by TC Matson
I bark out a laugh. “Don’t press your luck, kid.” He chuckles under his breath, switching his gaze back to his hands. “You keep working hard like you have been and you’ll be able to buy a car soon.” I jut my chin toward the hall. “Use the washer and dryer if you need to. I may be late coming in.”
He nods again, falling back silent.
I have absolutely no damn idea what the hell I’m going to do or how I’m going to find her apartment. I could be here for hours if I wait outside. Or I could call my inside woman—Lucia. She’ll help me out. As I pull my phone out of my pocket and thumb for Lucia’s number, the sense of something—no clue what—compels me to look up.
Kenlyn.
She’s lost in thought, head angled down as she watches where she walks. Her caramel brown hair is in a ponytail, pulled low to the side allowing tendrils to spill over her shoulder. But what looks even better than the silky strands? The fact that her outfit is like our tastes have been mashed together—white button-down blouse and jeans with holes on the knees. She doesn’t seem the type to wear ripped jeans and that makes her more mouthwatering.
Her amber eyes flick up to me and for a split second they light up until a scowl takes over her features. “I’m finding that every time I see you, I ask the same question. What are you doing here?”
“Not giving you a reason to back out. I’m taking to you to lunch so I can get you back in time for you to focus on your pretend project.”
I expected some guarded smart-ass remark. Instead, she bites the inside of her cheek to conceal the tic on the edges of her mouth.
I dip my head. “Is that… Is that a smile?”
Letting go of the hold, her grin lights up her entire presence. “You’re incredibly pushy. You know that?”
My smile is automatic. “And you’re incredibly stubborn.”
The fight in her gaze relents.
“I ate already. So I’m not hungry.”
Even though it’s in her hand, I offer it anyway. “Coffee then?”
She looks to the cup in her hand. I’m already racking my brain for a different angle—ice cream, a walk, pet some puppies—when she meets my gaze and smiles. “Sure.”
Hell yes.
One of the best coffee shops in the city is several blocks away. We fall into step beside each other, and when she drops her coffee into the first trashcan we pass, relief allows me to take a decent breath. Hopefully that’s her sign that she’ll quit fighting me tooth and nail.
“Why didn’t you come back with Lucia the other day? I was looking for you.” Figured I’d keep it simple and not call her out on her bluff about work.
“Tattoos are her thing. Not mine.” She shoots me an unapologetic glance.
“Virgin skin…” I murmur.
“That excites you, huh?”
“Who doesn’t have tattoos anymore? Hell yes it excites me. You should let me—”
“Nope.” Her interjection slices my words. “I most definitely will not be getting a tattoo. I’ll embarrass myself with a low pain threshold.”
“The fear of the unknown is the scariest part. Also where you get it determines the pain level. You might surprise yourself.”
“You think so? Coming in with Lucia and just hearing the buzz threatened a panic attack. I wanted to claw your eyes out and rip my skin off before we got out of there.”
I laugh. My calm is her panic. Go figure. “Music.” And then I spin around to walk backward while facing her. “Grab earbuds, pop them in, and jam out so you don’t have to hear it.”
Her sexy lips purse. Fuck. She’s gorgeous when she’s not being uptight. “I’d still feel the pain.”
“Nah. I’d take care of you.”
Her eyes roll. “Okay, Mr. No Pain. You’re saying none of your tattoos hurt?”
“My side piece.” I’m quick to fire off and spin back around. “It wasn’t intolerable though.” I pull open the door to the coffee shop and the fragrances—spicy, woody, nutty—envelope us.
We get in line. “I’m positive your ‘not intolerable’ would have me crying.”
“I bet you’d be surprised at yourself.”
“Delia said you all would get a hard-on because I have virgin skin. I didn’t believe her at first, but the excitement in your eyes is changing my mind.”
Her words linger in the air between us. I ponder the best way for her to understand my excitement.
“How do you feel when you start a project? When nothing has been decided. Your page is blank, and you have free rein in the direction you want to take. Anything you want. All your tools are waiting at the tips of your fingers. You know you have a chance to outshine the competition, to prove your branding-worth. All these ideas bounce around your skull. That passion and exhilaration you experience is the same for me when I have a blank canvas.”
An explosion of appreciation and excitement bursts in her eyes. This look is by far my favorite.
“What I do can’t be considered sadistic.” There’s a playful edge to her tone and a smile ghosting her lips.
I laugh as we scoot up to the counter. We place our orders and once we get them, head to the lone booth lined on the side.
“Tell me about Kenlyn,” I say over my cup.
She blows on her coffee and then takes a sip. “Like what?”
“Anything.”
With the tips of her fingers, she twists her cup on the table a few times. Lost in thought, she debates what she wants to share with me. “I’ve got a little brother who is actually bigger than me and smart as ever. He’s up in Mass at MIT working on a bachelor’s degree in civil engineering. I’ve also got a beautiful little sister, Amanda. Her, my dad, and my stepmom live in PA where I’m from.” Her lips quirk up. “Tit for tat. Your turn.”
I don’t like talking about my family. The heartache. The pain. It’s nothing I care to discuss. Besides, it’ll only douse the mood and I’m enjoying seeing her carefree for once. I decide to play it safe. “I’m from Pittsford. Upstate.”
“What brought you here?”
“Fresh start.” It’s honest.
“Broken heart send you running away?”
“Something like that.”
She studies me, narrows her eyes and takes a sip of her coffee. “Why do you keep showing up everywhere? I go from never seeing you to seeing you all the time in a city full of millions of people.”
I don’t want to lie to her, but I can’t throw Lucia under the bus. So, I shrug. “That kiss brought on something and I’m looking for the answer.”
Something flashes across her amber eyes. She opens her mouth and shuts it, giving a pause to her response. “Maybe you should kiss another stranger. Then you’ll see you’re chasing down a dead end.”
“Ouch.” I say with a chuckle. “What if I say I’ve kissed other people and have never experienced that?”
All the carefree drains from her face. “I need to get back.” She shoves to her feet and grabs her coffee.
I’m up in seconds. “Why are you so flighty?”
She scowls and heads out of the coffee shop.
I catch up with her and fall into step beside her. “What happened? Who hurt you?”
Her attention snaps to me. “Why would you automatically assume the worst?”
“Good things make you run away?”
“Fine,” she bites. “Shit question. Regardless, it’s none of your business.”
There’s something. Or rather, someone. Knowing she’s had her heart broken so deeply that she fights every sliver of attraction between us pisses me off. Tit for tat. Let’s hope it still applies.
“I had a girlfriend accidentally kill my hamster. We were ten, but it devastated me.”
She keeps walking. Eyes ahead, so I keep going.
“She hugged Fuzzy too hard and it squeezed the life out of him. Pissed me off to no end. He and I were tight. Best buds for a year. I broke up with her. Said some pretty shitty things about her being jealous of our friendship.” I laugh at the mem
ory and shrug. “Heard it on some talk show and it sounded good at the time. She cried, but those tears didn’t bring Fuzzy back.”
Kenlyn blows a titter. “You probably scarred her for life.”
Feigning hurt, I clutch my chest and gasp. “As if I wasn’t? She killed my best friend. But I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” I quip. “As for her? She was my neighbor. She put the murderous incident behind her. Several years later, she went to prom with the jock every girl deemed the hottest while I was still in emotional turmoil.”
“You’re such an ass.” Humor laces her tone.
Music travels to my ears. I hear cheers and claps in the distance. A smirk erupts. Grasping her hand, I tug her toward the sounds. “Come on.”
Chapter Nine
With a roguish gleam in his eyes giving him an irresistible charm, Ash grabs my hand. “Come on.”
The excitement in his tone leaves me to abandon any questions. He tows me down the sidewalk in a hurry, toward the distant sound of music that grows louder with every step. We approach a group that has gathered, and I’m dragged through the congestion. When we reach the front, Ash moves me to stand in front of him.
A man in black pants and a red shirt does one hell of an imitation of a robot and then drops his body to the ground, shifting into a break dance flawlessly before popping back up into a few flips and spinning kicks while he stays in beat with the music. His moves are seamless, perfectly timed, switching from acrobatic to gymnastic-type motions with a pop-dancer flare.
My face hurts from grinning. He pumps up the audience with a touch of comedy, certainly knowing how to play with the spectators. His feet crisscross, almost like he’s about to break dance again, but instead he drops his head to a square flat piece of board on the ground. Pushing, he spins his body, his legs high, and lifts his hands. Instead of doing it like a figure skater from the tips of their skates, he’s rotating just as fast on his head while everyone claps with the beat of the music.
I’m in awe as the air around us crackles with so much energy—invigorating and effervescent—it could light up Time’s Square for an entire night. For as long as I’ve lived here, I’ve never taken the time to stop and enjoy the buskers and street performers. I’ve missed a lot of greatness, but I won’t anymore.
As his spin slows, he springs back to his feet without a hint of dizziness. I would have face planted and laid still with the urge to puke for hours after that. Before I can pull money from my wallet, Ash drops a wad of cash in the box for tips and then guides me out of the swarm of people by the small of my back.
I’m charged with pure excitement, high off the hype. “That was amazing.” I bounce on my feet.
He flashes a smile that is enough to unstitch my panties thread for thread. “You’ve never watched him? He’s out here almost every week with a different routine.”
“I’ve never watched any of these guys.”
“They’re full of hidden talent. Some can be spectacular.”
I point back where we were. “That was phenomenal.”
“You still sticking to your story about some big project tomorrow or will you allow me to keep that smile on your face for the rest of the evening?”
I tuck my head. “I do have a big project tomorrow.”
He twists walking backward in front of me again. “I’m only off Sundays and Mondays, so my evenings stay pretty booked. Unless you’re down for an early breakfast any day of the week.”
I sink my teeth into my lip and smile. “Who said I even wanted to go on a date with you?” Oh, that was super flirty.
His feet stop and I slam into his chest. His hands move to my hips, steadying me, and his touch lights me up. His left brow tics at the edge and his mercury blues drip with a tantalizing thirst. He dips his head, lowering his mouth closer to mine. “Your body says everything your mouth doesn’t.” His gaze is latched on to mine as he brushes his lips across mine. My breath hitches. My pulse picks up and my body warms. “That feeling…” he whispers. “That’s what I’m chasing.”
Kiss me.
Leaning into him, I curl my fingers into the front of his shirt.
Kiss me.
His mouth is so close. I’d just have to tip my head slightly. His breath is hot on my skin as he feathers his lips across mine. Teasing. Enticing. I’m lost in his darkened eyes. The feel of his fingers flexing into the skin of my hips. I know what it feels like to be kissed by him and I want that again.
A horn blows in the distance. I see a flash of red along with the clicking sound of heels. They snap me back to reality. I was so lost in the feel of him that I forgot we were standing in the middle of the sidewalk.
Is this what happened to my mother? Losing herself so much she lost sight of everything?
Panic sets in with an embarrassed shudder. My eyes snap open and I take a step back. “No.” The single word rips from my throat, long past the lust. “I need to go.”
Quickly, I sidestep him, moving my body away from the heat of his and start toward my apartment.
“There you go again running when things start to get remotely intimate and intense.” He springs in front of me, frustration dancing in his gaze and forcing me to stop. “Why do you keep running?” His words are sharp. “Give me that. I deserve that.”
I open my mouth but clamp it shut, a dry lump in my throat.
“I know you feel this, whatever this is,” he motions between us, “but you keep running. You’re so damn hot and cold. Why?”
Because I’m confused. Because I like and hate what you make me feel.
“You make me lose rational thoughts. You cause them to be hazy and I end up doing things I don’t do. I hate being out of control.”
His grin is automatic. “Then lose yourself in me.”
“My self-worth is more important.” I hate the words the moment they’re out.
He flinches like I punched him in the stomach. His eyes harden as anger flashes across his face. He lifts his chin indignantly and blows out a rough, empty laugh. “Right. I’m not good enough. College degrees and white collars are more your thing.”
I shake my head vehemently, needing to back pedal. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeah.” The word is so sharp, it lacerates. “I’m labeled as substandard, right? Can’t measure up to those sky-high standards because what the hell can a tattoo artist offer you.” His jaw muscles flex and his nostrils flare. “Being so highly critical of others because you’re too fucking close-minded to see past the damn surface will only hurt you in the end.”
My molars grind as the surge of outrage hits me. “Since your opinion of me is so damn colorful, why do you keep pursuing?”
His glare is vacant when he snaps it to me. There’s no sign of the spark he normally carries. No anger. Nothing. It’s a scary void. “I mistook you. Didn’t know you were so damn judgmental.”
It’s my turn to flinch. My mouth drops. I picture slapping him. Kneeing him in the nuts. Anything to make him feel the same sting his words caused. I don’t do any of that. Instead, I square my shoulders, straighten my back, and lift my chin. “Screw you.”
With that, I turn on my heels and stalk toward my apartment. I don’t give a damn if he has anything else to add. If he stops me from leaving this time, I will act on my thoughts. How dare him.
“Wait. Isn’t he sort of right?” Lucia asks from the couch where she watches me pace the living room after unloading on her.
My feet stop and I whip my head to her. “You’re kidding. Right? I have never labeled him. Never passed judgment.”
“¡Mierda!” Bullshit. She flings her hands above her head and throws herself backward against the cushions. “So the ‘he’s a wild and reckless bad boy who doesn’t do relationships because he wants the freedom to screw whoever, polar opposite, not my type, covered in tats’ spew was what?” Her brow quirks up calling me out. “Sorry, Lyn. If that’s not a stereotypical label with judgment, I don’t know what is.”
Whose damn side is she o
n?
“It was factual,” I retort with a sneer. “How do you think he’d fit in at all the formal events we attend?” That definitely didn’t help my case. I take a cleansing breath. “All I’m saying is his social circle is different than ours. He wouldn’t be comfortable.”
“You or him?”
“Him!” I shout.
“Increíble.” Unbelievable. She brushes her hair over her shoulder and wraps a hair tie around it. “I’d like to believe I know you well enough to know there’s something else going on in that head of yours. Something you’re not telling me. You know you can talk to me. Right?”
I hate she knows me. Loathe that she pays so close attention to sense my dark secrets are the ones creating the bitch I’m acting like. With a heavy sigh, I drop to the sofa with my head in my hands.
She sidles up beside me. “What are you afraid of, Lyn?”
“Everything,” I admit. “The things he makes me feel. I get so lost in him when I’m with him. It’s all so consuming. Too fast and way too real.”
“So, you’re punishing him for making you feel alive? Sounds like you’re just grasping at straws.”
“My mother was so caught up with a guy covered in tattoos, charming as ever, a liar, and then the drugs. She was so absorbed in the rush of feelings that she abandoned everything. Ash makes me forget it all.”
“Wait. The real reason you’re fighting Ash is because he reminds you of the piece of shit your mother ran off with? Without giving Ash a chance to prove to you he’s nothing like that?” She squeezes my shoulder. “Don’t you think that’s judgmental?”
“I hate that I share her DNA. That I have her eyes, her hair, and apparently the same taste in men. People will look at Ash and think the apple didn’t fall too far from the tree. I don’t want to be anything like her.” Tears sting my eyes. “It scares me to think I’m becoming something I hate.”
Lucia wraps her arms around my shoulders and hugs me. “You’re nothing like her. You’ll never be like her. You learned from her shitty decisions and mistakes. Your dad raised you with so much strength. You’re already a better person than she’ll ever be. You can’t help who you like and don’t like. It’s not fair to Ash to punish him for her actions. Hell. It’s not fair to you. If Ash makes you feel…then feel.”
