Perfectly Flawed

45. Prospect

I sigh, turning over again onto my back as the memory of tonight's dinner flickers through my mind like a movie scene.
My dad's death-grip handshake, not attempting to hide his disdain as he gave Blade's outfit a once-over.
My mom's fake perky smile and fake perky questions about how my painting is going as if she actually cared at all.
The millions of questions as my dad frowned over Blade's casefile and agreed to pass it on, and my mom's tight smile pretending it didn’t bother her that I suggested it, and who I suggested.
They ended the night with mom drinking too much wine and telling me I picked a good one because he's so handsome and ignore what my dad says if I'm happy, and Blade being told to wear a better tie in court and cover up his tattoos by my dad; as if he's a criminal the courts will judge based on only that. None of this fazes him, of course. Blade carries himself in a very distant, guarded way that only someone who knows deep pain would.
What I'd do to heal it all, if I could just hold him and take away the bad memories I would in a heartbeat.
I shake the thoughts away, turning into Blade again in attempts to go back to sleep. This very expensive mattress does nothing to ease me back into it and I sit up again with a yawn. A glance at the clock tells me it's just after 2am, and I already know there's no chance of me going back to sleep tonight.
Quietly, I sneak out of bed and into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water.
“Are you okay?” His whisper behind me while his fingers dance along the edge of my hem makes me startle.
“Hi.” I place the glass in the sink, turning around to face him. He's pulled on a pair of jeans, slung low on his hips so I can see the smattering of hair at his waistline. Still shirtless, and the moon shines in through the window illuminating the tattoos covering his chest. I think you’re drooling, D. Control yourself.  “I didn't mean to wake you.”
“You were sleeping like a rotisserie chicken.” Blade snorts, deadpan. “I was awake.”
I roll my eyes with a giggle. “I'm sorry, I just can't get my mind to stop.”
He gives me that flirty smirk I hate to love, hands sliding up my naked ass and resting on my waist. “What can I do?”
I hum. “I don't know. I love that, but I don't know if I can't get into the right headspace.”
He nods in understanding, pulling me into a hug instead as he kisses the top of my head. “How about yoga, or drawing? I could roll you a joint?”
“I think I wanna work on the mural. Can you help with that?”
He smiles. “Definitely.”
“Okay, here.” I pull off the tee I was wearing that actually belonged to him before I covered it in paint.
“Dakota.” He clenches his jaw.
“Eh, whatever. She's asleep, I could care less. I'll get dressed and meet you in the car. Be quiet.”
Somehow we manage to sneak away without waking anyone, and neither of us say anything on the drive through the abandoned streets. There’s something soothing about being awake and productive when nobody else is yet. The crisp night air immediately chills me as we approach the backdoor of the studio.
“What type of alarm does she have?” Blade whispers.
“Just a pincode one, I know it.” I giggle. “Why are you whispering?”
“I don’t know, it felt appropriate.” He shrugs.
I roll my eyes and unlock the door, putting in the pin before the alarm goes.
“Wait, you have keys?”
I snort. “What, you thought we were going to break in?” I toss my shoes aside on the mat by the door. When he doesn’t answer, I turn to look at him. “You thought we were going to break in?” My voice goes up in octave as I repeat the question.
“Well…” He looks bashful and I can’t help the laughter that bursts out of me.
“You’re actually insane.” I laugh. “No, we’re not breaking in, you little delinquent.”
“What did you just call me?” The playful look on his face yells: RUN.
I squeal and dash away right as his hands reach out to grab -and probably tickle- me. I have a slight advantage because I’ve been in here more than once and in the dim moonlight of the studio I know where the rooms are, but I fuck up the second I get into the main room. There’s no exit and now he’s stalking towards me like I’m prey and I just let it happen.
Blade catches me less then a second later, tickling me and growling: “what did you call me?”
“Nothing, nothing! I surrender!” I squeal, trying to squirm away.
“That’s what I thought.” He presses a soft kiss to my lips and the butterflies in my stomach go insane.
I take a second to catch my breath as his grip finally loosens on me an inch, and the air between us is thick. Is this what being in love is like? Falling without knowing there’s someone to catch you at the bottom? A part of me is terrified. I don’t know what is more scary; loving someone who doesn’t feel the same, or who does?
He pulls me closer, into a deep kiss and I tell him everything I can’t say out loud.
“We should probably get to work, though.” I clear my throat as we part again. “The only light we can really use is this one.” I flick on the lamp. “But I think it’s good enough. They’re still waiting on bulbs for the studio rooms, I guess the lights are custom or something.” I crane my neck, looking at the ceiling.
“This is fine, though. Also won’t tell the whole neighbourhood we’re here.”
I want to call him a delinquent again, but my ribs are still sore from laughing so hard so I resist the urge. “So?”
“I like it.” Blade squints up at the blobs of color in the shape of a woman. “Is it going to be a ballerina?”
“Yes, eventually. As you can see, I’ve only done the outline so far, and these past couple days I’ve started working on the skirt.” I unfold the stepping stool one of the construction men provided, grabbing my open can of pink to start again. I critically stare at it for a couple seconds, planning out my next move. “Can you bring me that number 10 angle brush?” I kiss my teeth.
“Of course.” He hands it to me, and I put it into my pocket for the time being, deciding to continue the next strokes with the one I have.
“Anything else?”
“Mmmm. Yeah, actually. I think if I don’t start adding dimension I’m going to go crazy. This is basically fine for a base coat.”
“I agree.”
“Can you mix up the next color for me?” I step off the stool, bending down to the bag where my sketches and paint samples lie. “I think it’s 2 part white to 5 part red.”
“Yeah, of course. I think ½ a part yellow in here would help with the undertones too.” Blade offers, holding the sample closer to the light.
I frown, leaning over to inspect it as I mentally picture in my brain how’d it’d look. “Oh, yeah. I think you’re right.”
“I know.”
I roll my eyes and step back onto the stool, picking up my paintbrush again to continue the pink base layer of her tutu, giving it a bit more shape before I say it's enough. We return to silence for a few seconds, I hear him behind me stirring the paint, and something about the comfortability of it makes my heart happy.
Blade clears his throat. “I got something interesting in my inbox today.”
“Oh, yeah?” I dip my brush back in for more paint.
“Yeah. A new prospect email.”
My blood freezes, face instantly going red as I anticipate what he’s about to say next. “Oh yeah?” I repeat, my voice a little more airy than I’d like. I’m glad he can’t see my face.
“Yeah, at first I was intrigued because we never really get prospects trying to go straight into the design team, usually they’re bounced around the shop til we find what fits but this one is.” He explains, slow scraping of the dowel against the side of the bowl as he mixes.
I continue my brushstrokes, praying my hand isn’t as shaky as it feels.
“Usually there’s a bit of a resume, page about them and a cover letter about why they want to join, but this one sent several pages from her sketchbook, snapshots of different mediums and no resume. Just a cover letter saying someone recommended she join and she’s drunk so here’s some scribbles that I like.”
I clear my throat again, struggling to breathe a bit. Is the air up here thinner? Is that possible indoors?
“Now this…Scribble…really intrigues me. I like her. JT sent this right to me, but didn’t give a name or any contact information, just the subject line. ‘If you like these, she’s in.’ I wondered to myself, why?” He steps closer, I can feel the heat coming off his body. “Why would J, who’s all business with multiple background checks and prospect interviews, say this one would be right in?”
I stay silent, no longer painting.
Blade’s right behind me now, close enough that his breath flutters against my neck, but he’s not touching me. “Then I recognized something in one of the sketches. None of the subjects have any tattoos, are facing the camera or have any distinguishing features, except one hand.”
My breath catches and I curse that one insomniatic drawing session before he even says it. Why did I think it was a good idea to give that particular sketch to them?
He’s touching me now, a feather’s width away from me, enough to feel the form of him against my back, just enough to crave. “This one had a very familiar scar running from the middle finger to wrist.”
“Blade-”
“Shhh.” His hand is on mine now, resting on the top of my step stool. My eyes zero in on the scar, and I close them for a second with another silent curse. “It’s a stem.”
“I-” Have so many follow up questions, but I stay silent, staring at the familiar mark.
“It’s actually a brand from the Wilted Rose MC, the stem gets carved into your hand and the rose is tattooed on your wrist.”
I feel guilty, as if I’m making him tell me pieces of his past that I didn’t know before. “Blade…”
“Only their gang members have this mark. The idea is it’s permanent, like your loyalty to the club. Nobody leaves unless it’s in a body bag.” He scoffs.
“How did you?” I want to turn around and look at him so badly, but right as I’m about to, his other hand grips my waist, keeping me on the stool.
“They allowed us to leave, a prisoner’s dilemma type deal ensured my sister and mom are safe.”
“What do you mean prisoner’s dilemma?” stop asking questions, D.
“It’s…” He trails off and sighs, as if trying to find the best explanation without giving too much to me. “Mutual security. They have x on me but I have y,z on them so none of us will say anything to keep all of us safe.”
“Oh.”
“The tattoo is gone, but my scar will stay. The thing is, nobody else has this scar. And I think only two people know this hand well enough to perfect every inch of it from memory and draw something so accurate.”
Okay, yeah he definitely knows.
“One of them is me.” His hand that was gripping my waist trails down my hip, resting on my thigh. I think he asks me something but I can’t concentrate.
“What?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Blade’s thumb moves up and down an inch, and I close my eyes.
“It’s just a stupid- I didn’t think I was…” My words come out all jumbled.
“If you were interested in joining, you could have talked to me directly and we could’ve seen what we would do privately.”
This is him telling me it sucked, I was stupid to apply. “I didn't want to make…I don't know.” I shrug, my thoughts going everywhere. “My feelings won't be hurt if you deny.”
He chuckles. “So anyway, this morning I had no hesitation in my reply, because we’re smart enough to know talent like this just doesn’t come around often.”
My heart races as the excitement builds.
“Yes.”
“Y-yes?” My voice comes out a squeak.
“Check ur inbox.” He whispers in my ear.
I scream and turn, throwing my arms around him as the step stool behind me clatters to the ground. For a second I worry about it, the paint I dropped that’s probably splattered now, the stool making a dent in the new floor, wall. But I don’t care. I’m in. It’s a yes.
“You’re so talented you could do anything you want to with your design passion, but we’d love for you to join us.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, if this is what you want. Absolutely.” He repositions us so I'm no longer mid-air, my tiptoes grace the floor.
“Holy fuck. I can’t believe it. I need to call Kasei.” I look at his face. “Oh she already knows? Okay, well I have to thank Gemini.”
“She knows; Keila and Tyler too. We haven’t had our club meeting yet, obviously, but they all know and they’re all just as excited.”
“Holy fuck.” I repeat.
“Welcome to the Hawks, Scribble.”
“Scribble?”
“Yeah, everyone needs a club name and I figured it fit. What do you think?”
“Oh I love it, I love-” my words cut off and I clear my throat.
The look on his face says he knows exactly what I was about to say and I look away for a second, loosening my grip on him. “I don’t know how to thank you, this is incredible.”
“It’s not going to be easy. Being a prospect means you’re at the bottom of the pole. You’re going to be doing people’s grunt work for a while, and there’s no guarantee you'll stay if you’re not a fit.”
“I understand.”
“And I’ll be your boss, the one you report to directly. If I call you, if I need something, you answer.”
“That’s usually how it goes.” I joke, biting my lip.
“Dakota.” He breathes. “Professional. I’ll be your professional boss.”
“Right.” I salute him.
Blade rolls his eyes. “You’re hilarious.” It’s obvious he’s trying to keep emotion out of his voice, but there’s a small smile flirting on his lips.
“I know.” I kiss him hard, pulling away with a grateful smile. “Seriously, I’m so excited. I also have no clue how I’m expected to keep my hands to myself if I see you everyday.”
He chuckles, holding me even tighter. “Who told you that you had to?” Blade squeezes my ass and I laugh, wrapping my arms around his shoulders to pull him closer.
“Fair enough.”
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I have to stop saying this, but I think THIS one is my fave, actually.
I love you all.
ALSO?
I’m going to Cancun, Mexico next week?! So excited.
What’s new and exciting in your life??

Cassi