, though, that scruffy puppy-dog hair pretty much ruins the skinhead look for you. If that’s what you were going for, it’s another big fail.” Her laugh, letting him know she was cutting him slack, was infectious, and he found himself smiling at the warmth in her eyes. A smile he realized was probably only adding to the impression he wasn’t the brightest bulb in the pack.
But Rhea had switched into business mode. “Before I put you to work, we should probably talk pay.”
Leo rolled down his sleeve over Jörmungandr. “I was thinking maybe we could work out a deal. I’d be happy to exchange some work for touch-ups. Maybe some new ink, too.” Why had he added that? He didn’t want new ink. He didn’t even want the ink he had. But it did need touching up. In fact, it was what had brought him to the shop in the first place. Before he’d seen the Help-Wanted sign, the name of the place had caught his eye, and he’d figured it would be as good a place as any to get the work done. It wouldn’t be wise to put it off any longer. Like the nightly ritual, he knew the marks helped him keep his equilibrium, though he wasn’t sure why. It was a stupid idea, anyway. She’d probably think he was some kind of scam artist.
But Rhea cocked her head, considering. “The first gauntlet would probably take less than an hour, maybe two for the second, and the cuff might run a little longer. Let’s give it a conservative estimate of six hours for the three. Anything else you want, we’d have to negotiate based on the size and complexity and whether you want original artwork or have something of your own in mind. Normally, I charge one fifty an hour, with a one-hour minimum. So let’s say ten hours of work equals one hour of tattoo work. That would take you through the end of the year and my official opening. We can decide on any additional commitment after that.”
