Opposites Ignite by Sadira Stone (crime books to read .txt) 📗

Bruno shoved her folder into her stomach. “Suit yourself.” He stood and crossed his beefy arms over his belly. “A little advice before you go. Clean up your act. That folder’s a mess. Show something more original.” He loomed closer and leered. “And loosen up a little. You’re a pretty girl. Customers like that. Use what you got to get what you want.”

She didn’t trust herself to bite back a snarky retort, so she spun on her heel and forced herself to stroll out, putting a little extra kiss-my-ass sway in her step. As much as she’d like to roast Bruno’s sexist ass, word would get around and maybe slam other doors in her face.

When she passed the front desk, she waggled her fingers at the receptionist. The girl cupped her mouth and whispered, “Buncha assholes, right?”

Rosie spluttered a laugh—because crying wouldn’t do any damn good. She’d known from the start she was up against a system that rewarded macho bullshit. But times were changing. There were lots of female tattoo artists nowadays. She’d find her place. And Screaming Eagle damn sure wasn’t it.

****

Hunched over the bar, Eddie scribbled in his notebook. “So, it’s Chambord, vodka, and…”

“Seven-up or Sprite.” River added a shot of soda to the deep purple cocktail. “Just a little squirt. Like you, buddy.”

Ignoring the gibe, Eddie sipped. Rich berry notes and the clean burn of vodka. “Garnish?”

“Fresh blackberries.”

Whenever River’s drink special featured vodka, Eddie jotted down the recipe for his future menu. River was an excellent bartender, creative, fast, and entertaining. Too bad he was planning to open his own place. Collaborating with him would be worth the ribbing.

“Bring on the thirsty mob.” River laced his fingers and stretched. His knuckles popped like firecrackers.

“Cut it out, Riv.” Kiara tossed a balled-up bar towel at his head. “That noise gives me the willies.”

Surprising to see both bartenders working on such a slow night. Until the playoffs started, Thursday meant football at Bangers, along with Diego’s Game Day Tots—served in a football-shaped dish, loaded with extra-sharp Tillamook cheddar, pepper bacon, thinly-sliced green onions, with sour cream laces. Only a few dozen customers had braved the January sleet for tonight’s tots, topped with pulled pork and drizzled with fiery barbeque sauce. The tempting scents wafting from the kitchen made Eddie’s stomach rumble, but breaktime was hours away.

“Rosie’s night off?” River asked, polishing a glass. “Bet you miss her.”

He did, fiercely, but they were sticking to their just-friends pact, even after last week, when he spent the night drooling into her lap. Sure enough, his mama had spotted Rosie’s car outside—hence the muffin delivery—and ever since she’d been bugging him to ask Rosie over for dinner. Soon, he’d have to either spill the truth or hook her into trying Mama’s Kulebyaka—a meat and cabbage pie heavy enough to hold down a hot-air balloon on a windy day.

Eddie sliced lemons for drink garnishes. “Rosie’s checking out tattoo parlors tonight.”

Kiara reached across him to grab the squirt bottle of simple syrup. “You gonna let her tattoo you?”

“No comment.” If getting a flu shot made him queasy, no way he could sit still in one of those dentist chairs while she zapped him with a buzzing electric torture device. Then again, he’d get her focused attention for a few hours, something he’d been trying to do with little success ever since their last sexless sleepover.

“Yo, sweetheart.” Gus called from his perch at the end of the bar. “Beer me.”

“Ugh.” Kiara gave a dramatic eye roll. “Eddie, pretty please.”

“On it.” With Dawn out tonight visiting her sister, Gus was technically their boss. Or so he said. Everyone knew River was in charge when Dawn was away. Eddie pulled a Rainier draft and set it in front of the grizzled grump.

Gus raised his drink and winked. “Stolichnaya, kiddo.”

“I think you mean Nasdrovie.” Not that Russian people actually said that when toasting, but try and convince Americans of that. If it’s in the movies, it must be true, right?

“Eddie, get me a fresh Woodford, would ya?” River called.

“And more Kahlúa,” Kiara added.

When Eddie returned from the supply room, he spotted Rosie’s sapphire curls. Bracketed by Kiara and Lana, she slumped on the bar, cradling her blotchy face in her hands.

His stupid caveman heart leapt. Must. Protect. Woman. He hurried to her side. “What’s up, Ro?”

Why did I call her that? Only Lana calls her that. I’m a mega-dork.

Rosie wiped her puffy eyes with the back of her hand. “Another no.”

“Oh, hon’.” Lana wrapped her arms around Rosie. “If they’re too stupid to see your amazing talent, they don’t deserve you.”

Rosie fixed Eddie with a watery gaze that made him want to pulverize whoever upset her.

He clasped her hand. “Tell me.”

“That guy you called Harley Dude? He said my portfolio was a joke.” She laid a sparkly blue binder on the bar.

Eddie flipped through the pages. That guy was delusional—Rosie’s artwork was sharp, vivid, original. He tapped a skull with a snake slithering through the eye socket. “Look how this one seems to move. And the color on those scales is all shimmery.”

Lana leaned in. “This is really good, Ro. Don’t let that asshat get you down. There are hundreds of tattoo parlors in Tacoma, right?”

“Yeah, and I’ve already visited half of ’em. That guy is right—I need to find my angle, something I’m really good at that’ll make me stand out.”

Eddie squeezed her hand. “What about the Russian eagle?”

She pulled the notebook he gave her from her purse. “That one’s not finished yet.”

“So finish it. You wanted something different? Bingo.”

“Maybe…” Her eyes brightened. “You know what I’d really like to draw? That phoenix on your quilt. And those flowers on your mom’s tablecloth. They’ve got clean lines, but they’re different from the roses everyone does. They’d make a great tattoo.”

Lana giggled. “Eddie has inspiring bed covers?”

He felt his cheeks heat. “It’s a traditional Russian design. My grandma made it.”

Kiara skewered cherries and orange slices onto a cocktail pick. “So, the