Rattled, стр. 1

Rattled

A Baxter Boys Novella

Jane Charles

Contents

Dedication

Kelsey

Alex

Kelsey

Alex

Kelsey

Alex

Kelsey

Alex

Kelsey

Alex

Kelsey

Alex

Excerpt - STILL RATTLED

About Jane Charles

Jane Charles’s New Adult Romance

Jane Charles’s Historical Romance

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Dedication

For all mothers everywhere.

The ones who scolded and hugged, had many sleepless nights, bandaged knees, sent them off to school, watched them graduate, and beyond.

For the mothers whose child was taken from them far too soon. Whether they were an infant, a toddler, teen, or adult, I can’t begin to understand your pain.

For the mothers faced with the decision of keeping their child or giving them up for someone else to love. A heart-wrenching decision, and too personal for anyone to judge.

And for the mothers who have opened their hearts and taken those children in,even though the DNA will never match, you still gave love because you had it to give.

And for our mothers, because we wouldn’t be here without their love and devotion.

I shake out my hands, take a deep breath, but continue pacing in the green room. Why am I so nervous? This is all I’ve thought about for over a year. I’ve saved every penny and existed on ramen noodles just so I could get this done. And it has to be today. And it has to be here. The Reeds are and have some of the best tattoo artists around and I can’t just trust this to anyone.

I’m not alone in here. There are others, all waiting to see a tattoo artist, but I’m not really paying attention to them. I’m too anxious to just sit and make idle chitchat with a stranger.

I planned ahead and made the appointment weeks ago, but instead of getting on the schedule, I was asked if I’d be interested in letting one of the artists being auditioned for the show do my tat. At first, I rejected the option. This was an important tattoo and I didn’t want it fucked up by an amateur. But then I went back and watched the previous shows. The Reeds don’t just let anyone walk in off the streets and start tattooing, or even audition. The artists are vetted way before they are trusted to apply ink. So after thinking about it further, and knowing the price is half of what I’d saved for the occasion, I called back and asked if I could still participate.

It’s probably better that I didn’t get one of the Reed brothers anyway. I’ve watched since their show first aired and if I came face to face with any one of them I’d probably go all fan girl and humiliate myself. Today is going to be hard enough.

It’s already hard.

I clutch the worn manila envelope close to my chest. Everything that’s important to me is in here. It’s with me always. If it’s not in my big purse, it’s in my backpack. It goes everywhere I go, and what I want is in there.

My stomach churns and I take a deep breath. I just hope to hell that whoever I get assigned to doesn’t fuck this up.

I’ve checked my station five times. I have everything I could possibly need for a tat. All I can do now is wait for the skin to get here.

I just hope she’s clear in what she wants, and that she’s not difficult to please. I’ve done tats that are perfect, yet sometimes customers are just never happy, and others have remorse. But for the most part, everyone has been happy with my work, often returning and referring customers. I need one of those today. This is too important and I don’t need a bitch or an asshat showing up, being a pain in the ass.

I need to land a spot on the show. I need to work for the Reeds.

I’m good at what I do. Damn good. But they’re better. Nobody is as good as they are, and anyone who gets an opportunity to work with the Reeds will only get better.

Once I’m on the show, I’ll have a regular paying job and I’ll be creating art. In time, I’ll have name recognition and will be able to do what I really want.

The door starts to open and I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Your skin is here, Mr. Dosek,” says one of the producers.

A young woman steps through the door. Her dark head is down and she’s clutching a wrinkled and stained manila envelope to her chest. The door closes and she slowly looks up.

Her brown eyes meet mine and widen. “What the fuck?” she says by way of greeting.

I glance around. There is a cameraman watching my every move and recording everything I say. Is this some kind of joke? Are the Reeds really auditioning me or is this about to turn into a bad episode of “What Would You Do?”

I shake the stupid thought from my head. How could the Reeds, their producers, or anyone know of my connection to Kelsey Fry? I haven’t seen her in five years. Not since I graduated from Baxter Academy of Arts.

“Hi Kelsey, how have you been?”

“Are you really the artist?”

I hold out my hands palms up and smile. “Yep.”

She turns to the door. “Well, I want someone else.”

If she walks out now, it’s a fail. Immediate crash and burn. Besides being a great tattoo artist, people skills and customer service are also at the top of the list to get hired. I won’t get another chance if she leaves. I’ll be shown the door. “Please?” I hate to beg, but I will. “Don’t go. This is too important to me.”

Kelsey slowly turns, her mouth open