A review by julie_loves_books
The Mad Tatter by J.M. Darhower
4.0
This was a refreshing read. I really enjoyed the characters and that they were a little bit different from the norm. Reece is truly the tortured artist with a sketchy past. Not a bad past, but doing what he loves (art) got him in to some trouble that he's still paying for years later. Now, the only art he does, or is capable of doing, is tattooing. Avery is the opposite of him. She's a dancer at Juilliard who happens to stumble in to his tattoo parlor with a friend. They are complete opposites on the outside, but both have a deep love of the arts on the inside.
Reece and Avery have a true connection, but he struggles with feelings of inadequacy. Not only has he let his family down by the trouble he'd gotten in to, but his daughter's mother is nothing but negative towards him...always putting him down. He falls for Avery, but in the back of his mind feels that she can do better. She, of course, does not see it that way.
I love single parent stories, so I enjoyed this one. His daughter, Lexie, is adorable, making it easy for Avery to fall for her as much as her dad. It also showed the struggles of being a single parent and not having a good relationship with the other parent. I felt so bad for him at times. She treated him horribly.
If you enjoy single parent stories and artsy, tattooed dads, this one is worth a read.
Nicknames: Aphrodite, Goddess, Little Miss (his daughter...too cute!)
Goddess. She's more subdued today, wearing a pink sweater and the darkest, skinniest skinny jeans, making her look curvier than ever. I scan her instinctively, exhaling slowly. Jesus, she manages to be even more tempting leaving so much to the imagination, like whatever is beneath those layers of clothes is possibly the eighth wonder of the world, and damn if I don't want to explore it. Conquer it.
She's beautiful. I still can't put my finger on it. She's kind of like sunshine. She's bright. And warm. And yellow. She's yellow. I don't know how else to explain it.
I'm a dancer." A dancer. Of course. It's no wonder her body is so stunning.
“That's cool. I’ve known a few dancers."
“Really?"
“Yeah, sure. Most were just trying to put themselves through college. We do what we have to do, you know? No shame in that.”
“I, uh… what?” She gasps. “You think I… that I’m a stripper? Seriously? Do I look like one to you?" My eyes scan her again.
“You look like you’d make a good one."
"I know you have tattooing and all, but you shouldn't give up on this art."
"I haven't given up," I say. "It gave up on me."
Unlike me, she has no holes. She hasn't been broken and sloppily glued back together. I have, though. My cracks still show.
She has a gorgeous body, albeit a banged-up one. Her feet are particularly rough, and she seems to shift them away when I look down again. It's from dancing, though, battle wounds from fighting through her art, so if anything, it makes her more beautiful to me. She's a fucking warrior. A badass, tippy-toed, dancing warrior.
The sex vixen in the darkness is a blushing angel in the light, a walking contradiction that has me twisted.
"People still judge a book by its cover, Avery. And your story? It's beautiful. You're beautiful. But I'm nothing but a ripped out page, graffiti where some should never be. Don't taint your story with me."
The pleasure of creative freedom, of being able to do anything I dream, to possess and alter any way I see fit, is second only to the thrill of her being my canvas.
Reece and Avery have a true connection, but he struggles with feelings of inadequacy. Not only has he let his family down by the trouble he'd gotten in to, but his daughter's mother is nothing but negative towards him...always putting him down. He falls for Avery, but in the back of his mind feels that she can do better. She, of course, does not see it that way.
I love single parent stories, so I enjoyed this one. His daughter, Lexie, is adorable, making it easy for Avery to fall for her as much as her dad. It also showed the struggles of being a single parent and not having a good relationship with the other parent. I felt so bad for him at times. She treated him horribly.
If you enjoy single parent stories and artsy, tattooed dads, this one is worth a read.
Nicknames: Aphrodite, Goddess, Little Miss (his daughter...too cute!)
Goddess. She's more subdued today, wearing a pink sweater and the darkest, skinniest skinny jeans, making her look curvier than ever. I scan her instinctively, exhaling slowly. Jesus, she manages to be even more tempting leaving so much to the imagination, like whatever is beneath those layers of clothes is possibly the eighth wonder of the world, and damn if I don't want to explore it. Conquer it.
She's beautiful. I still can't put my finger on it. She's kind of like sunshine. She's bright. And warm. And yellow. She's yellow. I don't know how else to explain it.
I'm a dancer." A dancer. Of course. It's no wonder her body is so stunning.
“That's cool. I’ve known a few dancers."
“Really?"
“Yeah, sure. Most were just trying to put themselves through college. We do what we have to do, you know? No shame in that.”
“I, uh… what?” She gasps. “You think I… that I’m a stripper? Seriously? Do I look like one to you?" My eyes scan her again.
“You look like you’d make a good one."
"I know you have tattooing and all, but you shouldn't give up on this art."
"I haven't given up," I say. "It gave up on me."
Unlike me, she has no holes. She hasn't been broken and sloppily glued back together. I have, though. My cracks still show.
She has a gorgeous body, albeit a banged-up one. Her feet are particularly rough, and she seems to shift them away when I look down again. It's from dancing, though, battle wounds from fighting through her art, so if anything, it makes her more beautiful to me. She's a fucking warrior. A badass, tippy-toed, dancing warrior.
The sex vixen in the darkness is a blushing angel in the light, a walking contradiction that has me twisted.
"People still judge a book by its cover, Avery. And your story? It's beautiful. You're beautiful. But I'm nothing but a ripped out page, graffiti where some should never be. Don't taint your story with me."
The pleasure of creative freedom, of being able to do anything I dream, to possess and alter any way I see fit, is second only to the thrill of her being my canvas.