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queenimmadolla · 11 months

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𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

(Tattoo Artist!Eddie Munson x Apprentice!Reader)

Summary: . . . After deciding you were meant for more than what life had in store for you, you gave into the siren call of the city─well a city. But when city life finally eats away at your bank account and your main source of income isn't reliable, you take on an apprenticeship at a tattoo shop where your boss is the six-foot something, tattoo covered Eddie Munson who quickly and unwisely becomes intrigued by you. Nothing romantic can come from it, lest you risk it being torn apart by your past, his lover and yourself.

Entire Work Warnings: 18+ (smut will take place in later chapters), swearing, financial problems, mentions of loss, escorts/call girls, age gap (Eddie is 36, reader is 25), financial shaming, slut shaming, implied sexual harassment, bimbo!reader (she may not be book smart but she knows the score) angst, self-sabotage.

a/n: based on my initial post and elements of Breakfast at Tiffany's. next chapters will be significantly juicer, this was just something to get us going. this is dedicated to @munsonology, happy birthday and I hope this year was a good one! and a very gratitude filled thank you to my dear friend, @kitmon, for continuing to be an an amazing beta! hope you guys like it so far ♡ (attempting the keep reading feature, fingers crossed)

word count: 5k

“They don’t bite.” “Hmn?” Came your absent-minded reply, eyes cutting from the harpy, evil in her eyes and blood soaking her talons, to the man flipping through the red binder you’d been carrying around you in the Indianapolis heat.

Sweat evaporated off your skin, giving away to goosebumps in the air conditioned shop, a much welcome relief to the borderline unbearable heatwave settling over the city streets, something that can be found in every nook and cranny. You’d been navigating your way throughout the city since before dawn broke, eager to get your fill of it while the streets were quiet and a decent temperature. It had been almost chilly this morning, your thick strapped tank top and daisy dukes—that you normally wouldn’t allow yourself to be caught dead in—leaving most of your skin exposed, with no direct sunlight to warm it. Now that the sun was out, you were on fire out there.

“The artwork.” He glanced at the framed harpy drawing along the wall, the one you’d been staring at, one of many framed depictions of gruesome and mythical looking creatures. “I don’t blame you though, that one isn’t particularly my favorite. Pretty badass, though. Heh.” “Oh,” You shook your head, the oversized shades adorning your face sliding down the bridge of your nose, “No, I’m not afraid of it. I like it. It must have taken forever though.”

You turned your attention to her again, admiring how realistic her feathers appeared. Painstakingly detailed and whoever was walking around the city with her on their body surely endured a generous amount of pain to get her.

And a large hole in their wallet.

“It took a ton of sessions, for sure. My boy did it a couple years ago.” The man, Argyle, as he’d introduced himself when you’d first walked into the shop, flipped his long black hair over his shoulder before he flipped to the next page of your portfolio. He let out a sound of appreciation as he leaned his weight on his elbow, hand resting over his mouth.

“This is good! This is really good!”

You lifted your chin to peer at the drawing he was fascinated with. Ah.

It was a drawing of the skeletal Grim Reaper, cloaked in a black robe and scythe clutched in one hand while his boney middle fingers stretched his eye socket holes down in an obvious taunt. A tongue, black and tendril like, lulled out of his mouth.

You thought it was pretty good, too. The idea for it had struck you at a party, you’d been hiding from an annoying suitor and ducked into an office room, doodling to your heart's content once you grew past your boredom.

You grinned, a feeling of giddiness beginning to bubble inside you.

“Listen, the DM’s out right now, running some errands. He should be back soon, can I hold onto this?” Argyle asked, gripping the sides of the binder and raising it as if you didn’t already know he was referring to your portfolio, “I think he’ll be pretty impressed with your stuff.” You fidgeted with your fingers, giddiness giving away to nerves once more. “Really? You think so?” Hope was something you hadn’t felt in a while; you’d been through exactly fourteen tattoo shops throughout the city, most of which you’d been rebuffed from before they so much as flipped open your portfolio, having already decided your particular aesthetic didn’t fit their image. They hadn’t verbalized as much, but you knew. You glanced down at your pink boots, already such a stark contrast to the black beams beneath your feet.

It wouldn’t be a big deal if you hadn’t made a wager with yourself, you could only go home once you’d accomplished your task of getting one of the shop owners to actually look at your work. While Argyle had made it clear he wasn’t the head honcho, he’d be passing it along.

“Yeah, man! This is some pretty legit stuff! I’ve been tatting, myself, for a couple years now, and I’m good–don’t wanna flex or nothing but I’m really good. Only it took a couple of years for me to actually get this good, you know? And I’m not even talking about on skin. You haven’t tattooed anyone before, right?” You thought back to when you had mentioned your art skill to a brief...something, he’d been intoxicated enough on expensive wine and your sangria kisses to encourage you to use the tattoo kit one of your friends had re-gifted you after her interest in the subject waned. You’d never particularly imagined yourself etching into people’s skin before, not even when she’d given you the supplies because she’d seen some of your doodles.

Thanks to her, a suit and tie you no longer spoke to, who made more money than you’ll ever see, was walking around with a secret under his briefs: a pair of shiny cherries on his left ass cheek.

It was no loss to you. Sure, he made money. Just not nearly enough for you to tolerate how aggressive he’d been with his affections as soon as he was sloshed. You’d given him the tattoo with his drunk pals cheering him on, went out to a very high standard club, then promptly ditched him the moment you were out of his sight. You hadn’t answered the door when he came pounding on it the next morning and the morning after that.

You’d originally had no intentions of using the tattoo equipment, until that encounter. It had planted a seed, an idea that may get you out of what you had to do to survive. Tattooing hadn’t been a passion, and it still wasn’t quite one but you needed money and you had talent.

“No,” You lied with a shake of your head, “I haven’t.”

“That’ll change soon,” he laughed, closing your binder as he leaned further over the glass counter. Your gaze briefly flickered to the jewelry it housed.

“You got a number we can reach you at?”

You’d scrawled the number of your landline down on the back of one of their business cards before Argyle could rethink his decision to pass your work along.

“Hopefully, we’ll see you soon!” He called out as you retreated towards the door.

God, I hope so.

The thought of a somewhat stable job that could help the pitiful state of your checking and savings account was the only thing powering you through your long walk home. You couldn’t risk a cab, that would mean you’d have no fare money for tonight, and who knows if you’d have to make a speedy exit?

You’d learned. Eventually.

Forty-five minutes later, you entered your apartment, sagging back against the door as you dropped your bag and kicked your shoes off, unconcerned as to where exactly they’d landed.

Sweat glistened over your skin, and unlike in that last tattoo shop, there was no air conditioning to cool you. You and Sid saved that for special occasions.

Instead, you opened the large window to the fire escape, obnoxious sounds of the city you called home filling the apartment.

It wasn’t much, but it was better. Next came the matter of your clothes, stuck in the most uncomfortable of ways to your flesh. Your tank top was peeled off and thrown over the couch, daisy dukes abandoned near the entryway of the small kitchen on your way to the bathroom.

A quick glance was spared behind you, taking in the state of your shared home. It was a mess and not even remotely surprising. The place was barely furnished with the essentials, all of which were secondhand: a couch, a coffee table with a sheet over it to hide the stains, one shelving unit, a rug and tapestries hung artfully on the walls for deception. They made the place look more put together than it was, but you’d love it even if it were still barren. A roof over your head in the city meant you didn’t have to return to the past you’d clawed your way out of..

The only thing worth much was the framed photo on the kitchen counter, and that was only in sentimental value. You and Sid, arms around each other’s shoulders as you sat in a booth at a shitty diner you’d tried upon first moving to the city. They’d taken your photo for being the 600th customer and tacked it to the wall.

You’d stolen it and had no regrets because you got to keep your memory and ended up getting food poisoning.

With a shrug, you entered the bathroom for a much needed scrub down and some disassociating. Your mess could wait.

─

Eddie was not in a great mood when he walked into the shop.

His jacket was clutched in a sweaty palm, rings twisting around the flesh of his fingers and his bangs were beginning to stick to his forehead, all the result of the walk from his fucking car to the shop door.

“Grumpy?” Argyle asked, amused with the clear annoyance on his face.

Eddie sneered, standing under the vent for a minute to cool down, “Triple digits. Triple fucking digits out there, man. You could shove a thermometer up the devil’s asshole and it’d be cooler than that.”

Once he’d solidified, he stalked past the front desk, threw his jacket onto the counter and picked up a stack of mail.

“Did I miss anything?” Eddie asked as he flipped through the envelopes, mostly junk.

“A couple of walk-ins. Nothing too major there, handled them myself. Simple stuff, one wanted a goldfish. Not like a detailed one, like how you’d try and draw a goldfish cracker. We did have a few who wanted a couple of advance pieces, got ‘em booked for consultations with Johnny boy and Rob.”

“Nice,” Eddie chuckled under his breath at the mental image of the goldfish tattoo, most likely an act of affection. Tattooing people who wanted to permanently carry reminders of their children was one of Eddie’s favorites to do, partially because of the sentiment but mostly because the drawings were amusing.

He’d just finished tossing out the junk mail when he reached for his jacket to hang it up properly and discovered it had been concealing something.

“What’s this?” Eddie asked as he lifted the slim red binder. Looked relatively new.

“Huh?” Argyle glanced up from the sketch he was working on, recognition flashing across his face, “Oh, yeah! We got a prospective new hire, someone dropped off their portfolio.”

Eddie rolled his eyes and heaved out a heavy sigh as his jacket was tossed aside yet again. He had nothing against other tattoo artists, but the last one he’d hired that hadn’t come from his friend group ended up nearly destroying the group.

Henry had been charming, good at his job and charismatic. Turns out, he’d also been a master manipulator and had a particularly abhorrent temper. Tensions had been high, heads were butting and fights had occurred—with a permanent reminder in the wall near the front entrance where a large hole had been punched through. Henry had to go.

Eddie wasn’t looking to repeat the situation.

“I think we’re good on artists around here–and put a reminder on the calendar for me to patch that damn crater up.”

“Well, it’s a good thing the artist isn’t a tattoo artist. Yet. I’d look at that portfolio first before making any decisions, if I were you. I think you’re gonna see the beginnings of something goooooood, and dude, you’ll be killing our fun if you fix it. Do you know how many glory hole jokes we tell?” Eddie ignored the latter half of Argyle’s statement, reluctantly flipping the portfolio open to the first page and annoyance began to associate itself with him once more.

A body, in a state of decomposition greeted him. But it wasn’t maggots or rotting flesh involved. Flowers grew out of the crevices, with moss and mushrooms over her skin. A lot of fine line work.

The next page was home to a bird-like creature with the body of a lion, a Griffin. Done in American Traditional.

A skinny, demonic looking goat with horns and legs long enough to belong to a horse, clouded eyes and wyvern wings was on the page after that. The Jersey Devil. Someone knew their Cryptids.

The portfolio contained a vast amount of drawings from horror depictions to more aesthetically pleasing visions; the hydra, skeletons, dragons, goddesses, respectable attempts at the modern Renaissance pieces, and even a couple of Barbie references, ranging in a variety of tattoo styles.

Eddie closed the portfolio and drummed his fingertips across the countertop, scowling.

That long haired doofus was right. This was beyond good work. But if they weren’t a tattoo artist, there wasn’t much Eddie could do with them. Drawing on paper is a much more different experience than skin. Mistakes can be erased on paper, the sketch done over again. Can’t do the same on flesh.

It’s intimidating.

They’d have to start off slow, like he had. Trained under a watchful eye, an expert who’d guide them with experienced hands. He was sure Jonathan and Robin would be eager to have an apprentice.

But before Eddie would even begin to entertain the idea of an apprentice in his shop, he’d have to see exactly what it was he was working with.

“Leave a number?” He asked without looking at Argyle because he knew he’d see nothing but a smug expression.

“Yup.”

“See if you can get him back in the shop tomorrow.”

“Why not today?”

“Because I have a session for the rest of the day, remember?”

“Oh, yeah! I forgot.” Argyle’s grin was sheepish as he read off the calendar. “Stacy Peterson called. Car troubles. Unable to make it to appointment with Eddie. Rescheduled. Heh. So…you also missed that.”

“I’ll strangle you later, just get him in here then.”

Argyle opened his mouth, then closed it as an expression that said I know something you don’t crossed his strong features. “Righty-O, boss. I’ll give him a call.”

You’d been lounging in the bathtub, hair up and out of the way, eyeing the grooves of the shower tile. They were a permanent taunt, stained dark no matter how hard you and Sid scrubbed and you hated the sight of them.

People with money didn't have to stare at them, able to afford to have them professionally cleaned or the shower wall—the entire bathroom renovated.

Someday, that would be you.

You sunk further into the water, toeing at the faucet when the shrill sound of the landline filled your more than humble home. The thought of simply letting it ring played in your head until you remembered the tattoo shop you’d visited last.

Hastily rising from the tub, water was splashed along the floor while you did a terrible job of drying off and ran naked the rest of the way to the living room, almost slipping as you did.

The receiver was yanked off its post, “Hello?”

“What’s up, Dudette? Argyle calling, dunno if you remember me from earlier…”

“Yeah! From the tattoo shop, right?”

“Right-O! Listen, The Dungeon Master is in and he wants to see if you can get down here to show him what you got. Possible?”

“Yeah, it’ll be no problem!” You’d have to run most of the way but street traffic around this time wasn’t that bad so you wouldn’t have to fight your way through bodies.

“Cool, cool, cool. And between you and me, this is pretty much the interview process. Good luck, dudette, and may the force be with your tattie skills. I’ll see you when you get here!”

As soon as you’d hung up, you ran to your room to get dressed. You didn’t have much of a wardrobe, but it wasn’t high on your list of priorities considering you and Sid practically shared one. Another tank top was selected—to mitigate sweating on your way to your interview—along with a gifted pink thong and matching bra. You’d snagged your Daisy Dukes from the floor on your way out, shimmied them on, grabbed your small bag and keys and headed out.

The selection of attire was a good one, the heat was still stupidly unbearable and heavy. You’d need to wash off again tonight. You’d managed to make it to the shop in under twenty-five minutes, having ignored all the looks you’d received as you hurried along the streets and the feeling of the air conditioner on your skin was a welcome one when you made your way back into the shop.

Argyle greeted you with a bright grin from his place behind the counter, throwing up his hands, “You made it! One sec.”

Then he turned his upper body to call into an area you couldn’t quite see into, “Oh, Eddie boy! Your prospect has arrived.”

You hadn’t cared to entertain ideas on what your potential boss could look like, all you were concerned about was the position and getting your foot in the door. Even if you had tried to imagine him, nothing could have prepared you for the actual sight of him when he emerged.

He was big, tall and cloaked in black, despite the heat of the city. He wore what you figured had once been a black t-shirt but was now lacking sleeves and a proper neck hem to be considered a makeshift tank. His pants were shiny leather and also tight, hugging the muscles of his thighs, and he sported a dark pair of pointed boots.

He wasn’t particularly muscular enough to be the body builder type, but it looked like he could probably pick another grown man up with ease. His skin had a light tan to it, barely anything really, just like everyone else, he obviously couldn’t escape the sun. It was littered with intricate tattoos, weaving up his arms—a few you could tell disappeared under his shirt—and his neck.

The word freak was permanently etched in black ink along his temple and over his eyebrow. Two silver balls decorated his other eyebrow.

Leaning up against the back wall like that, arms crossed to make the muscles of his arms bulge slightly and oozing confidence, he looked like the personification of some really good sex.

But he wasn’t what you were seeking out and you didn’t like to mix business with pleasure.

Eddie was caught completely off guard, trying to school his shock and keep his composure.

When he’d seen that portfolio, he was expecting someone with jagged edges, piercings galore and more than just a couple of tattoos to be behind it and standing in the entryway of his shop.

Someone who looked like their art.

You…didn’t. With your little pink cowboy boots, tank top that accentuated your figure and shorts so small, they should’ve been considered a form of underwear, you didn’t look at all similar to what Eddie was expecting. Not even if he closed his eyes.

You didn’t waste time, quickly introducing yourself as you stepped up to the front desk and Eddie pulled himself from his stupor, closing the distance to shake your palm. Smaller than his (though most were) and slightly sweaty, no doubt due to that god forsaken heat outside.

Eddie could see bits of your hair sticking to your skin, little beads of sweat prickling over your exposed collarbone and trailing down, down between your─

“Thank you for taking the time to even look at my portfolio! I really appreciate it.”

Eddie blinked hard, clearing his throat before smirking to pretend he hadn’t been drawn in by your chest.

What the fuck was wrong with him all of a sudden?

He’d had plenty of beautiful clients, he’d tattooed nice asses, tits, pubic regions, thighs, all the beautiful areas. Now all of a sudden he was acting like he’d never seen a pair of tits before.

Hell, Eddie had been thoroughly busy with a pair, held them in his hands before he came into the shop.

Professionalism, he reminded himself.

“Not a problem, what I see—saw was pretty impressive,” Nice save, Eddie, you dick. He cursed himself, “You adapt well to different styles.”

“Thanks!” You chirped, excitement filling you at the praise. It was so nice to hear positive feedback about your work instead of being sent out of a shop before they so much as opened your binder. “I like to experiment with different styles, see what it is that people like so much about them and honestly, it’s mostly because I haven’t quite found my art style just yet.”

Hence your range, you were constantly expanding with your art because you hadn��t found one style you wanted to make yours yet. Or maybe you had and just didn’t know it yet. Whatever.

Eddie and Argyle exchanged a look before he stepped back and nodded in the direction he came, “Why don’t you follow me? Show me what you can do?”

You didn’t hesitate, stepping past the front desk.

There was more artwork lining the short hall he took you down until you arrived at another room, obviously one meant for actual tattooing as there was a tattoo chair in the middle of the room.

On one of the counters, was an area already prepped for you. A tattoo gun, some ink, and some obviously fake skin that rested on top of a disposable sheet cloth, along with some gloves.

“Argyle tells me you haven’t worked on skin before.”

Sure you haven’t.

“Not a whole lot of people lining up to get tattooed by someone with no experience,” you shrugged, following him over to the counter he was leaning up against.

“You’re hanging around the wrong crowd then.” He joked and you let out a small laugh.

He had no idea how right he was.

“The first tattoos I ever got were from inexperienced people. This one,” he gestured to a Wyvern on the back of his arm, “I got my junior year of high school from a waitress at a bar I always snuck into.”

“And this one,” he yanked the tattered collar of his shirt down to expose more ink, but the one he was referring to was a spider, “I got my first senior year from someone I did…business with.”

First senior year? Eddie was proving to be an interesting character.

“But enough about me,” Eddie released his shirt, allowing it to hide the artwork depicted on his chest, “let’s get down to business.”

Before he could even explain what everything was, you dropped your purse onto the counter nearby, pulling a small box of unopened gloves from it.

“You mind?” You asked, fingers poised to rip it open.

“Go for it,” He shrugged. Gloves were gloves, so long as they were uncontaminated he didn’t mind.

You tore into them and Eddie was still somehow surprised to see they were pink. Clearly his black ones weren’t your style.

“Can I ask you a question?” You asked as you pulled the gloves on. Eddie watched you, intrigued as you finished assembling the tattoo gun without his help and opened the ink pack.

“Sure,” He mused, eyeing you skeptically. Hadn’t tattooed anyone but you were clearly familiar with it. Interesting.

“Did your tattoos hurt?”

Eddie waited until after you’d started the tattoo gun and got into working on the fake flesh. Apparently you already had an idea in mind.

“A bit of an amateur question, you don’t have one?”

“Nope.” You confirmed, paying him no mind as you leaned forward, gaze focused solely on your task, “I kind of want one but I’m not in any particular rush, you know?”

Eddie made a sound of agreement, at a brief loss of words as you arched your back, ass sticking out and he became painfully aware you were wearing a hot pink thong, the tails of it peaking out past the top of your denim shorts. He should’ve offered you a seat but you didn’t seem all that bothered with standing.

No, that was apparently his foil, because he was incredibly bothered by you standing, especially with your ass out like that; when it made his pants tighten considerably in his crotch region.

He was getting hard.

Eddie was mortified, stiffening (go figure) as he attempted to calm himself, eyes darting away from your ass to stare at one of the cabinets. Of course this had to happen to him on the day he chose to wear a pair of pants that left little to the imagination should the boy downstairs start acting up.

Don’t look. Don’t look. Don’t look.

“Hurts, depending on the area, which I’m sure you already know. The tattoos on my back and my thighs hurt pretty bad. Forearms were a bitch, but nothing I couldn’t handle. The ones on my wrists and hands were the worst, pain wise, in my opinion. Obviously it didn't stop me, but those tend to be areas with a lot of bones, veins and very little muscle, so it’s expected.”

You hummed in response and his gaze briefly flittered over to you before his cock pulsed and he tore it away again, grateful your attention wasn’t on him.

The remainder of the ‘session’ was spent in relative silence with the music playing through the speakers installed throughout the shop, keeping it from being awkward. Eddie had just managed to will his erection away when you finished, setting down the gun before you pulled your gloves off.

“What do you think?” You asked, still admiring your work and Eddie peered around you to assess it.

A wyvern, similar to the one on his arm but done in a fine line style.

He chuckled, amused with your reference and you fought valiantly with yourself not to grin. You were trying to impress him, sticking with a subject he liked enough to make it a part of him permanently, but you hadn’t imitated the style of it to keep from downright copying and to showcase your ability to adapt.

“That’s pretty good,” And it was, not a whole lot of people could get lines that perfect or seem as confident in their abilities on their first try. Still, Eddie could tell you’d have some ways to go before you were ready to be on your own, “but you can do better.”

You tried not to frown, “Oh.”

Eddie smirked and you finally turned to face him, apprehension on your face.

“Don’t look so down. After some time around here, watching us work, you’ll be ready. The apprenticeship will fly by in no time.”

“Wait—you mean—you want me?!”

“I’d be stupid not to.”

You let out a squeal and threw yourself at him, giving him a quick squeeze before your brain caught up to your body and you pulled away.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m just so excited.”

Eddie cleared his throat, shifting his body away from you and rasped out, “Argyle will have the paperwork for you to fill out.”

“Got it,” You grabbed your bag and was just about to head out of the room when Eddie called your name, “Huh?”

“Be back at the same time tomorrow. You’ll be practicing on real skin.”

“But I thought you said—”

“Me.”

Something in you bubbled with excitement and nerves.

You nodded once and then left the room to see Argyle for your paperwork.

“So?????” Argyle asked once you’d approached him, a sullen look on your face.

You couldn’t keep the act up, beaming as you practically bounced, “I’ll be seeing you around more often now!”

He whooped, extending an arm out for a high-five which you reciprocated.

“You are gonna love it here, Dudette. Just wait until you meet everyone! First, we gotta start on your employment.”

Your brows furrowed as you watched him go through a filing cabinet.

“Wait—this is paid?”

“Yeah! We’re not big on slave labor here.”

Score for you! You had a feeling you wouldn’t be clocking a ton of hours but every single penny counted, especially considering how hard of a time you had actually building a savings account.

Argyle had walked you through the paperwork, where to sign, what things meant and since the shop was getting ready to close up you’d simply just bring the completed paperwork back with you tomorrow.

The door chimed behind you and you turned to see who could be coming in at the last minute, eyes widening at the voluptuous woman before you. Her hair was long and jet black, skin pale (apparently one person in this city was capable of defying the sun) and make-up done so elegantly it reminded you of actresses from the silver screen era. Her dress was simple, black and hugged her curves exceptionally well. You could tell it was worth more than everything in your apartment combined and you’d feel bad about it if you also couldn’t tell she was older than you.

You’d have time to get there.

“Hey, Deidre.”

“Hello, Argyle.” She gave the both of you a dazzling smile as she removed her sunglasses and walked right past Argyle, down the hall you’d come from.

He didn’t even look surprised and paid her no real attention.

“We’ll see you soon?”

“Damn straight.”

Argyle let out another cheer as you walked out the door with high spirits. Not even the nasty, hot air could get you down.

You’d climbed up the stone steps until you reached the sidewalk and glanced behind you at the neon sign depicting the name of the tattoo shop you’d now be working at.

“Welcome to The Dungeon,” You mumbled to yourself with a smile.

You turned back to the sidewalk, staring down at the pathway you’d have to take before you thought better of it, sticking your fingers into your mouth to give a sharp whistle.

It caught the attention of a cab driver down the street, and you gave him your address when he’d pulled up and you’d hopped in, ready to prepare for tonight's plans. You deserved a little break, after all, you were one step closer to securing the future of your dreams.

Eddie sagged against the counter once you’d left the room, scowling down at the bulge that had reappeared in his pants when you’d hugged him.

Why his body was suddenly acting like he was a horny teenager again, he had no idea.

He wasn’t about to do anything about it, though. Not when you’d be hanging around the shop for the foreseeable future. Eddie didn’t get involved with his employees. He’d worked in a couple of shops where he’d witnessed that occur and it always ended in a mess. Not a good kind.

He busied himself with cleaning up, tossing away the supplies you’d used and storing your first piece of work. It’d be nice for you to look back at once your apprenticeship was over. When Eddie had nothing else to clean, he sighed and rubbed at his eyelids.

Platonic. Professional. God, if he couldn’t keep his dick in check, he’d be in a world of trouble. You’d be trouble.

“Need a hand?”

Eddie snapped around, relieved to see it was just Deidre. Explaining why he had a boner to anyone else wasn’t something he was keen on doing. In fact, he probably wouldn’t be telling her exactly why, either.

Taking her up on her offer, however, was something he would eagerly do.

“Are you offering yours?”

She laughed, setting her purse down on the counter where your bag had been just a few minutes ago, and walked right up to Eddie, her body pressed against his and grinding onto him as the older woman slid her arms around his shoulders.

“Mmm, not just my hand.”

All Eddie knew next was the taste of her red lipstick.

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