the phone book,’ the blonde said, handing him two sets of keys.
‘Great, thanks,’ he said before turning to Alexis. ‘You owe me twenty bucks.’
The clerk giggled.
Cleveland was definitely not her city. So what if Susan said it was known for rock ’n’ roll and Lake Erie? She didn’t care. She didn’t want to be there. And it wasn’t like she had the extra money to go to any of the museums, or the zoo, or to theme parks, or shopping, or anywhere cool. No, all she got was a cheap hotel room so far away from the water it was like Lake Erie wasn’t even there.
She wasn’t expecting much by the looks of the lobby, but she was expecting more than this. The room was flooded with pastels. She’d seen rooms like this before – in movies about poor people. What was this place? A one-star hotel? A no-star? Well, what did she expect for twenty dollars? At least it looked clean enough.
There was a round table with a complimentary notepad and pencil on it. A small television set sat in the middle of a long brown dresser. The only piece of artwork was of a Southwestern influence and hung in a mauve plastic frame. It matched the mauve floral pattern of the bedspread. Alexis stared at the queen-size bed in horror. The hotel room only had the one bed. It looked stiff, if the bedspread was any indication. She sighed. It would probably be too much to ask that Ethan be gentleman enough to sleep on the stained mauve carpet.
‘Hey, move, this is heavy,’ Ethan said from behind her. ‘The room’s not going to bite you, doll.’
Alexis sat her camera bag on the table, getting out of his way. She ignored him as she took out the small battery charger and plugged it into the wall. The red light on it blinked, showing the battery was low. She’d probably have to leave it plugged in all night.
‘What is that anyway?’ Ethan asked.
‘Camera,’ Alexis said, her tone flat. Did the man not know what a camera was?
‘Uh, yeah, I see that. What kind?’
‘Do you know your cameras?’ Alexis asked.
‘I’m an artist,’ was his answer. ‘I’ve seen a few.’
‘Oh, do you sculpt? Paint?’ She turned, frowning as he watched him plug in a laptop. Then, some machine she’d never seen before. It was a big square with a digital panel and dials.
‘I tattoo.’ He glanced at her. The dim room was lit by a lamp on the dresser, but the light still managed to pick up the colour of his eyes. She had to look away first. There was no way she would allow herself to think any part of this man was cute.
‘I thought you said you were an artist.’ Alexis frowned in confusion.
Ethan shook his head in obvious exasperation. ‘Tattooing is an art form.’
‘Art is found in museums,’ Alexis argued. ‘Drawing silly little pictures on people is not art. Little children do that to each other in school.’
‘Ever hear of the tattoo museum in Amsterdam? Or the ones here in the US? The one in Oxford?’ he asked, chuckling to himself.
‘No,’ she said carefully. ‘Still, art is old, you know. The forms have been around for a long time. When did tattooing start? The 1950s, with biker gangs and sailors?’
‘Um, try about thirty eight thousand BC ,’ he said. ‘It’s a lot older than some of your so-called art mediums.’
‘You’re kidding.’ Alexis stepped closer to him. She looked at his little eclectric box with renewed interest. ‘They didn’t have electricity back then.’
‘Not all tattoos are done with electricity.’ Ethan laughed and she had the feeling it was at her expense. Even so, he had an almost adorable charm when he smiled.
‘How do you know that?’ she asked.
‘I read.’
She looked up. Ethan was close, maybe a little too close and she smelled the faint trace of cologne. She’d caught whiffs of it in the car, but now it started to curl around her senses. Glancing down, she reasoned that his skin would feel the same in the dark as a non-tattooed man. She’d already hit rock bottom. Could she
‘Great, thanks,’ he said before turning to Alexis. ‘You owe me twenty bucks.’
The clerk giggled.
Cleveland was definitely not her city. So what if Susan said it was known for rock ’n’ roll and Lake Erie? She didn’t care. She didn’t want to be there. And it wasn’t like she had the extra money to go to any of the museums, or the zoo, or to theme parks, or shopping, or anywhere cool. No, all she got was a cheap hotel room so far away from the water it was like Lake Erie wasn’t even there.
She wasn’t expecting much by the looks of the lobby, but she was expecting more than this. The room was flooded with pastels. She’d seen rooms like this before – in movies about poor people. What was this place? A one-star hotel? A no-star? Well, what did she expect for twenty dollars? At least it looked clean enough.
There was a round table with a complimentary notepad and pencil on it. A small television set sat in the middle of a long brown dresser. The only piece of artwork was of a Southwestern influence and hung in a mauve plastic frame. It matched the mauve floral pattern of the bedspread. Alexis stared at the queen-size bed in horror. The hotel room only had the one bed. It looked stiff, if the bedspread was any indication. She sighed. It would probably be too much to ask that Ethan be gentleman enough to sleep on the stained mauve carpet.
‘Hey, move, this is heavy,’ Ethan said from behind her. ‘The room’s not going to bite you, doll.’
Alexis sat her camera bag on the table, getting out of his way. She ignored him as she took out the small battery charger and plugged it into the wall. The red light on it blinked, showing the battery was low. She’d probably have to leave it plugged in all night.
‘What is that anyway?’ Ethan asked.
‘Camera,’ Alexis said, her tone flat. Did the man not know what a camera was?
‘Uh, yeah, I see that. What kind?’
‘Do you know your cameras?’ Alexis asked.
‘I’m an artist,’ was his answer. ‘I’ve seen a few.’
‘Oh, do you sculpt? Paint?’ She turned, frowning as he watched him plug in a laptop. Then, some machine she’d never seen before. It was a big square with a digital panel and dials.
‘I tattoo.’ He glanced at her. The dim room was lit by a lamp on the dresser, but the light still managed to pick up the colour of his eyes. She had to look away first. There was no way she would allow herself to think any part of this man was cute.
‘I thought you said you were an artist.’ Alexis frowned in confusion.
Ethan shook his head in obvious exasperation. ‘Tattooing is an art form.’
‘Art is found in museums,’ Alexis argued. ‘Drawing silly little pictures on people is not art. Little children do that to each other in school.’
‘Ever hear of the tattoo museum in Amsterdam? Or the ones here in the US? The one in Oxford?’ he asked, chuckling to himself.
‘No,’ she said carefully. ‘Still, art is old, you know. The forms have been around for a long time. When did tattooing start? The 1950s, with biker gangs and sailors?’
‘Um, try about thirty eight thousand BC ,’ he said. ‘It’s a lot older than some of your so-called art mediums.’
‘You’re kidding.’ Alexis stepped closer to him. She looked at his little eclectric box with renewed interest. ‘They didn’t have electricity back then.’
‘Not all tattoos are done with electricity.’ Ethan laughed and she had the feeling it was at her expense. Even so, he had an almost adorable charm when he smiled.
‘How do you know that?’ she asked.
‘I read.’
She looked up. Ethan was close, maybe a little too close and she smelled the faint trace of cologne. She’d caught whiffs of it in the car, but now it started to curl around her senses. Glancing down, she reasoned that his skin would feel the same in the dark as a non-tattooed man. She’d already hit rock bottom. Could she
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