The younger Rixey glanced down at the drawing. “Oh, an abstract tat I have to start tomorrow.”
Nick walked over to the table. “That’s a monster.”
“Guy already has ink, but I’ve never worked on him before. This is easily four or five hours’ work. Might take two sittings. Speaking of which . . .” He flipped to another page in his pad. “This dude came in right before closing and asked for a design along these lines, about this size.”
Curious, Becca stepped closer. Jeremy had black letters in a block font on the backs of each of his fingers, but she couldn’t make out what they read.
Nick glanced to the page and frowned. “And?”
“This one’s totally yours, man.” He smiled up at his brother, clearly undeterred by the volume with which hell no radiated off Nick’s body and expression. Becca couldn’t help but compare the two men. Though they shared the same dark hair and light green eyes, Jeremy was lean where Nick had bulk, and he had tattoos everywhere she could see, except for his face. And it wasn’t just their appearances that differed. Jeremy seemed to have an inherent playfulness that was so different from Nick’s hard-edged seriousness.
“I’m busy,” Nick said.
Wait, Nick did tattoos?
Jeremy laughed. “You don’t even know when I want you to do it.”
Uh, apparently. Well, that was . . . unexpected.
Becca got about a hundred times more curious to see someone get a tattoo. His big hands creating art on skin. What would that be like? She imagined the skin was hers, and her stomach did this completely maddening flippy thing. “You’re a tattoo artist?” The question was out of her mouth before she thought to voice it.
Both men looked at her. “Yes,” Jeremy said at the same time Nick said, “Not really.”
Jeremy winked. “Ignore him. He’s good. When I can get him to do it. He’s especially good at people and faces. Which is why this one’s yours.” He turned the paper so she could get a better look.
The image was only roughed out on the page. A dynamic drawing of a man: half firefighter, half soldier. The man’s face was tilted down, showing off his headgear, with the fireman carrying an axe on his shoulder, and the soldier resting an automatic weapon on his. One man, two identities. Very cool. And Nick could do this? Becca could barely draw a stick figure.
“Get Ike to do it,” Nick said, eyes still on the drawing, as if he was studying it.
“Ike’s off until Monday. Guy wants it done this weekend. Besides, doing this would give you an even fifty-five.”
Fifty-five what? she wondered, but she didn’t want to interrupt their negotiations.
Nick glanced at her, like he was uncomfortable with all the focused attention. “When?”
“Told him I’d call him. Any time this weekend. You tell me.”
He pursed his lips for a long moment. “Saturday, then. First thing in the morning or late evening.”
Jeremy slapped his hand to the sketch. “Done.” He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, clearly pleased with himself. “So, you kids hanging, or what?”
The innuendo in the question flooded heat into Becca’s cheeks.
“Becca will be here for a few days. I’m going to put her in Katherine’s room.”
Who the heck was Katherine? Becca’s level of discomfort ratcheted up another notch, creating an odd emptiness in the pit of her stomach. Or maybe that was just the fact she hadn’t eaten since . . . hmm. The piece of coffee cake she’d nibbled on in the break room this morning?
“Okay, well, welcome to the Hard Ink Hotel,” Jeremy said with a smile and a bowed flourish. “Stay as long as you like. I’ll try not to walk around naked while you’re here.”
“Thanks, I think.”
Nick smacked him on the back of the head, which only made Jeremy laugh and strike out with a punch that missed. “Come on,” Nick said, guiding her toward the door. “Don’t worry about him. He doesn’t do that. Much.”
“See ya later, Becca,” Jeremy called, amusement coloring his voice.
“Bye,” she said, scooping her pillow from the floor, unsure whether to laugh or cry.
“Apartment’s this way.” Nick started up the steps. “We own the whole building, so you don’t have to worry about anyone else coming or going.”
She nodded, and her heart hitched up toward her throat as they reached the landing bracketed by two more nondescript industrial doors. Another electronic code got them into the one on the right.
Unlike the hallway, the apartment wasn’t what she expected at all. With its dark kitchen cabinetry, distressed plank flooring, and chic-but-industrial fixtures, it could easily have been a warehouse loft in one of the upscale rehab developments along the expensive Fells Point waterfront. “This is really nice.” A long, narrow island with a stove and a black granite breakfast bar was all that separated the open, airy kitchen from the spacious living room. Less surprising in the home of two men was the huge plasma TV that hung on the opposite wall in front of a giant brown leather couch and two well-worn, overstuffed recliners. An overflowing bookshelf spanned the short wall before the back hallway.
Nick looked around the space, as if seeing it for the first time. “Yeah. Can’t take any credit for it, though. All Jer’s doing.” He crossed the room and led her down a long hallway, giving her the guided tour. “Jeremy’s room is here. Bathroom here. Mine’s back there. And this”—he turned a corner and flipped on a light—“will be yours. It’s nicer than the guest room we have.” He settled her bag on the wide-plank floor.
Becca leaned against the jamb, discomfort at invading another woman’s space giving her pause. Although, as she glanced in, there was nothing particularly feminine or personal about the room. A queen bed with a sturdy oak headboard and a plain maroon comforter sat against the lone brick wall, and a long oak dresser with a mirror filled an adjacent space. The warm coffee color on the other three walls tied it all together. “Who’s Katherine?”
He cut his gaze to her. “Our little sister. She’s a lawyer in D.C., so she’s rarely ever here, but when she comes, this is where she stays.”
Sister. So, two brothers and a sister, just like her family. Well, just like it had once been.
Before their mom died, she, Charlie, and Scott had been tight—Batman, Robin, and Batgirl had been Charlie’s favorite game for them. After their mom died, things started to change. Their aunt came to stay with them whenever their dad deployed, and age and disparate interests took them in different directions. But the thread of loss and grief kept the three of them tied together enough that they could slip into that old closeness when they wanted it or needed it. Man, what she wouldn’t give for Scott to be here now. With their dad often away, he’d always been so protective of her and Charlie. He would know what to do, where to start. What if she couldn’t figure this out by herself?
Nick shifted beside her, making her realize she’d just been hanging in the doorway. And that, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone as she felt.
Becca stepped into the room and dropped her pillow onto the bed, and a growl roared out of her stomach so loud it nearly echoed among the exposed beams and ductwork of the tall ceiling. She clamped a hand to her belly and chanced a glance at Nick.
The corners of his lips tipped up. “Guess it would be redundant to ask if you’re hungry.”
She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah, I didn’t realize how much.”
“Well, that’s a problem I can solve. Tell me you eat meat.”
Nick was going to cook her dinner? Or, er, meat at least? Now she was curious. “Uh, what if I don’t?”
His bottom lip almost pouted, and the expression was as unexpected as it was cute on his masculine face. “Well, that would be a shame, because it would mean I can’t cook you my specialty.”