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Red yawned as he walked into the gym and looked around. It was 5 a.m. After twenty years in the military, he just couldn’t seem to break the habit of waking up early, regardless of how late he went to bed.
The town council meeting was tonight. He had been up late researching documentation and statistics to support his assertion that a tattoo shop would be beneficial for the town. Since Daisy Hunnicutt’s reason for the denial seemed to be based solely on her prejudiced assumption that the shop would attract criminal activity, he wanted to be ready to prove her wrong.
Well, speak of the devil, he thought to himself.
Apparently Daisy Hunnicutt was an early riser too. She was running on the farthest of the six treadmills lined up along the wall in the tiny gym. Without thinking, he strode over to where she was working out.
Daisy was maintaining a steady pace, wearing headphones, gaze fixed on the TVs overhead. She was still covered from ankle to neck, but unlike her conservative outfit last week, this one showed off a banging body for a woman her age. She was wearing running tights that lovingly hugged her long, toned legs and slim hips, and a formfitting long-sleeved tech tee that revealed surprisingly large breasts for such a slim frame. Red felt his shorts tighten.
He stopped in front of her treadmill, staring at her until she looked down. She started, almost tripping, before she caught herself with a hand on the side bar. Removing the ear bud from one ear, she said, “Can I help you?” as if she had never seen him before.
Red didn’t like to brag, but he knew he was memorable. Between his red hair and beard, and his buff upper body, women usually remembered him. But he’d play along.
“Hi Daisy, Red O’Brian, we met a couple of weeks ago,” he reminded her politely.
She continued running, her face impassive. “Uh huh. Yes, I remember.”
Great conversationalist, this woman. He noted that she didn’t appear to be out of breath despite her steady pace on the treadmill.
“I almost didn’t recognize you in casual clothes,” he said, deliberately allowing his gaze to travel slowly down her body and back.
Her eyes flared with irritation, and she hit the emergency stop on the treadmill. “Was there something you wanted Mr. O’Brian, or did you just stop by to sexually harass me?”
Red took a step back, holding his hands up. “Whoa. Sexually harass? I think you’re the one with all the power in this relationship.”
She sighed, then wiped her face off with her towel before taking a long drink from her water bottle. He stepped around and moved onto the treadmill next to her.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Running. Same as you,” he said easily as he pressed the buttons and started the machine. He lengthened his stride as the treadmill sped up. “I just wanted to say hello first, you know, to be neighborly.”
She watched him for a few minutes before gathering up her belongings with a huff and leaving without a word. Red knew it made him an asshole, but he stared at her ass in those tights until she turned the corner towards the locker rooms. It was a good ass, firm but curvy. No jiggle.
Red spent the rest of the day obsessing about Daisy. Those fiery eyes, the slim body she hid behind her shapeless clothes, that delicious ass. Something about her fascinated him. He was drawn to her and wanted to know more about her.
He arrived at the town council meeting a few minutes before it was scheduled to start and was pleased to see that Daisy was already there. She was sitting in the second row, pouring over papers.
“Planning your defense?” he asked as he slid into the seat next to her.
She looked up, her eyes widening with surprise as she noted his suit and tie. Yeah, he could dress like a grown up if need be. Daisy was dressed in another loose sweater, this one over a high-necked shell, paired with another ankle-length skirt. A light pink gloss on her lips was her only make-up. Like every time he had seen her, she had her hair pulled back into a tight bun.
His fingers itched with the desire to unpin her hair and run his fingers through it. She smelled delicious, something lightly floral. Lavender, he decided. His body tightened, no doubt remembering the treasures hidden under those unflattering clothes. What was it about this woman that fascinated him so much?
“Were you raised Amish or something?” he asked, touching her arm. Once again he felt that shock of electricity.
She jumped slightly, then looked up from her papers in surprise. “What? No, I’m not Amish. Why would you ask that?”
He smiled and noticed her pupils dilate in reaction. When he looked down he was close enough that he could see her pulse beating furiously in her throat. Oh, this was interesting. Maybe she was more affected by him than she let on.
“No reason.”
She shook her head and pulled her arm away. They both turned their attention to the dais as the meeting started. After moving through the approval of the minutes and the public comments portion of the meeting, Red’s application was the first item under new business. He and Daisy moved to the speaker’s table as instructed.
“Ms. Hunnicutt,” the mayor called. “You may go first.”
“Thank you Madame Mayor, members of council,” she started. “You have before you an appeal to my decision to deny a business permit to Mr. John O’Brian, seated to my left, to open Red’s Tattoo Shop.”
Daisy spent a few minutes explaining her belief that the shop would cause crime and highlighting that the crime rate in Diamond Bay was lower than surrounding communities. “Each of the towns I mentioned has a tattoo shop,” she concluded. “Given the connection between these types of businesses and crime, I denied the permit.”
Red ground his teeth but otherwise kept his expression impassive.
The council members shuffled through their papers. “Ms. Hunnicutt,” one man said. “I’ve considered your arguments that this shop would attract criminals and find no basis for that assumption. How is it any different than the marijuana dispensary or the liquor store?”
“If I may, Councilman Smith, I have attached several references showing how tattoo shops in small towns have caused an increase in crime and in fact are often fronts for widespread organized criminal activity.”
“Yes,” the councilman interrupted, “But none of these cases are from any time in the last twenty years. Practically every town in America has a tattoo shop now, and everyone from college kids to my own grandmother frequents tattoo shops.”
Another council person spoke up. “I believe that Mr. O’Brian’s business plan is quite thorough, and his revenue projections are impressive,” the woman said. “Mr. O’Brian is a veteran who served with the military police. Also, the Sheriff himself has submitted a letter vouching for him. If the sheriff isn’t worried about increased crime, I don’t know why you are Ms. Hunnicutt.”
Daisy’s head spun in Red’s direction and her eyes narrowed briefly, shooting him a quick glare before she caught herself and schooled her features again. She looked stoically towards the dais again.
Councilman Smith spoke again. “I see no legitimate reason for your decision Ms. Hunnicutt. I would like to make a motion to approve the business permit for Red’s Tattoo Shop.”
“Seconded,” a woman at the end called.
“All in favor?” the mayor asked.
“Aye”. Five voices spoke in unison.
“The motion passes unanimously,” the mayor announced. “The permit is approved. Next on the agenda please.”
Daisy gathered her papers and moved quickly out of the room, her spine ramrod straight. Red followed her without conscious thought. He was thrilled about the council’s decision, but he still felt a strong desire to make sure Daisy was OK. He had a feeling she wasn’t often overruled.
She was heading back to her office on the other side of the building in such a snit she didn’t hear him behind her. She turned around to close her office door then jumped when she saw him, one hand going to her chest.
“Jesus Christ, you scared me,” she gasped. “Why are you following me? What do you want?”
“For one thing, you to be more aware of your surroundings Daisy,” he answered. “I know this is a small town, but you can’t be too careful. What if I was some crazy person following you back to your empty office?” He felt a surge of protectiveness towards her that he couldn’t explain.
“Your sanity remains to be seen,” she answered wryly. “It’s been a long day Mr. O’Brian and I’d like to go home. Your permit was approved, so we have no other business.”
He lounged against the wall in her office, watching her. He knew he should leave, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave her office. She seemed upset and for some reason it bothered him. He wondered why she seemed to take his permit so personally.
“Do you get this upset every time a permit you deny is overruled?” he asked curiously.
“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never denied a permit before.”
He felt his eyes widen. “You’re telling me I’m the only person you’ve denied before?”
“Yes.”
He stalked into the room and heard her breath hitch. She didn’t seem afraid of him. If he had to hazard a guess, he would say she was feeling the same cloud of intense attraction surrounding them as he did. He looked down and saw her nipples perking up beneath the shirt she wore underneath her cardigan. She was definitely not immune to their attraction.
“Why are you so against tattoo shops?” he asked her.
“I told you Mr. O’Brian, this is a quiet little town, and I don’t want you attracting criminals to ruin it.”
He walked over to where she leaned against her desk, stopping about six inches away from her. The air seemed to vibrate between them.
“I won’t attract criminals, sweetheart,” he told her. “Tattoo shops aren’t automatically dens of illegal activity like you seem to think. I feel like there’s a personal reason for your bias.”
Her eyes turned sharp. “It’s not a bias if it’s based on facts,” she responded hotly.
He deliberately looked her up and down again, like he had done at the gym. “Let me guess,” he started, still standing closer to her than was socially acceptable.
“You were raised in an uber conservative Christian house, where you were taught to dress modestly at all times. Your daddy the preacher told you that people with tattoos were devil worshippers. You were taught you should never desecrate your body with ink because that would make you a slut who was going to hell. Am I close?”
He was surprised when she started laughing hysterically. Her laugh was musical, and her smile lit up her face, increasing his attraction to her. She was stunning when she smiled. He didn’t know what he had done to make her smile, but he wanted to do it again every day.
“You could not be farther from the truth,” she gasped, still cracking up like it was the funniest things he had ever heard. Red smiled in bemusement as she continued to laugh, tears running down her cheeks as she bent over at the waist trying to catch her breath. What was so funny?
“Oh my god, that’s the best thing I’ve heard all year,” she said, as her laughter finally died down. She hiccupped twice between giggles. “I really needed a good laugh today. Thank you.”
Red was confused. “Why was that so funny?” he asked.
“You want to know why that’s funny?” she asked, still laughing.
He nodded. “I’d love to know.”
She suddenly slipped off her shapeless cardigan and dropped it on the desk behind her. To his complete shock she had a series of tats on both arms, from her shoulders down to just a few inches above her wrists. And they weren’t girlie butterfly tats either. They were serious ink: a complicated array of skulls , animals, roses with thorns, and various symbols. Gang symbols, if he wasn’t mistaken. They looked pretty old, the ink faded by time.
“Holy shit,” he breathed. He knew his eyes were bugging out of his head. He could not have been more shocked. She was hiding all that behind those frumpy conservative clothes?
She smiled in triumph, then slid her skirt up from her ankles to a few inches above the knee. He couldn’t miss that she had several more tattoos running up her shapely legs. Where else was she inked?
He raised his eyes to her face and for a moment she looked sad before her face turned back to its usual impassive mask.
“My so-called daddy was no preacher,” she told him darkly. “Thanks to him I had more tattoos on my body before I was sixteen that most people get in a lifetime. And that’s the least of what I saw and experienced.”
Her voice shook a little and she cleared her throat. “Trust me when I say I know the shady shit that happens at tattoo shops. I lived it.”
She dropped her skirt, grabbed her sweater and purse, and strode out of the office, leaving him staring speechlessly at the place where she had been standing.
What the hell had just happened?