by Piper Rayne
“So?” Ethan asks.
“So nothing. We don’t have to be like chicks and talk while we work out.”
“There’s a reason you’re being a dick.” He does a bicep curl, his eyes boring into mine in the mirror.
Ethan knows me well. I went through a lot of phases of independence in college, especially when the guilt that Winnie was wasting her savings on me made me try to sabotage my future, and Ethan was the one who set me straight.
I sit on the bench while Ethan continues pumping his arms. “I’m pissed that Knox brought Jax back here. He knows how things are between us.”
He puts the dumbbells back and stacks some weights onto the bar on the bench. “What’s the deal with the two of you? You’re so much alike.”
From the outside, Jax and I are similar. Both wounded foster kids who opted to ink their bodies with symbols and memories of harder times.
I went to college to study art and Jax headed to Los Angeles. I sold a painting out of college that earned me enough money to start Ink Envy two years after graduation. Last I heard, Jax trained under Alex Choi, a guy who’d earned his credentials on the street. Our training and paths were different, but we’re still in the same fucking spot. We’re both in-demand tattoo artists. The only difference now is I’m planted in Cliffton Heights and Jax just happened to follow a wind that blew him here.
“The asshole probably expects me to give him a job.” I lower my back to the bench and Ethan stands above to spot me.
“Is he that kind of guy?”
No, he’s not. Jax doesn’t take handouts, just like me. But why is he here in Cliffton Heights? This town is too small for a personality like his.
“He’s like us. You earn it yourself or it means shit.”
Ethan nods, his hands hovering under the pole just in case. He’s on crack. I’d need a lot more weight than this to make me struggle. I rack the weights, sit up, and wipe the sweat off my face.
“Hey, assholes, I thought we were in this together!” Seth yells from the other side of the room.
“No yelling in the facility,” moose-knuckle says.
Seth looks him up and down, concentrating on his obvious package. “I think you took your ten-year-old brother’s shorts this morning.”
The girl at the desk cracks up and Seth winks at her. The guy’s face turns red, but he continues folding the towels. Usually we’re not this big of jerks to people, so I wonder if something is bothering Seth like it is me.
Seth lays his towel on the bench and Ethan acts offended, but we both know bench pressing isn’t really Ethan’s thing.
“So after you dickheads deserted me—”
“We knocked five times,” Ethan says.
“You have a key,” Seth says, looking at me over his chest.
Ethan gets back into spotter position like he did for me.
“I overslept. It’s been a shit morning all around,” Seth says. “Guess who was standing on the other side of the road when I left our building?”
Neither of us answers.
“Her.”
“Her who?” Ethan asks.
Seth mocks offense and stares at me like what’s with this guy, but I’m not sure who he’s talking about either. “Evan Erickson. I think she’s stalking me.”
Ethan smirks at me over the weight bar. “Why would she stalk you?”
“Because a few months ago, we had that altercation outside her bagel shop. Remember when Adrian worked there?”
“Yeah,” I say.
“She must’ve liked it because after years of never running into her, she’s been popping up everywhere. I found her in the gazebo with some guy last week. I mean, what would she be doing outside our apartment building that early in the morning?”
“Did you ask her?” Ethan asks.
“No!” His voice cracks like a thirteen-year-old boy’s. “Why would I do that?”
Ethan shrugs. “Why wouldn’t you?”
Seth pushes up his last rep and sits up, wiping his head with a towel before standing for me to take his place.
“Hello?” Ethan gives me an exasperated look and holds his hands out to the side.
“Oh, you want a piece of this?” I ask, pointing at the bench.
Ethan narrows his eyes, and Seth and I burst out laughing.
Ignoring us, Ethan lies on the bench. “Since I’m the only one who isn’t hashing out imaginary problems, I think it’s only fair.”
“Having a stalker is a problem,” Seth says.
“As is Knox bringing that asshole back into our lives,” I argue.
I walk around the bench to act as the spotter for Ethan.
“What’s your problem with Jax anyway?” Seth asks.
“He’s just not someone I like to spend time with.”
Seth tries to stop his smirk from forming, but I see it on his smug face anyway. Whatever is about to come out of his mouth, I’m not gonna like it.
“When I left, I heard music blaring from your apartment,” Seth says. “Rian was leaving for work, and she mentioned that Jax likes to walk around naked.”
I stare at him because this is Seth—he fucks around with people’s heads all the time. He has to be joking.
“He-lllll… o?”
I glance down to see Ethan struggling to get the bar up. Seth hurries over to help, but between Ethan and I, we get the bar back on the hooks.
“So it’s exactly what I thought then?” Seth picks up dumbbells.
“What?”
“This isn’t about whatever beef happened between you and Jax years ago. This is about Rian.” His cockiness grates on my nerves.
“Rian? What crack are you smoking?” I give Seth a what-the-fuck look that would make a lesser man piss himself.
“No crack. You’re upset about Rian seeing Jax’s schlong.”
“No, I’m annoyed because I hate the asshole and I don’t want to see his dick twenty-four seven.”
Seth coughs out, “Bullshit.”
Ethan doesn’t say anything. Can he see how uncomfortable I am? That I’m trying my hardest to seem unfazed?
“Okay, so if Knox walked around naked all the time, you wouldn’t have a problem with it?” I ask.
Seth huffs as he does some lateral raises. “I couldn’t give a shit. Hell, I had to see his naked ass the other day when I walked in on him fucking Leilani on the couch. I just grabbed my chips from the kitchen and went to my room. The naked body isn’t something to be ashamed about.”
Him and his fucking mouth.
“Come on. Why the hell would you move in with them otherwise? Time to face the facts,” Seth says.
I sit on the bench. “You’re delusional.”
“I don’t think I am. We’re your friends. Why would you be embarrassed to have a thing for Rian?”
The noose around my neck winds tighter and tighter, making it hard to swallow. “I wouldn’t be embarrassed to have a thing for Rian—if I actually did. I love her the same as you both do. Because she’s our friend and for her killer baking skills.”
Seth nods like, ‘yeah right.’
Ethan acts as if he’s concentrating on the reps, but his glimpses at me say he’s trying to decipher exactly how I feel about Rian.
“Just mind your own business and worry about your stalker,” I say.
Seth throws his towel at me and we continue our workout without any more talk of stalkers or women who can bake.
Later that night, after a dead night at Ink Envy, I walk into the apartment to find a half-eaten cake. Jax comes out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist.
“Clothes aren’t optional around here,” I say.
He spots me eyeing the cake. “She’s a great baker, huh? Lemon is my favorite.”
“Lemon?” I mumble. “I fucking hate lemon.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder. “Oh shit, am I already taking your place?” He chuckles and stalks off to his room.
Rian knows I hate lemon. Why would she bake that?
C
hapter Three
Rian
I sit at the kitchen table, working away and waiting for my cinnamon muffins to finish baking. The paperwork from the Mathematical Society of America sits on the counter like a puppy starved for attention.
What would I do if I won the money? I don’t think I’d go back to school. My mom texted me twice this morning, asking if I’ve started the problem. She’s fooling herself if she thinks she wants me to win for me. She wants me to win because Johann has beat me at everything our entire lives.
A key in the door startles me and I bury my head in my project. Fractions are a bitch for kids to learn and the recipients of this textbook will be lucky if I don’t take out my frustration by making them harder.
“Hey, Rian,” Jax says.
I blow out a relieved breath into my papers.
“Were you expecting a burglar?” His arms slide out of his jacket and he hangs it on the hook by the door.
I take a moment to soak him in, see him in my space. We only met briefly the other morning, so it still kind of feels as if a stranger lives with me. Even so, he’s not the one I was worried was going to walk through that door. But I can’t be honest about that with Jax.
I stand and bury my head in the fridge. “No. I was working, and you startled me when you came in.”
“Grab me a beer while you’re in there?” he asks. The sound of chair legs sliding along our wooden floor rings out.
I twist off the top of a beer and hand it to him.
“My own personal waitress. I could get used to this.” He grins.
I sit back down. “Don’t get your hopes up.”
He sips his beer, his gaze on me the entire time he rests the bottle on his lips and lowers it back down. I glance up a few times.
“So what’s your story?” he asks. His approach leaves something to be desired, but he seems genuinely interested in the answer, based on the fact that his eyes haven’t strayed anywhere but my face.
I place my pencil down and lean back in my seat. “What do you want to know?”
“Anything you want to offer.”
He sips his beer again. Most women would probably be drooling from having Jax’s attention. His dark hair and five o’clock shadow, the definition of the muscles in his arms—it all works to make him more than appealing. So although it feels nice, it’s obligatory. We’re sharing a bathroom now.
“I write math textbooks for elementary grade levels,” I say.
He nods and sips his beer. “So you’re like genius level, or math just gets you all excited?”
“Definitely not genius level.” My gaze veers to the stack of papers by my purse, where the contract for the contest sits.
“You probably got some perfect score on that ASS test,” he says.
I giggle. “You mean SAT or ACT?”
“Whatever.” He shrugs. “I never took it.”
“Why not?” I relax back into my chair and push my work to the side.
He downs another gulp of his beer. “I wasn’t meant for college. That shit only gave Phillips a hard-on.”
I nod, not sure if I should ask more questions or not.
“Boyfriend?” he asks.
At first, I think the question is rude, but mostly because my two good friends are now in serious relationships, which makes me wonder if I’m going to end up as a cat lady cliché. But I’m allergic to cat hair, so I’d have to be a bird lady or fish woman. Which sounds even worse. I imagine myself in a tank while my fish swim around my head or having birds resting along the lengths of my arms, their tiny claws digging into my skin, and I shudder.
“No boyfriend.”
“Really?” He tilts his head and one side of his lips tip up.
Heat rushes up my neck. “Yeah. Why?”
He shrugs. “I’m surprised Phillips hasn’t locked you down yet.”
“Locked me down? Next you’ll be calling me someone’s old lady.” I place my pencil in the crack of the book to keep my place and close it.
He laughs and tips the mouth of his beer in my direction.
“I think you can probably think of a nicer way to say that?”
He chuckles. “You’re one of those, huh?”
“So far I’d say we’re not on the best of terms with your word choices.” I don’t mean anything horrible, I’m mostly joking, but I don’t believe anyone is going to “lock me down.”
“I didn’t mean any offense, I’m just surprised. You’re hot in that innocent schoolgirl way. Makes me want to make you all dirty.”
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. No one has ever said anything like that to me. I never thought I was the type of girl who would get turned on by it, but my core aches with his words.
“There must be something wrong with Phillips. How long have the two of you known each other?”
I shrug. “A few years.”
He nods, his gaze dipping to my cleavage. I shouldn’t like the way his eyes almost sear the clothes from my body. I have no doubt he’s envisioning me naked right now. I shouldn’t like it, but I do.
I’ve found myself feeling like a wanton woman about as often in my life as I’ve found myself the winner of the lottery. Which is to say never. I always ended up in that middle ground.
“And you guys have never…”
We both know what he’s asking.
“That would be none of your business.” Luckily the oven buzzer goes off, so I have a reason to excuse myself from this conversation.
“So you write math equations and bake. Those are your turn-ons?”
I pull the muffins out of the oven and place them on top of the stove. “They aren’t my turn-ons. I just enjoy baking.”
“Ah, but not the math? Good girl has a secret.”
I whip my head in his direction. His cocky smirk says he’s already figured me out.
“I think it’s time we shift the focus of our conversation to you.”
He twirls his beer bottle in circles on the table, following my movements as I transfer the muffins from the pan to the cooling rack.
“Name is Jax Owens. I’m a tattoo artist. Grew up in New York City. Once I turned eighteen, I aged out of the foster care system and got the fuck outta Dodge as fast as a criminal who slipped his cuffs before being thrown in jail. Right now, I need some calm from my chaotic life. So here I am.”
I lean against the counter. “What’s so chaotic about your life?”
“People following me on Instagram. Everyone wanting something. You’re not from my world, but I’m kind of a big deal.”
I laugh but stop once his eyes meet mine. “Conceited much?”
“It’s not conceited when it’s fact. Why do you think Phillips hates me so much?”
“I didn’t know he hated you.” I’m lying, but I can’t help but feel like Dylan’s bodyguard and I don’t like people putting words in his mouth. I have no idea why Dylan dislikes Jax.
“He does. I’m everything he wanted to be, but Winnie forced him to take one of those tests and attend college.”
I say nothing. The selfish part of me wants Jax to fill in all the blanks I have about Dylan’s past, because Dylan always has a way of dodging personal questions.
“The bastard got lucky with that painting.”
I nod because that is something I know about Dylan’s past. The painting Dylan sold in order to start Ink Envy. No one except for Ethan has ever seen it. I wonder if Jax has though.
“Talent isn’t luck,” I say.
He smirks, his gaze falling down my body. “You don’t have to stick up for him. He knows as well as I do that he got fucking lucky.”
“Maybe by finding the right buyer, but someone would have purchased it eventually.”
“So you’ve seen it?” Jax asks.
I place a cinnamon muffin on a plate and slide it over to him.
“Distraction by sweets. I’ll take that as a no.” He unwraps the muffin and chomps down.
“Are you two going to be able to play nice?” I ask
, putting the muffin pan in the sink and turning on the water before adding soap.
“I don’t play nice, but I do play fair.” He winks and takes another healthy bite of the muffin.
“Just get along, respect each other’s things, and we’ll be good.” I turn around and wash the muffin pan.
A minute later, the chair legs slide along the hardwood floor again. He throws the balled-up muffin wrapper into the garbage in the cupboard to my right. Then his hands land on either side of me, caging me to the sink. “Let me ask you something, square root girl, are you Team Phillips?”
Shivers rise up my neck. “I’m no one’s team.” My voice doesn’t hold the conviction it should.
“I guess we’ll see about that.” He pushes off the counter. “You should make some pie,” he says while walking toward his bedroom.
I look over my shoulder at him. “Why?”
He turns around in the middle of the room. “Because I’d love to eat your pie.”
His smirk deepens and his gaze flows up and down my body once more with the scorching heat of a thousand flames. He walks into his bedroom and shuts the door just as the front door opens.
Dylan stands in the doorway like a German Shepherd who just found his scent after searching for miles. His gaze meets mine then travels to Jax’s closed bedroom door and wanders back to me. “Why are you so red? Is it too hot in here?”
I swallow past the dry lump in my throat. “No. I just took muffins out of the oven.”
Dylan drops his stuff by the door and beelines it to the muffins. “Hot muffins? My favorite?”
He takes one, pulling the top off first like he does with cupcakes. He eats it then goes to take off his jacket but stops with half the muffin in his mouth and one arm out of his jacket. I’m too busy processing Jax’s pie comment to wonder why he stopped.
By the time Dylan clears his throat after finishing the muffin, he holds a stack of papers in his hands. “What’s this?”
“Nothing.” I step forward, reaching for the papers, but he puts his hand on my head like an older sibling would to their younger one keeping me at arm’s length. “Dylan!” I scold, my arms frantically reaching.
