Hold Onto Me

I hated slow days like this one. Cold and rainy outside, people weren’t really in the mood to come set up an appointment for a tattoo, or get one for that matter. Just the day before, I was completely booked from open to close, but today, it was like I was living in a ghost town.

The only sign of life I saw was when I left the shop to go next door, to the coffee shop. The owner’s son has had this long time crush on me, so he always gives me this insanely good coffee without coffee. It’s a rocky road coolatta, and he even puts some extra chocolate in there for me.

Absolutely wonderful.

Sometimes, I felt a bit bad for getting the coffee, like maybe I was leading him on, but he’s come by and gotten a piercing and tattoo before. I was able to pay him back by doing it for no charge.

But my coolatta and stomach were empty. I had to get back out.

Of course, as my luck usually worked out, just as I stood from my chair to leave for a lunch break, someone comes in.

With the lifestyle I was born into, I learned how to read people at least a decent amount. The second I laid eyes on this guy, I didn’t have to be an expert to realize that he was a creep. Before even greeting him with more than a smile, I made sure my tazer was still in the box underneath my chair.

“Why hello there,” he said, and I found his deep American accent to be a bit creepier. It was rather common to meet Americans in London, but something about his accent sent chills down my spine. “Do you do scar tattoos?”

“No.”

The answer was immediate because scar tattoos were a practice I was just not getting into. Aside from the fact that carving away people’s flesh just wasn’t something I ever wanted to do, there was just no way to safely do them. Even if you took all the precautionary measures you could, you’re still ripping away flesh to make a scar in the shape of whatever they want.

I saw one being done at a convention once, and I threw up. I absolutely couldn’t stand them.

He looked a bit disappointed and then gave me a stiff nod. “Okay. Thank you anyways.”

Though he had been nothing but polite, I couldn’t help but feel a bit safer when the door closed back behind him. Silence filled the room again, aside from the sound of the clock slowly ticking my day away.

The silence was broken by the sound of my stomach growling louder than the most fearsome beast, and I knew I had to get something in it, fast.

I pulled my phone out just in time to get a call from the exact person I was going to call—my best friend.

“One day, I’m going to figure out how you do it, Juliet.”

She let out her loud squeak of a laugh. “I told you, ya goob. We Southern girls are just good like that.”

Southern accents were charming. If I was a man, I would be on Jane—or even Gracie—in a heartbeat. I’d go for Juliet first, however, because not only did she have that Southern charm, she had a heart deeper than the center of the earth.

“I’m alone, if that’s why you called.”

“You’re gettin’ pretty good at it, too, hun,” she said, giggling yet again. “That’s good to hear ‘cause I’m about ten steps away.”

I rolled my eyes and hung up the phone, tossing it into the box underneath my chair so I could at least open the door for her. I didn’t know what she decided to bring me today, but I was very grateful.

The story of how we met wasn’t all that interesting, but it changed my life. I didn’t really keep a lot of friends, since getting close to anyone endangered their life in a very literal way, but she wouldn’t let me shut her out. She shows up in my parlor, not even a week after it opened, and asks where the best place to dye your hair in London was. Didn’t even look to see if I dyed my hair.

When I asked why she thought to come to my tattoo parlor to find out, if she was fresh out of Tennessee, and she said that a tattoo artist would either know or know someone who knew. I hated being part of a stereotype, but she was right.

Then there was her friend Gracie, who moved to London with her. Juliet moved for the adventure, and Gracie tagged along in hopes of meeting the members of their favorite boy band. Lots of famous people lived in London, and I didn’t really care to remember which their favorite was. Juliet respected that I wasn’t into them, nor did I want to constantly hear them fan girl over them, so she usually didn’t talk about them—unless she just mentioned first names, in which case I definitely didn’t know who she was referring to.

Gracie was a bitch, plain and simple, but she was okay most of the time. She was very selfish, and she liked to think that everything was about her. When Juliet and I first started getting close, she tried anything she could to sabotage it. The only way Juliet got her to back off of me was by reminding her that new friends was part of living in a new country, and Gracie huffily stood back.

We became a bit more than acquaintances, but we really didn’t consider each other “friends” on most occasions.

Juliet and Gracie started out inseparable, but as time went on, living and working together became enough. They started separating from time to time.

It was good for them, good for Juliet. She seemed to be happier without Gracie constantly staring over her back, usually barking orders at her.

At the sight of a box of pizza, my heart almost melted. I could feel my stomach doing flips of excitement, but I remained calm as I helped her get everything inside.

Not only did she have the pizza, but she also had a bag of drinks—just for me.

“You’re the best.”

She smirked. “You don’t gotta tell me what I already know, Brit. Besides, I was passing by anyways. We ran outta pencils back in the studio, and I gotta go pick some more up. You doin’ anything after work?”

“If you’re asking me to go out with you and Gracie, the answer is the same as it always is,” I said, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. I knew Juliet meant well in her persistence to get me to come out. From the way she saw it, I was lonely and scared.

The only reason I was scared of falling in love was because of how utterly dangerous that was. Being friends with Juliet was bad enough. Falling in love with someone was absolute idiocy and the most selfish thing I could do.

Juliet shook her head. “No, not today. We’re goin’ out, but first, we gotta show the boss our new design. The model who was supposed to come has food poisoning. I find that hard to believe, since she doesn’t eat anything anyways, but whatever. Point is, she’s your size, and it would mean so much to me if you could just try it on. All you gotta do is put it on and stand there so she can see it. I promise.”

The downside of having a friend who was an up and coming designer: she asked me to wear things on a very normal occasion so people might ask where it came from, so she could get her name out there.

Well, hers and Gracie’s name, since they worked together. Usually, it consisted of Juliet making the design and Gracie telling her what was stupid about it, so Gracie would change some things and make it “theirs.”

The best thing for Juliet would be to cut ties with Gracie completely, but I couldn’t tell her that. Gracie was practically her sister.

I didn’t mind doing that, but usually, the things she asked me to wear weren’t my style. So I felt out of place most of the time.

With a sigh, I nodded. “Of course. I’ll call you when I lock up.”

She gave me a huge smile before squeezing me briefly and turning back for the door. “Thank you so much, Theo! I love you! I’ll text you. I would stay and chat, but I gotta get back.”

I didn’t say anything, only waved as she left. My focus shifted to the wondrous delicacy she brought me.

Pizza was the best thing in the world. My favorite was turkey, but it was hard to find. I just got bacon or cheese usually, and this time, she got me bacon.

Because you can never have too much bacon. She was actually telling me about this pizza back in the United States that had bacon wrapped around the crust and bacon sprinkled on top of it.

I needed that in my life, much more than I needed a man.

My luck would be that the moment I took my first bite, someone would come in. Since I wasn’t facing the door, I didn’t know who it was. So I quickly swallowed the small bite and put the slice back into the box, closing it and spinning on the heels of my worn converse to see who had just arrived.

The man who came in was very large. On instinct, I took a step back simply because he looked so intimidating, but when he took his sunglasses off, I felt at least a little more at ease. He didn’t seem the “mobster” type.

His eyes were too gentle.

“How can I help you?” I asked, after a few moments of silence went by. Usually, I didn’t have to greet people or ask what they wanted. Most of the time, they came in telling me because I usually had either the same clients, or friends of clients who had heard how laid back I was.

“Are you a fan of One Direction?”

My eyebrows rose. “I’ve heard of them, but their music isn’t really my style.”

He pulled a very official looking document out of his pocket and handed it to me. “Would you be willing to read over this privacy agreement and sign it?”

“Sure, but it’s not necessary,” I said, but I took it from his hands anyways. “I don’t talk about my clients or what tattoos I give them. Just a personal policy.”

He nodded. “Well, that’s good to hear. Boss just wants it on paper, for precautionary measures.”

“Sure thing.” I began reading the brief paragraph on the document.

I, _____________, agree to speak to absolutely no one of any part of the time I spend with Niall Horan. I will not tell them he was here, nor will I tell them what services I gave to him. I will take no identifying pictures, and I will not allow anyone into the building while I am with him.

If I fail to keep the terms of this agreement, I am fully aware of the very heavy fines I will face, with potential jail time as well.

I didn’t know who Niall Horan was, but apparently he was one of the many famous people living in London. I picked up the pen off my table and signed my name in both of the spaces, where they had helpfully highlighted just to make sure I knew I had to sign both places.

The man gave me a very empty smile before taking the document and stepping out the door. He only leaned out and gestured towards someone, so I figured I’d probably get to find out who Niall Horan was right now.

Almost instantly, three people filed into the room and closed the door behind themselves. Wearing hats and sunglasses with their heads turned low, they were hiding pretty well.

At the sound of the lock clicking behind them, they immediately relaxed and shed their glasses and hats.

And boy, was I surprised by what I saw standing in front of me.

A boy with bleached blonde hair and the prettiest blue eyes stood in front of me, looking at me with a wide and lopsided smile. He was about average height, but still way taller than me.

The two around him were about the same height, with only a couple of inches differentiating them. One had extremely long curly hair and the prettiest green eyes, wearing a rather reserved smile, while the other had shorter hair and warm brown eyes, eyes that matched his smile.

Well . . . this was about to get very interesting.