by Nikki Ash
“You still cursed.” I tsk. “Dollar.”
“Fine.” She huffs, pulling the dollar out of her pocket and dropping it into my hand.
“Thank you,” I say with an overzealous grin.
“Why do you keep calling me Mini-Q?” she asks, one of her brows raised. “My name is Kinsley Elizabeth Crawford, but Uncle Jax is lazy and calls me K.”
“Because you look and act like a mini version of your mom…Quinn,” I say, emphasizing the Q. “Get it? Mini-Q?”
She tilts her head to the side and glares, proving my point.
“Now, what tattoo do you want?”
“Mommy read me a book about the planets last night. Can you tattoo them on me?”
“Sure!” I pull my phone out and google planets. It only takes me a second to find a cool image. “What colors?”
“The colors the planets are,” she says, dragging her sleeve up. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Yes,” I say with laugh. “Alright, colors matching the planets. Got it.”
When I take her tiny arm in my hand, she says, “Wait, you have to prep me first.”
Stifling my laugh, I nod. “You’re right. Sorry.” This little girl is too fucking much.
She lets out a loud sigh. “I really hope you’re good. My uncles and Willow never forget to prep me.”
Twenty minutes later, I finish Kinsley’s tattoo, pretend to rub ointment on it, and cover it with plastic.
“Thank you.” She jumps down to check it out in the mirror, even though it’s on her arm so she could just look down. “It’s really pretty,” she says. “You should take a picture and add it to your book.”
“You’re welcome.” Pulling out my phone, I snap a picture of her arm. “There, I’ll get it printed and added today.”
Just as I’m finishing capping up my markers, Quinn enters the room. Her eyes go straight to her daughter, as if I’m not even in the room. “Wow, Kinsley! What a cool tattoo.” She takes her daughter’s arm in her hands and admires it.
“It’s all the planets,” Kinsley states matter-of-factly.
“I can see that. Who tattooed it?” she asks.
“Lachlan,” Kinsley tells her. Quinn’s gaze bounces over to me, finally acknowledging I’m in the room.
“Really?” Quinn asks. “I thought only your uncles and Willow were allowed to give you tattoos.”
Feeling the need to gloat that I’ve won her mini-version over, I say, “She trusts me.”
Quinn lets out a loud snort, then quickly covers her nose like she can’t believe she just did that.
“I’m going to go show Auntie Willow my tattoo,” Kinsley says, running out of the room. “Bye, Lachlan!”
Quinn looks from me to the door like she’s either willing her daughter to come back, or scared to be in the same room as me. Both leave me grinning. I make her nervous.
“Snort all you want, but it’s the truth.” I step toward her, encroaching on her space. “I’m a trustworthy guy.”
“I bet you are,” she says with a bit of a laugh. “I better go…” She waves her hand in the air, not even bothering to finish her sentence.
“Wait,” I say, sliding in front of her to block her only way out. “Since I’m such a trustworthy guy, how about you let me take you out sometime?”
“No,” she says flatly, not even taking a second to consider it.
“No? Just like that? Why not?”
“Umm…” She places her purple-painted fingertip to her chin and pretends to think for a second before she says, “For starters, I’m old enough to be your mother.”
I laugh at that. Sure, she’s a few years older than me, but she’s definitely not old enough to be my mom.
“What are you, like…” I’m about to say a number and then remember women hate when people guess their age. What if I guess too old and offend her? She obviously thinks she’s way older than me.
“Go ahead,” she presses. “Say the number.”
“Thirty…one.” I was thinking thirty-three, so I went two years lower to be on the safe side.
She stares at me for a brief moment and then throws her head back in laughter. “Wow, thank you. I don’t know if you’re just bullshitting me to make me feel better, but thank you. You seriously made my day.”
“How close was I?” I’m assuming I went too low since she’s happy I thought she’s younger.
“You were off by eight years.” I quickly do the math in my head. She’s thirty-nine years old. Well, damn, I never would’ve guessed that. But that’s not going to deter me. Age is just a number and all that jazz.
“And you?” she asks with a knowing smirk.
“Thirty-seven,” I tell her, lying out my ass.
She laughs, knowing I’m full of shit. “Try again.”
“Fine…minus ten.”
I wait for her to do her own math, and once she does, her eyes bug out. “You’re twenty-seven? Jesus.” Her cheeks tint a light shade of pink, an indication I’ve already learned means she’s embarrassed.
“What’s going through your head?” I ask, taking another step forward.
“Nothing.” She shakes her head.
“Yes, you were definitely thinking something.” I run the backs of my fingers along the side of her neck. “You’re all flushed. It happened earlier too. Whatever you’re thinking has got you embarrassed.”
“No,” she squeaks.
“Yes,” I argue. “Tell me, Q, what were you thinking?”
“One, my name is Quinn, not Q, and I was thinking, you’re so young, I could probably get arrested just for talking to you.” Her cheeks flush darker.
“What you mean is, you could probably get arrested for thinking about all the things you want to do to me.” When her cheeks and neck get even warmer, I know I’m right.
“Doesn’t matter,” she states. “I was right. I am old enough to be your mother.”
“My mom is forty-seven, so, no.”
“Where are you from?” she asks, changing the subject and giving me whiplash.
“Here.”
“You have a small accent. Are you Irish?”
“Ya,” I say, putting emphasis on my half-ass accent. “But I was born and raised here. The accent only comes out because my family all have it and I visit Ireland often.”
“Thought so,” she says, a smile tugging on the corners of her lips. “I watch Sons of Anarchy and you sound like the Irish dude. Anyway, your mom is only eight years older than me, and I’m twelve years older than you. I’m closer in age to your mom than you.”
“I don’t care,” I tell her honestly. “My mom always told me when I met the woman I want to spend my life with, I’ll just know. I’m not saying it’s you, but at the same time, I’m not saying it isn’t. I want to get to know you. You intrigue me, and I’m not about to let something as stupid as an age difference deter me.”
Her jaw drops open, and for a second I think I’ve stunned her silent. Probably for the best so she won’t argue. She blinks once, twice, shakes her head slightly, and then speaks. “Well, you should. Besides, I imagine a good-looking guy like yourself has plenty of young, gorgeous women to choose from.” The way she inadvertently puts herself down by referring to other women as gorgeous, as if she’s not in that category, rubs me the wrong way. I don’t care how fucking old she is, she’s sexy as hell.
“That’s neither here nor there,” I tell her, trying to keep the annoyance out of my tone. “I’m staring at a gorgeous woman right now who I want to get to know.”
“My answer is no,” she says, pushing my shoulder slightly so I’ll move out of her way. I consider not moving, but know it will only piss her off if I don’t.
Following her to the back, I say bye to Kinsley, who thanks me again for her tattoo. Quinn says hi to Jase, who wasn’t in yet when she dropped her daughter off earlier, and tells Willow and Jax she’ll see them at home later.
When Quinn and Kinsley are both out the door, Jax and Willow step o
n either side of me. I can feel both of them staring at me and know they’re going to say something. So, rather than prolong the inevitable by walking away, I wait.
“My sister is not someone you mess with,” Jax finally says. “She’s been through a lot, and if you fuck with her, I will choose her, regardless of our friendship, or the fact you work here. She’s family.”
Meeting his gaze, I look him in the eye so he knows I understand what he’s just said. “I would hope you would always choose your sister over me,” I tell him, “but all I want is to get to know her. I’m not trying to mess with her in any way.” He nods once, then walks away back to the office, leaving just Willow.
“Your turn,” I tell her, and she grins.
“Good luck,” is all she says. And with a pat on my shoulder, she joins her boyfriend in the office.
“Thanks!” I call out after her, knowing damn well I’m going to need all the luck I can get on my side. Something tells me Quinn isn’t your average woman, and getting her to agree to go out with me won’t be as easy as it usually is for me. But that’s okay because something else tells me she’s worth the challenge.
Six
Quinn
My mind is a whirlwind of mixed emotions the rest of the week, which thankfully goes more smoothly than Monday. Every time I recall the way Lachlan looked at me like he wanted to devour me right there in his workplace, I’m at a loss. Or the way he point blank told me he thinks I’m gorgeous and wants to get to know me. Surely, a guy as young and hot as he is, has a line of equally young and hot women at his disposal. Even after I told him my age, it didn’t seem to discourage him in the slightest.
Maybe it’s because I was dressed professionally, covering the majority of my skin. I make it a point to buy work clothes that hide the rolls and imperfections as much as possible, but even the most expensive, flattering outfits can only do so much. He couldn’t see the cellulite on my thighs that turned Rick off, or the newly formed stretch-marks on my stomach that came with being pregnant. I cringe, thinking about how Rick would’ve reacted to my stretch-marks. He would’ve blamed me for gaining too much weight during my pregnancy. Damn it! I hate that even after five years, I still allow that asshole to make an appearance in my thoughts. He doesn’t deserve any place in my life, alive or dead.
The last few years I’ve made a conscious effort to eat healthy, and I work out at the gym a few times a week—when time permits. I’m proud to say I’ve lost the majority of the baby weight I put on. I’d like to say my hard work has nothing to do with my dead husband’s last words to me, but I would be lying if I didn’t admit that more often than not I hear him telling me how I’ve let my body go, and use it as motivation to workout harder. That being said, I’m still not skinny. My hips are still too wide, and my ass is too big. I hope one day to be at a size I can be proud of, but today is not that day…and tomorrow isn’t looking good either.
Which is why I’m so confused as to why Lachlan was so insistent about taking me out. Maybe he saw it as a challenge. I told him no, and most men hate that word. Hell, most people do. But then I think about the way Kinsley droned on about him the entire way home and for several days afterward. How nice and funny he was. When he cursed, he paid her a dollar, she said. When I asked her where the dollar was, her cheeks flushed and she admitted she cursed, and then blamed me because she was only repeating what I always said. My daughter is a lot like me…well, the me before Rick. She’s sassy and smart and takes nobody’s shit, while at the same time, she wears her heart on her sleeve and trusts too easily. The last two are both a blessing and a curse.
It’s now Sunday morning and I have nothing booked for today. Kinsley and I are on our way to the park to practice soccer and then we’re planning to go to the science museum afterward. It’s her first time playing a recreational sport and she’s nervous, so she asked to practice first instead of getting to the museum for opening. She loves kicking the ball around at school, but it’s different once you’re playing an actual game—at least I imagine it is. I wasn’t exactly one to play sports. I was more of a sit-in-the-stands-and-photograph-the-people-playing kind of girl.
“Can we invite Uncle Jax to play?” Kinsley asks as we walk down the sidewalk toward the neighborhood park. “No offense, but you’re not very good, Mom.” I stifle my laugh, shooting her a mock glare, and she shrugs. Damn kid is too honest. “Sorry, but it’s true.”
“I texted him and Aunt Willow earlier.” They had already left for the shop before we were up. “Uncle Jax said if they get done with inventory and ordering early enough, they’ll meet us.”
When we get to the park, we head straight to the soccer field. There are a few other families playing as well, so we find an empty spot in the corner to kick the ball back and forth.
“Go stand at that end!” Kinsley exclaims. “I’ll kick it to you, and you kick it back, okay?”
“Sure!” I yell with as much fake enthusiasm as I can muster.
About thirty minutes later, as I’m chasing down the soccer ball for what feels like the millionth time, I hear Kinsley yell, “They’re here!” I breathe out a sigh of relief. Jax being here means I get to sit down on a blanket in the grass and watch, and take some pictures.
“Hey, Lachlan!” Kinsley squeals excitedly, and I find myself spinning around in shock to confirm he’s here. And sure enough, dressed in another white T-shirt—this time with some band logo across the front, black jeans that are molded to his thighs perfectly, and a pair of Vans that match the color of the logo on his shirt, is Lachlan freaking Bryson (I may have stalked him on social media and learned his last name). He’s sporting a beanie similar to the one he was wearing the other day, but this one is black.
As I watch him approach us, with his clear as the sky cocky smirk splayed across his perfect lips, and all of his various tattoos on display, my breath hitches. I felt it the other day, the unexplainable attraction to him, but I chalked it up to it all being in my head. I’m a single mom who hasn’t gotten laid in over five years. My vibrator gets more action than Bruce Willis…you know, because he does action movies. Okay, maybe that was a bad analogy. But my point is, I’m having to charge that thing quite often. But now, standing here staring at the way Lachlan is looking at me once again, I can’t deny it. The sparks are there, threatening to turn into an all-out fire.
Someone call 911 because I need a firefighter to put out these flames. There’s only one outcome when you’re dealing with a fire—someone’s going to get burned. And I don’t doubt for a second, that someone will be me.
What the heck is he even doing here?
When I finally peel my eyes off of him, I notice my brother and Willow are also heading toward us. He must’ve been at the shop and decided to join them. But why? I’m sure he has better things to do on his day off than hang out with a single mom and her daughter.
“Hey, Mini-Q,” he calls out, and my eyes, of their own accord, roll upward into my head. Kinsley told me all about his nickname for her. Apparently because she’s a little me. I would love to know if he considers that a good or bad thing. Well, he did say he’s intrigued by me and wants to get to know me…
When the three of them reach us, Kinsley grabs the soccer ball and drags Jax down the field. Of course, Willow follows. Lachlan, though, remains standing in front of me. “Hey,” he says, giving me a nonchalant chin lift.
“Hey,” I parrot. Reaching down, I grab a bottle of water from the small cooler I brought with me and down half the bottle. When I lower the bottle from my lips, I see Lachlan is once again staring at me.
“What?” I ask, glancing down at myself. Today, I’m dressed for the occasion in a pair of grey Victoria’s Secret boyfriend style sweatpants and a matching hoodie.
“I’m just wondering when I’ll get to see you without all that clothing covering your body.” He nods toward my outfit with a glare, as if it’s personally offending him.
“Sorry.” I scoff. “But I’m not exactly in the habit of leaving my
house in my birthday suit, so I’m pretty sure any time you see me, I’ll be in clothes.”
“I get that,” he says with a hint of a smile, “but right now, all I have to go by is my imagination…and it’s been running fucking wild.” Jesus! This man sure has a way with words.
“Well, I can assure you,” I volley back, “whatever images your wild imagination has conjured up is probably better than the real thing. Trust me when I tell you, you do not want to see all that is hidden under here. Stick to your imagination.” I meant it as a joke, kind of. Okay, more like a warning, but Lachlan doesn’t laugh, nor does he heed my warning. Instead, he frowns and steps closer to me.
“I highly doubt that,” he says, his tone serious, “but I wasn’t referring to your body. I was referring to your tattoos. Both times I’ve seen you, you’ve had them covered up.” Oh…well, shit. He is a tattoo artist, so it makes sense he would be curious about what my tattoos look like. “But, I will admit,” he continues, “I have also fantasized on more than one occasion since we’ve met, what you would look like splayed out across my bed, naked, and spread open for me.” The way he grins, tells me he’s being crass on purpose to get a rise out of me.
“Well, like I said,” I say, trying, and failing, not to get flustered, “stick to the fantasy. The reality will be a severe let down.” I laugh humorlessly, and Lachlan’s frown deepens.
“Why do you do that?”
“What?”
“Talk about yourself in such a self-deprecating manner. Both times we’ve spoken, you’ve put yourself down.” When my eyes fall to the ground, embarrassed, Lachlan lifts my chin so I’m forced to look at him. “You’re an extremely beautiful woman, Quinn.”
“Whatever,” I mutter, unsure how else to respond. “What are you doing here?” I take a step back so he’s no longer touching me.
Lachlan gives me a look I can’t decipher because I don’t know him well enough. If I had to guess, I would say he’s considering arguing with me, but he must think better of it because he says, “Jax mentioned coming here to play soccer with Kinsley, so I asked if I could join.”
