Tattoo Thief: Tattoo Thief, #1

By Heidi Joy Tretheway

A rock star on the run meets his match in the stranger who wants to bring him home.

Beryl doesn’t know why Gavin Slater trashed his penthouse, abandoned his dog and fled the country. But as his house sitter, she must pick up the pieces for the front man of the white-hot rock band Tattoo Thief.

When Beryl confronts the reckless rock star, she wants to know more than just what to do with his mess. Why is he running? What’s he searching for? And is he responsible for the death of his muse? Beryl must find her footing in Gavin’s crazy world to discover her own direction and what can bring him back.

TATTOO THIEF is a full-length, standalone new adult contemporary romance (no cliffhanger). It contains steamy scenes and strong language intended for mature readers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jasper Ridge Press
• Release date: Oct 8, 2013
• ISBN: 9781502223760

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

When failure rubs its stinky butt in your face, it smells like coffee.

It’s the smell that assaults me each morning when I unlock the doors of the Mug Shot Café.

It’s the smell that rules my day.

And it’s the smell that clings to me each afternoon when I give the till to the assistant manager, pull my bike from its hiding place behind a Dumpster, and pedal home to the apartment I share with my mother.

I’m twenty-two. If living with your mother after you graduate college doesn’t reek of failure, I don’t know what does.

First customer today: an extra-hot, half-caf, sugar-free, non-fat latte with whipped cream.

I consider telling her we charge extra for whipped cream—we don’t—just because her order is so annoying.

Or, I could charge a service fee for taking her order while she furiously texts with dagger-like fingernails. I consider slipping real sugar into her latte, but settle for the Awkward Pause.

She takes the hint, puts down the phone and pays.

Next batter up: Isaac. One of my favorites. He’s always in a suit, orders the same three-dollar drink, drops the same two-dollar tip, smiles and says thank you. I have a little crush on him. Our friendship started when I thanked him for thanking me.

You have no idea how often service workers don’t get thanked. One customer told her daughter that she didn’t have to thank me because I was just doing my job.

Some job.

Next?

Yoga pants lady (who is not en route to yoga): soy chai latte.

Next?

Bike messenger: extra-dry cappuccino.

Next?

Berry?

I look up, surprised to hear my childhood nickname. The nametag on my apron just says Manager.

Uncle Dan? I squint like an idiot, fumbling to greet the man I last saw nearly a decade ago. He’s not my real uncle. But he was my dad’s best friend.

Berry, you’re all grown up!

I cringe with the same embarrassment I felt as a child. Each time he visited Eugene, Oregon—his hometown and mine—he’d remark on how tall I’d grown.

I’m sorry, he recovers quickly. I know that sounds ridiculous now. It’s been way too long.

Yeah. Wow. I’m just full of scintillating conversation. What are you doing here?

I try to make the question neutral, but it comes out kind of choked. Seeing him transports me to a too-bright spring day and a darkened funeral home. I stood between my mom and Dan, who gave the eulogy. Dozens of my dad’s friends packed the room, too many brown leather flight jackets to count.

Flustered, I make Dan a drink.

Can you take a break? I’d love to catch up. Dan seems overly enthusiastic, overly apologetic. I never meant to go so long without seeing you and your mother.

The morning rush is mostly over so I saddle the lone barista with both register and bar duties. She scowls but I pull off my apron and pour a tall glass of tap water before joining Dan at a table that wobbles a little.

Mental note to fix that.

What are you doing in town? I’m genuinely curious. Dan’s folks moved to Florida, so my dad was pretty much the only reason he visited Eugene after high school.

High school reunion. Thirty years.

Make you feel old? I don’t mean to be rude. Sometimes I blurt whatever pops into my head.

Yeah. I mean, I can’t believe I’m old enough to be the father of a real adult. Look at you, Berry! You look wonderful.

I blush hard, because I feel anything but. My long, curly dark brown hair is looped back on itself in a messy ponytail. I’m wearing my standard uniform of jeans and a T-shirt, and I skipped makeup this morning. At 5:15 a.m., I’d rather have a few extra minutes of sleep.

Dan, on the other hand, looks like he’s channeling Anderson Cooper: he’s slim, toned, and perfectly shaved. It’s an unseasonably warm early June, but Dan looks cool and crisp in a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves and gray trousers.

I realize I haven’t responded to Dan’s compliment and unintentionally gave him the Awkward Pause.

Thanks. I guess I look a little different than last time. I gurgle out a weird laugh, transported to my 13-year-old self, all knees and elbows and frizzy hair. Top off my look with braces anchored by neon rubber bands. I defined awkward teen.

I didn’t know you worked here. I was actually hoping to see your mom this trip, but she—

Never returned your calls, I finish for him. Yeah. Don’t expect much. She’s all wrapped up in her counseling practice and she doesn’t have much of a life, social or otherwise.

Dan’s face drops but then he rallies. So tell me about you! Are you happy working here?

Oh, definitely. Being a coffee bar manager is, like, my dream. Sarcasm drips from my words, and I kick myself. I don’t need to be snotty.

Did you go to college?

Yep. I majored in journalism at the University of Oregon. It was a little weird commuting to school with mom while she finished her master’s in counseling. I worked here at the coffee shop all the way through.

So after graduation, you just stayed?

Of course not. I did what every journalism student does—I got a job at a little weekly paper. I covered local politics and school board hearings. Edge-of-your-seat stuff, let me tell you.

And then? Dan sips his latte, gently probing.

"And then I quit. I was reporting a really bad story, one where two kids died. I worked crazy hours and made two bucks over minimum wage. So I quit. My old boss, who owns this place, hired me back as manager. Believe it or not, this gig got me a raise."

So you’re happy. Dan leans back in his chair and I can’t tell if it’s a question or a statement.

I hesitate long enough that it becomes a question, hanging in the air between us, growing more significant with each moment.

I want to tell him I’m just paying my dues and that I have a plan to do something different, but the truth is, I don’t. I don’t know where I’m going next, or if I’ll ever figure out what I want to be when I grow up.

I just wasted four years on a journalism degree and it took me less than a year to figure out that being a reporter sucks.

Dan’s dark gaze is sharp and knowing, as if I’ve already admitted this. I could never get away with lying to him as a kid, either.

I’m stuck, I finally admit. Stuck here, stuck with this. Do I look as pathetic as I sound?

So get un-stuck.

I roll my eyes. He makes it sound easy. He probably has a zillion frequent flyer miles, while the farthest I’ve ever been from Eugene was a youth group trip to Seattle. Six hours in a yellow bus rumbling up Interstate 5 hardly qualifies me as a world traveler.

I’m serious, Berry. You can do something new.

Beryl, I finally correct him. I gave up my childhood nickname a long time ago. Plus, I think Beryl is equal parts tough, hip, and classic. I can rock a name like Beryl.

Sorry, he says. Old habit. But I’m serious. You should see the world. At least get out of this town. You have no idea how blown away I was when I moved to New York City.

Easier said than done.

Dan waves his hand, dismissing the paralysis I feel. New York seems larger than life, a towering megatropolis that I’d get lost in. But Dan talks about moving there like it just takes a plane ticket and a little luck.

I know it also takes a pile of cash that I don’t have. I’m still saving for an apartment in Eugene.

I once read a whole BuzzFeed article about how hard it is to rent an apartment in New York, with hilariously horrifying pictures from Craigslist. Anything in my price range is guaranteed to have rats, roaches, and bedbugs. And that’s just the start of the creepy neighbors.

Let me make it easier, then, Dan offers. I’m in real estate. I do high-end property management and I need an assistant. It’s not super-glamorous—a lot of it is grunt work—but I need someone who can do research, be super-organized and write well.

He names a figure roughly twice my current salary and my eyes pop out of my head.

Berry—Beryl, sorry—that doesn’t go as far as you’d think in New York, but it’s a start. So get yourself un-stuck. Move.

I roll the idea around in my head, taking a huge drink of water from my glass and sputtering. Smooth.

Mom will hate the idea.

Of course she will. You’re her only child. Maybe I can talk to her and help her understand? It’s time you leave the nest, explore a bit, and try on a new kind of life for size. Dan’s eyes are shining with enthusiasm. Clearly, he’s fallen head-over-heels for New York.

Why are you doing this? I’m still suspicious. Even though Dan was there for many of my birthday parties as a kid and even some of our Christmases, I’m smart enough to know opportunities like this don’t just drop out of the sky.

Dan rubs his chin and I think he’s debating telling me an adult truth or the kind of generous lie meant to placate a child. I guess I feel a certain responsibility. I’m sorry I dropped out of your life for so long. Your dad would have wanted me to be there for you. You’re stuck here and he would have wanted you to have an adventure.

I feel tears threaten to spill over my lashes. Be safe, but have an adventure, was the phrase my dad so often repeated. It was his driving force, and he was always pushing me to do more and be more.

Until one day when he wasn’t there. And then I needed to just be safe, so I could be there for my mom.

I do have a friend there… I start, feeling the weight of the gift Dan’s offering.

Call her. Or him. Or whatever. Dan pushes his business card across the wobbling table. My lone barista sends murderous looks my way. Let me know what you decide. I’ll be around for a few days. Or maybe I could stop by and say hello to your mom.

I’ll call you, I promise, and give him an odd side-hug because I’m not sure what else to do. I’ve got to get back to work.

CHAPTER TWO

I consider ignoring Dan’s offer, sticking with what I know and what’s comfortable. But as each customer enters and orders, I roll the idea over in my head, imagining what life could be like.

New York seems enormous and scary. I think of the cop shows and crazy-confusing public transit. The closest thing we have to a subway in Eugene is a dedicated bus lane with grass down the middle.

I swear I am not making that up.

I pedal home to an empty apartment. I’ve got two hours between the end of my coffee shop shift and the start of my second job, three nights a week at a brewpub. While the coffee shop pays enough for my bills and part of the rent, I’ve been funneling tips from the pub into another account, hoping to move into an apartment with my boyfriend, buy a car, or even travel.

But so far, I haven’t done any of that. I want to blame it on the responsible part of me that does her homework before making a big decision, but maybe I’m just scared.

My mom won’t be home until after I have to leave for my shift, so I call Stella. She’s the one who always makes me feel braver than I am.

We were in J-school together (that’s the journalism program, to insiders) and we were pretty tight. At the college newspaper, I was the news editor and she was the rabble-rousing opinions editor.

Stella?

What’s up? How’s the coffee shop? We haven’t talked on the phone in months but we don’t need much time to catch up since we’re Facebook friends. She’s read my status updates and I’ve read hers, which are mostly insane stories of New York nightlife.

So I cut to the chase. I’m thinking about moving to New York.

Really? That’s brilliant! she trills, and I can hear her Squee! through the phone, which encourages me.

I got a sort-of job offer from my dad’s best friend, and I think I want to go, if I can find a place to live.

Stella’s voice catches. Oh, Beryl, you have no idea what perfect timing this is. You’ve got to come live with me.

Is it really this easy?

I was freaking out about rent, and if you move here, all of my problems are solved!

I thought you were living with your boyfriend? What’s his name? Knyfe?

Blayde. That rat bastard. I’ll spare you the details, but the thing is, we split up and rent’s due in three days and I didn’t even know what I’d do…

Nobody calls me impulsive. Impetuous. Spur-of-the-moment. Fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants. Nobody calls me that, because I’m Not. That. Way.

It’s hard to be a carefree teenager when your mom’s having a meltdown. But now Mom’s fine and my life sucks. So that’s the moment I make up my mind.

Failure isn’t going to rub its stinky butt in my face one more day.

I haven’t talked to my mom or Jeff yet.

But you will? Come on Beryl, they can’t make up your mind for you.

It’s complicated. I was planning to move in with Jeff.

So? I was planning to be a Broadway star. Plans change. Roll with it.

He’s not going to understand.

Listen to me: ‘Opportunity is not a lengthy visitor.’

"Into the Woods. Cinderella." I smile, remembering our game. I score a point each time I can name a lyric’s source in musical theater. She forced me to listen to soundtracks when we spent late nights working at our college newspaper.

Score one for you. That’s from ‘First Midnight.’ Stella laughs and I warm inside. I miss her. She’s daring when I’m careful, feisty when I’m the peacemaker, and the troublemaker when I’m the good girl.

But being the good girl is getting me nowhere. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. I’m going to talk to Jeff. And my mom. And if I can get their blessing—

Shut up. Even if you can’t.

Even if I can’t get their blessing—

You’re coming.

Damn, she’s good. I’ll send you the rent tomorrow, I promise. And I’ll be your new roomie! I’m booking the first flight that doesn’t cost a gazillion bucks.

I love you, Beryl!

Ditto. I click off my phone and start to panic.

***

I take a shower, straighten the apartment and put on my brewpub uniform—denim shorts and an embroidered black polo. I give it the sniff test and it passes.

I try to think of what to say as I ride to Jeff’s apartment, hoping to catch him home from work before I have to report in for my next shift. I leave my bike at the bottom of his apartment’s stairs and knock on his door, opening it when there’s no answer.

Jeff is sprawled in his usual butt-shaped dent on his couch, fat black headphones on his head, totally absorbed in a shoot-em-up video game. I hook my rear over the edge of the couch and plant my legs in his lap. He smiles but keeps furiously pressing buttons on the controller.

I pop a few buttons on his shirt beneath his loosened tie, letting my hand wander down below his belt buckle. He tenses and then slumps, curses, drops the controller, and yanks off his headphones.

You’d better be offering something more than a tease, considering you just got me killed, he grumbles, his hands snaking beneath my polo shirt. I can tell he’s equal parts annoyed and horny.

The usual.

Maybe after my shift, I say, kissing him lightly. If we take things further, I’ll be late. I want to talk to you.

Jeff pulls back, studying me with curious eyes. His olive-skinned face shows a bit of stubble and his eyes are puffy, no doubt from gaming long into last night. I’m glad I didn’t bother to stay over. I wouldn’t have had his attention anyway.

But now I’ve got it. I’m thinking about moving, I say, feeling Stella the angel (or devil?) on my shoulder as she smacks my head for that indecisive statement.

Well, we can move when you’re ready, Jeff says. We can go apartment-hunting this weekend, if that’s what you want. He’s been saving, too, planning to move out of the apartment he’s shared with two frat brothers since our senior year.

I shake my head slightly. No, I mean, I’m thinking about moving to a new city. For a while, just to get out of Eugene and see somewhere else for a change.

Jeff’s face scrunches in confusion. I thought we talked about this. I can’t move while I’m in manager training, but then after that we can bid for a new city. I’ve got another year to go, babe.

Jeff works for a rental car company, and from what I’ve heard from the girlfriends and wives at company events, the pickings are slim for transfers. I don’t want to move to a town where the cultural hub is a shopping mall.

I twist my hands in my lap and I can hear Stella screaming, Spit it out! So I do.

No, I mean, I’m thinking of going by myself. To New York. I sort of got a job offer there.

Jeff reels back as if I’ve hit him. With—without me? Why would you want to go to New York? It’s dirty and crowded and expensive.

And different.

And unsafe.

You don’t know that. Dan says it’s changed a lot. Jeff has never been to New York, but he’s saying the same things I thought when Dan suggested it. Only now I feel like I’m defending the Big Apple.

Who’s Dan?

My dad’s best friend. He offered me the job. I watch as Jeff’s expression morphs from hurt to frustration.

"Why do I feel like you’ve already made up your mind? Beryl, this is crazy. You can go visit Stella or something, but you can’t just go live there. That’s impossible."

The harder to get, the better to have, I mumble, scoring a point in Stella’s game with another Into the Woods lyric. Jeff, I want to do this. I’m itching to get out of Eugene, and with this job offer, I could actually do it for a while.

And what about me? Didn’t you think it would affect us? Didn’t you think at all?

My easygoing boyfriend is long gone, replaced by a fight-or-flight response at full throttle. But I feel anger burning in my gut, knowing that if I don’t do this, if I stay stuck in my hometown forever, I’m going to hate it—and him.

I hoped you’d understand, I say, wrapping my arms around him in some kind of an apology. I thought you’d want me to go try this, have an adventure, so that when we decide to settle down or even move to a new city together, I’ll be ready.

I thought you were ready now.

I shake my head. Jeff got a job straight out of college that has a clear career path. But I threw my career path away when I left the newspaper. Now, the most exciting thing I write besides my journal is an order ticket for a beer-and-burger special.

And I call bullshit on that.

Jeff, I’ve got to go. Either I do this, or I’m going to hate myself for missing this chance. I can’t bring myself to say I’ll hate him for keeping me from it.

He shocks me by making it too easy.

Then do it. But don’t expect me to wait around for you. He pushes my arms off his neck and scoots to the other end of the couch, pulling his headphones on his ears and grabbing his videogame controller.

I stand and watch his eyes redden, feeling a sob build in my chest. He won’t look at me, only the TV.

CHAPTER THREE

I cry as I ride to the brewpub, wash my face in cold water in the bathroom sink, and do my shift in a daze.

I can’t believe what just happened. Did I really just throw away eighteen months with my boyfriend for a job?

I decide not to go to New York a dozen times during the dinner shift. But then a group of college students stiffs me with a buck-fifty tip for a table of four, a woman yells at me for a screwed-up order that was the kitchen’s fault, and a customer pats me on the butt.

I want to take a chunk out of the customer’s arm with my teeth, but I just chew my lip and keep moving. I have to keep moving. If I stand still, I’ll break down again.

The same fear and exhilaration I felt when I quit my reporting job hits me and I can’t bring myself to eat on my break, so I nurse an Arnold Palmer on the curb behind the brewpub and check Facebook on my phone. Jeff has already updated his relationship status to single.

Jackass. But I feel the tears flow again.

I also see a message from Stella. I saw Jeff’s status. Looks like it didn’t go so well. Chin up, beauty, you’re going to love NYC! Even through the tears, I smile. Stella always seems to rebound from the bad boys she dates as if they were nothing worse than a hang­over.

I drag my feet during my end-of-shift sidework, hoping the business of mating ketchup bottles and refilling salt and pepper shakers will keep me busy until after my mom’s in bed.

I’m in luck. Her bedroom light is off, so I tiptoe to my room, knowing that I’ll be up and out of the house again before she gets up. But that means tomorrow night’s going to be rough.

***

"How could you just do this without even discussing it with me?" my mom cries. And she’s just getting started. Years of practiced, impassive expressions in her family counseling practice have made her more prone to outbursts, in my opinion.

But what do I know? I’m not the licensed therapist.

"I am discussing it with you. Right now."

I move to drain the pasta before it gets gluey, stepping carefully around her in our small apartment’s galley kitchen.

But you’ve already made up your mind, she accuses. I can’t believe Dan didn’t say something to me first.

You mean, ask your permission?

Mom backpedals. I’ve already played my I’m twenty-two, not a child card twice tonight. She knows it trumps her Because I’m the mother, that’s why card.

I need you here. You’re all I’ve got. I can’t stand the thought of losing you too. And if you go to New York, you won’t be safe. You won’t have me to take care of you.

I clench my teeth, biting back a comment that will only hurt her. After Dad died, I took care of her more than she took care of me. I plunk our dinner down on the table harder than I intend and the sound echoes off the walls.

Mom sees I’m not swayed, so she plays the pity card, sad eyes and all. That’s practically an ace. I’m your mother. Shouldn’t my opinion count for something?

You’ve never been to New York, I remind her. And neither have I. We’ve never been much of anywhere since…

I don’t want to say, since Dad died, or, since the accident.

My father was a private pilot—his passion, his hobby and his death sentence. He got caught when the weather came in and the clouds rolled down. With nowhere to land but vast stretches of forest, he tried and failed.

We don’t need to go anywhere. You don’t need to go anywhere. You can find a new opportunity in Eugene. Or even Portland. She frowns at the mention of the biggest city near us, a hundred miles north.

But her words ring hollow even as she says them. If I stay in Eugene, I’ll still reek of coffee, failure, and frustration. Or I can spread my wings like Stella and get a bitchin’ job and a punk boyfriend (Blayde? Knyfe? What’s with that name?).

And maybe change my future.

A knock startles me as I’m setting the table and I fly to the door, eager for something to defuse our argument. Dan stands on our doormat, hands tucked behind his back, looking hopeful.

Defuse? This is more like throwing a match in a room full of dynamite.

Hi Berry, I was wondering if—

New York? What were you thinking?!? My mother is behind me, hands on her hips, staring Dan down. He takes a step back and ducks his head from the daggers in her eyes.

I edge to the side, out of the line of fire, pushing the door open wider. I think my mom would like to slam it in his face, but I’m not going to let her bully us.

Meredith. It’s good to see you. Dan’s eyes crinkle as he smiles but she huffs and stalks into the kitchen, so angry her face is purple.

Um, not a good time right now. We were just talking about New York. I remember my manners and hope he’ll take my side in this fight. You want to come in?

Dan hesitates as he enters our apartment, as if a lion might be lurking around a corner. He’s half-right—my mom can be pretty fierce when she’s angry. I guess I prefer angry to the years when she was withdrawn or just plain sad.

Dan turns and hands me the bouquet of daisies he’d hidden behind his back. You’d better hold onto these, Berry, he whispers. If I give them to your mother, she’ll probably throw them in my face.

My mom rounds the corner from the kitchen, her face pinched with anger. What makes you think you can just come in here and take my daughter away? What makes you think you can fly back into our lives after all this time?

I tried to call you, Dan protests.

And I didn’t call you back. That should have been all you needed to know.

Meredith, I didn’t mean to disappear. When I came to Eugene, you wouldn’t see me.

But then you stopped coming. Or calling. So what makes you think I want to see you now? My mom’s blinking fast and I can tell she’s trying not to cry.

Dan raises his palms in surrender. Meredith, I didn’t come to fight with you. You were one of my best friends. I wish we were still friends. I wish—a lot of things. And so I came to promise you I’d take good care of Berry if she wants to come to New York.

Beryl. My mother and I correct him in unison and I give her a tiny smile of gratitude. Then I look at the flowers I’m holding guiltily, as if I’ve already accepted his offer to go to New York.

In my mind, I have.

"Sorry, Beryl. And Meredith, I’m

Reviews for Tattoo Thief

[iloveladyporn · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Beryl is pretty funny when she isn't over thinking things. She finally decides there's more to life than her boring existence in Eugene, Oregon & is offered a once in a life time opportunity to be adventurous. Soon she relizes things are going to be a bit more difficult than she hoped but she easily finds her way with a few bumps in the road. It's exciting to read how Gavin & Beryl develop a relationship from the inside out. Beryl seems to have a gift for seeing what others really need in life. There are a few sex scenes nothing steamy or raunchy.
Fabulous Ending. Can't wait for Stella's story.

[dpappas_25 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Life is too exciting and messy and unpredictable to give up. I’m telling you all this crap about what I hated in my life, but it was an adventure.This is another book that I picked up when it was free on Amazon. This book follows Beryl (I liked the unique name) as she breaks out of her safe, boring, and normal life in Eugene, Oregon to move to New York City to work for her late father's best friend. She ends up a housesitter for the mysterious rock star, Gavin Slater. While house sitting for Gavin she gets to know him and the two become close. I initially really liked Beryl and could really connect with her. I could identify with the safe life that she lived in Oregon and the growth that she experienced when she moved to New York. When I started to have a little bit of a problem with her is when she kind of turned into some creepy stalker about Gavin (even she admits it was kind of stalkerish. I had a bit of second-hand embarrassment at how desperate she seemed at times. Beryl and Gavin get to know each other through emails and instant messages. For most of the book that is how Gavin makes an appearance. I can understand how they could grow to become friends because of that but not how they could grow to fall for each other so fast. Maybe it was just me but I felt like the emails and instant messages weren't enough for them to truly get to know each other. I was just as impatient for Gavin to come back home as Beryl was. I feel like that while we do get to know him while he is chatting online with Beryl Gavin wasn't truly fleshed out and developed until he came home. Overall I did enjoy this but felt that the love came on too fast and too strong and that Gavin was underdeveloped for most of the book. I don't know if I will be continuing with this series but only because I didn't particularly like the two characters that are the focus of the next book.