by Piper Rayne
“You can relax,” I say, beelining it to my office, but I stop midway and turn back to him. “Do you have an Instagram account?”
Lyle is my newbie. He’s still trying to find clients, but you find lots of those through walk-ins. It’s why he has the crappy shift. But he needs to produce on the crappy shift too.
“I don’t take pretty pictures, boss,” he says.
“Start taking pictures of your drawings and posting them on Instagram, tagging Ink Envy. Same if you do a piece on someone. Friend every eighteen-plus person in Cliffton Heights. Find a way to bring in some business, or you’re out.”
His face pales. Once I’m back in my office, I feel like a jackass. I can’t pressure him like that—he’ll never produce what I need him to through fear.
Rian was wrong when she suggested I’m not into repaying my debt for what Winnie did for me. I take in the artists people won’t give a chance and try to teach them the way of old tattooing—not the nuevo way of get a client and do whatever the fuck they want no matter what reputation you get from it.
I’m all about the no face until chest and no hands until arms. If I don’t think I can give them what they want, I send them to someone I know will. Tattooing is about the art, not the ink. And not solely the money.
I pick up the phone and buzz to the front.
“Yeah, boss?” Lyle says, his voice apprehensive.
“I’m not firing you. But I think the Instagram thing is a good idea. It might drum up clients who like your stuff.”
“Okay, I just joined on my phone.”
I chuckle. “Okay.”
I hang up and press my fingertips to my temple. I should be worried about my bottom line, but all I see is Rian’s frown.
Instead of posting my own sketches to Instagram, I start a group text.
Me: Game night tonight. We’re playing Drawing Without Dignity because it’s Rian’s favorite and she needs cheering up.
A whole slew of messages come in.
Sierra: We got the pizza.
Blanca: Ethan says he’ll get her favorite wine.
Seth: I’ll pick up a dessert.
With that settled, I open up another chat box.
Me: Hey, Rian needs some cheering up, game night tonight at our apartment.
Three dots appear. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he never changed his number.
Jax: Your dick would cheer her up. On second thought mine would do a better job.
Me: This was a peace offering so you weren’t excluded. Now you can fuck off.
Jax: Aw, don’t be such a sourpuss.
I toss the phone onto the desk, regretting extending him an invitation. One thing I need to figure out soon is whether Jax wants revenge or friendship. Because he’s back for a reason, and I need to find out which one it is.
Chapter Nine
Rian
I got about ten percent through the problem today and I feel as though I’m on the right track, but I’ve had enough for one day, so I shut the notebook and swing my purse over my shoulder.
Jax comes out of his bedroom in a pair of jeans and a faded T-shirt that hugs his muscled shoulders and chest. “Where are you going?”
“Grocery store,” I say. “Do you need anything?”
It’s been an entire week since Dylan planned a game night to cheer me up after my out-of-body experience when I couldn’t get a puppy, and since then, he and Jax have been civil enough. There’s no watching television at the same time or eating at the table together, but there are no more mean words being spat at one another.
I’m still embarrassed when I think about how that puppy thing threw me into a funk in front of Dylan, but it warms my heart that he planned a night with our friends to cheer me up.
“Do you mind if I go with you?” Jax asks.
“Um… no.” I wouldn’t mind the company. Dylan works late on Saturdays, so it’ll just be Jax and me around the apartment tonight.
“You sound unsure. You worried Phillips will have a problem with it?” He grabs his phone off the charger and pockets it.
“No,” I say in a tone that would only convince a senile eighty-five-year-old dementia-ridden grandma.
“Right.” He opens the door and holds it, not hiding his smirk.
We walk down the hall and ride the elevator down.
“You guys don’t use that roof nearly enough,” he says.
“Yeah, I know. But it’s just getting nice out again. We will.”
I don’t necessarily feel uncomfortable around Jax. He’s an easy-going guy who doesn’t bite his tongue. But we haven’t spent that much time together since he moved in. Usually because I’ll go to my bedroom if he’s watching television when I come home.
“We should watch a movie tonight,” he says.
I nod and rock back on my flats. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”
We walk out and he’s a gentleman, allowing me to go first and holding the door open for me.
“So we’ll make something to eat and watch a movie on the roof?”
“Um…”
I’m not sure what has my tongue tied? Is it because part of me worries I’m going against Dylan? Like I’m picking Jax’s side over Dylan’s?
“I’m not asking you out, Rian. This is strictly a platonic thing.”
I yank the cart at the grocery store, but the damn thing won’t separate from the one in front. I move to the next row, and it’s the same fucking thing.
Jax puts his hand on mine to stop me. Stay True is inked across his knuckles. “I’ve got it.”
He fixes the child seatbelts so they’re not interlaced with the metal openings and a cart slides out easily. Instead of handing it to me, he takes control, pushing it ahead. “What should we make tonight?”
“Um…”
“You know, for a girl, you sure don’t talk a lot.” He chuckles.
I giggle because I’m still tongue-tied. Jax is intimidating in the same way I found Dylan to be when he moved in with Knox across the hall.
“I’m just…” I’m what? Finish the damn sentence, Rian.
“How about we ask each other questions? You ask me one and I’ll ask you one?”
I pick up a head of lettuce and put it in the cart. “Okay.”
“Ladies first.” He stops the cart and throws in a bag of pistachios.
“How long are you staying in Cliffton Heights?”
“Man, right for the jugular, huh? I underestimated you.” His head moves side to side. “At least six months. We’ll see how it goes.”
“You signed a year lease…” I say. Technically it was a sublease through Sierra.
He tugs on my ponytail. “I pay all my debts. If I leave before a year, I’ll pay you.”
“Okay.” I push away the reoccurring fear of me living alone like Ms. Merrigold on the first floor. Except for the cats, since I’m allergic.
“My turn then.” He rubs his hands together and looks me over as though he’s trying to think of something that will embarrass me. “Why on Earth do you write math textbooks?”
I chuckle. “That’s your question?”
“Would you rather me ask how long you’ve had a female boner for Phillips?”
My cheeks heat.
“Relax, your secret is safe with me.” He grins.
“It’s not like that.”
He holds up his hand as though he doesn’t want to talk about it. “I simply asked you why you chose your profession.”
I nod and put some apples in the cart. “I was always good at math. I don’t have to interact with many people. And it pays the bills.”
He nods. “But you don’t love it?”
“I like that I’m good at it.”
“Interesting.” He grabs oranges and puts them in the cart.
“What does that mean?” I ask, pulling my list out of my purse, along with my pen.
“It means it’s interesting. I always like to hear why people chose to do what they do.” He pushes the cart and rides it to t
he deli counter, where he tosses in pita bread and pulls a number from the red ticket dispenser.
I stop since I don’t have meat on my list. “Why did you become a tattoo artist?”
His smile is wicked and cocky and drop-dead gorgeous. “I love art, but I hate confinement. I love giving people ways to express their beliefs or celebrate the life of a loved ones or just make a statement. It’s an honor when someone lets me put my art on them permanently.”
I’m stunned silent. Those are all good reasons. I have nothing like that for being a math textbook writer. He winks when he realizes I’m second-guessing why I do what I do for money.
“I love baking,” I blurt.
“I’ve noticed. Do you do that because you’re good at it too?”
My mouth hangs open. Few people have ever talked to me like this. I guess it’s his don’t-give-a-shit attitude. “I enjoy tweaking recipes. I love the preciseness of it. Baking is really mathematical and scientific when you get down to it. And I love seeing people enjoy something I made.”
He taps my nose with his finger. “Then why aren’t you doing that?”
His number gets called and he holds up his hand without looking away from me until he absolutely has to. As he requests from the nice lady an order of every processed meat that’s doing absolutely horrible things to his insides, I peruse the baked items. None of them look half as good as mine.
“Ready?” he says, and I nod. “Round two?”
“You have more questions?”
“I have lots of questions. But it’s your turn.”
I look him over and decide to stay away from his childhood. “Why are you here?”
“I thought I’d get some groceries to eat so that I don’t die from starvation.” I tilt my head, and he laughs. “My life was getting out of control. I don’t like that feeling. I called Knox at the right moment to snag the opportunity for a place to stay.”
“You’re so honest,” I say.
He looks over the meat in the coolers. “I noticed you didn’t have any steak the other night. Are you only a chicken gal, or do you eat red meat? Please don’t tell me you’re the tofu girl.” He dodges my comment, so I let it die.
“I eat all three, although if you ask my mom, I only eat red meat once every two weeks and I prefer fish over anything.” I pick up some organic chicken breasts and put them in the cart.
He laughs, picking up a package of steaks. “Oh, I love you parent-pleasers. You guys amuse me.”
I roll my eyes. “Steaks again?”
“If I’m cooking for you, you can’t complain.”
“True enough.”
“And it’s my turn now. You’re digging deep here, so I feel like I should nail you with something you don’t want to answer.” He makes an exaggerated effort of hemming and hawing.
My stomach stirs. I wonder what I should tell him if he does ask me about Dylan. While I anxiously wait for what he’s going to ask, we turn down the bread aisle.
“Have you always had a thing for bad boys?” he finally asks.
My entire body heats. “I don’t have a thing for bad boys.”
I’m such a liar. If I didn’t already want Dylan, I’d probably be looking at Jax like every middle-aged woman we’ve passed in the store has. Like they want him to jump on the end cap and do a striptease.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be? We’re going to lie to one another?”
I pick up English muffins and hold the package in front of my face so he can’t see me blush.
“Rian?”
“I swear if you tell him, I will come into your room at night and cut off your balls.”
He crosses his legs and puts his hands over his junk. “Ouch. You’re not that kind of girl. Don’t say things that will make me hide all the knives under my pillow at night.”
I laugh and he does too as we walk down another aisle, each of us picking up things and tossing them in the cart.
“I won’t say anything, but you know Phillips knows, right?” he says.
“No, he doesn’t, and it’s just a crush. Not like anything would come from it.”
He stops the cart and backs me up to the end of the aisle, plucking my paper and pen out of my hand and tossing them behind him. I try to weave to the side to see where they went, but he moves in the same direction. “I guarantee you, Phillips knows how you feel and so far he’s done nothing about it, so why don’t you give this bad boy a try? I promise to check all your boxes.” His hand lands on my hip.
There’s nothing terribly inappropriate about what he’s doing. But I can’t help but notice that he smells different than Dylan. It’s muskier.
“My boxes?” I roll my eyes and look away.
His forefinger lands under my chin and forces me to face him. He is gorgeous. All chiseled jaw and sharp nose. Scruff like he doesn’t care, and his hair gelled into a mess of perfection. Lean muscles that could have him front and center in a Calvin Klein ad.
“Yeah, your boxes. Don’t-give-a-shit attitude. Check. Fuck you in public. Check. Dirty talker. Check. Know how to make a woman orgasm five times one after the other. Check.”
With the last pluck of his tongue, my lady parts are scratching their heads saying, Phillips who?
But that’s not totally true, because all I can think about is Dylan giving me those things. Maybe Jax is too bad boy for me, if there’s even such a thing.
“Okay, playtime is over.” I push his hard chest and he backs up, laughing.
I bow my head at an elderly lady who’s blatantly gawking from down the aisle.
“I thought playtime was just starting. Man, Phillips really has his grip on you.” He places a box of Triscuits in the cart.
I do admire his ass as he heads down the aisle though.
“If you aren’t taking me up on my offer, then you can’t enjoy staring at my finer qualities,” he says, turning the corner and leaving me in the cookie and cracker aisle in stunned silence once again.
I grab all the E.L.Fudge cookie variations and follow him.
We reach the frozen foods section without making another scene, although I really need to get home to make good use of my toys. I think I’ll imagine Dylan caging me in in the supermarket like Jax did.
Standing in front of the ice cream, I debate between Ben and Jerry’s and a gallon of store brand since they’re the same price. Jax grabs a gelato pint.
“So far, your Triscuits and gelato aren’t supporting your bad boy claim,” I say with amusement.
“Then take a chance and go out with me. If for no reason but to drive Phillips crazy.”
There’s no smile or amusement in his tone. He’s serious. All I can think is, does Dylan really know how I feel? Does he have any interest other than remaining friends? Because if he did have any interest in me, wouldn’t he have hit on me at some point? Or asked me out?
I bite my lip. I might not have feelings for Jax like I do Dylan, but maybe it’s time I put Dylan aside and see what else is out there. I don’t know Jax well. Maybe I could end up liking him in that way.
“Okay,” I say.
Jax’s eyes widen. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow night at six. Dress casual.”
My heart flips-flops. Here’s a guy who knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to go after it. All that needs to happen now is for the universe to shift so that I want him instead of the guy who doesn’t see me as anything other than a friend.
Chapter Ten
Dylan
Saturday nights are always long. Not that I have any right to complain. Lyle actually had two girls come in after they saw his designs on Instagram. One got a piece and the other one said maybe next week. And the line that never died down is a good thing. Most of Frankie’s regulars trusted me to do theirs. Still, it was a nonstop night that required stellar concentration and my brain is fried.
As I trudge down the hall to my apartment, all I want is to strip bare and crawl into bed, but the giggling on the other side of the door when I insert my key says Jax
brought someone home.
When I enter the apartment, all I see is Jax on top of someone on the couch. I’m half tempted to shut the door and crash on Seth’s couch until the blonde peers up to see who it is.
My gut twists in one giant knot as Rian says, “You’re home.”
“You’re up.” I take off my jacket and hang it up on the hook.
“We couldn’t sleep, so we started watching wrestling. Jax said he once wanted to be a wrestler and was showing me what his signature move would’ve been.”
She’s all happy and now I’m grumpy. Jax’s arrogant smile rises my blood pressure, and I swear I can feel my heartbeat in my neck.
“I guess I don’t have to ask how your Saturday night was?” I reach inside the fridge for a beer, torn between staying out here so that maybe Rian will feel uncomfortable letting Jax be all over her and locking myself in my room to continue to live in denial.
“Jax set up the rooftop to watch a movie, so we ate dinner and watched The Wedding Singer. You know, the one with Adam Sandler.” Rian’s giddiness grates on any nerves I had left after my last client didn’t feel the need to tip me since I’m the owner.
“Yeah, I know it.” I sip my beer in the kitchen. “It was a long night. I’m going to head to bed. Enjoy the night, you two.”
Rian sits up and looks over the back of the couch. Surprisingly, no smartass comment comes out of Jax’s mouth, and the two remain quiet as I walk through the apartment to my bedroom.
After closing the door, I sit on the edge of my bed, finishing my beer and overhearing their laughter from the other side of the wall. How the hell did I ever get here? Usually I’d be out at the bars after work. I should’ve accepted Lyle’s offer after we closed up.
I kick off my boots and slide up to the headboard of my bed, putting in a pair of earbuds and grabbing my sketchpad. Rian’s giggling can be heard over the music while I sketch the design that’s occupied my mind since we were in New York last week. A peony with shedding petals—meant for Rian if she ever comes to me for ink. She needs something as beautiful as her and she’s like a peony—a symbol of beauty and fragility, but also a happy life and prosperity.
