Untamed (A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance)(181)
I grimace. “Really?”
“Oh, yes. Trust is very important. You are marking somebody for life, and tattoos often have immense sentimental value. How can you get people to trust you if you are not skilled at socializing?”
“I’m just not really a social person.”
“Think about all the women in history who were forced to socialize – likely against their will – hanging onto the arms of men. Are you going to sit here and tell me that being socialable is not a skill that can be honed, like drawing?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Tomorrow we have three clients booked for the afternoon. I want you to sit down with each of them and talk to them.”
“Really? Do I have to?”
“Yes. Talk, get to know them. Ask about their tattoos. Show interest. Don’t be awkward or combative. At least, try not to be. You’ll meet people from all walks of life. Different ages, races, classes, and religions. I hate to say it, but some of our clients are genuinely slow. Some are very smart, quick. Some are sensitive and take offense easily, others can take jokes all day long. It’s imperative you understand how to connect with them all. Especially if you want to run your own shop one day.”
I nod, but stay silent.
“Did you have many friends in school?”
“Not really,” I whisper. “I wasn’t one of the cool girls if that’s what you mean. People thought I was ‘punk’ or whatever because I painted my nails black and had tattoos and wore black t-shirts.”
“What about that tattoo artist you said you were friends with?”
“Well, she was more of an older-sister, I guess? We weren’t really, like, you know, real friends. I liked her because she could teach me.”
Tina smiles warmly. “Okay, well, listen, it may not come easily, but it’ll come with practice, like most things in life. Anyway, I wanted to ask you, how are you doing? Settling in fine?”
“Yeah, it’s okay,” I say. “Still not used to all the slang, and in America you’d never hear the c-word as much as you do here.” I give her a sheepish grin.
“And Pierce?”
I stiffen up. “What… what about him?”
“Is he bothering you still?”
“Not… exactly.”
“Be careful with him,” Tina warns me. “Do you understand?”
I furrow my brow, attempting to shrug it off. “Come on, Tina.”
“No, really Penelope. Be careful with him. He’s a heartbreaker.”
The words come out of my mouth in a whisper. “Right.”
“I assume you know what he does, right?”
“He’s a fighter… underground.”
“As in illegal.” Tina sees how uncomfortable I’m getting, and puts a hand on my knee. “I’m just looking out for you. If you ever need to talk, you can call me, okay?”
“Thanks,” I say.
“Now go on, get out of here. You want a lift home?”
“No, I’m going to walk.”
Tina’s voice grows stern. “Penelope.”
“Okay, I’ll take the tram.”
“Good enough. See you tomorrow.”
I smile, get up and leave the shop wondering at Tina’s slightly maternal behavior. As far as I know, she’s single, and if I had to guess I’d say she was in her late thirties. I’ve never seen her with a guy, and I’ve never failed to notice how she dotes on the children that clients sometimes bring in.
But then my mind moves to Pierce.
It’s like I can only get a few seconds of time to think about something else before my thoughts go back to him.
I wonder what he’s up to.
I’m… I hate to admit it, but I’m worried.
Chapter Twenty Seven
Three days left. Just three days until the fight.
I’m eating brown rice, broccoli and chicken breasts, followed by an electrolyte and mineral cocktail I made up myself.
The worst thing that can happen to a fighter in the cage is to get a cramp. You’ve got to prepare your body for many days before the fight. You’ve got to get everything just perfect. Hydration is key, and good food is, too.
You’d never guess it, because, fuck, calories are calories, right? But there’s a world of difference in the way you feel consuming one-thousand calories of junk versus one-thousand calories of good food. I eat four one-thousand calorie meals per day. It’s actually really hard work.
When I was younger, I paid diet no mind. Now, with the big three-zero coming up faster than I’d like, I live by it.
There’s a knock on the door. I haven’t showered yet – I stink of sweat from working out – but it’s probably just one of Fallon’s goons come around the house again, maybe to give me the details for the fight location.