by Cherrie Lynn
How Brian would love being called “that boy”, as if they were all still in high school. “Mother, Evan is married. And he’s almost ten years older than me.”
“Age doesn’t matter. Yes, I know he got married. Pity. And to Todd Jacobs’s ex-wife, who’s not even from here. I just think he could have done better. Courtney Miller was such a nice girl, and from a good family, too. Her poor mother was devastated when she and Evan broke up.”
With a heavy sigh, Candace plopped down in the car seat and slammed the door shut. “You seem to forget Evan threw her out because she cheated on him.”
“Well, now, we all make mistakes, dear. We mustn’t judge.”
Mistakes! Mustn’t judge? Ugh! Candace wanted to grab the nearest sharp objects and jam them into her eardrums so maybe she wouldn’t have to listen to any more of her mother’s hypocritical BS. No use in explaining that Evan was, by all accounts, wildly in love with his wife and deliriously happy with their new baby, oh, no. How dare he dump a traitorous fiancée to marry a perfectly nice and lovely woman whose only crime was not sharing quite the same status in the community as he?
Candace would’ve described that question as sarcastic. It would’ve been legitimate and worth pondering to Sylvia.
She should have known better than to mention Brian. Despite his family name, he bucked convention and held up a middle finger to “status in the community”. He didn’t give a damn, and people like that confused and frightened her mother.
Today was shaping up to be the most trying day of her life. She was going to lose it, absolutely freaking lose it. Her control was stretching thinner all the time.
Deanne met them for lunch, and Candace groaned inwardly at seeing the lithe Barbie doll personified walking toward them in the restaurant, wearing a blinding smile. “Aunt Syl!”
Actually, Candace mused as she watched the two collide with air-kisses, “Barbie doll” wasn’t entirely apt. Unless it was “Southern Belle Barbie” or something. She’d always thought Deanne should walk around wearing huge, airy hats and petticoats. She had that look about her. Fresh, blond, busty…and of course there was that beguilingly sweet drawl Candace suspected she’d cultivated to perfection. It could go from syrupy to satanic in a heartbeat.
Sighing, she rubbed a hand over her face, certain her lack of a full night’s sleep was registering there. She knew she was sporting evil dark circles and carried the aftereffects of her earlier tears in her red-rimmed eyes. She was surprised her mother still wanted to be seen with her.
“Candy! You look…great. I’m so glad you’ll be in my wedding.” Deanne’s mouth was smiling warmly at Candace as she took her seat, but none of it reached her assessing, judgmental eyes.
Do I look like I was up trying to get laid all night and failing miserably? Good.
“Don’t mind her weepiness. She had a bad date last night,” Sylvia announced as she snapped her menu open, her mouth drawn into a tight, lipsticked slash across her face. She spat the word “date” as if it was dirty.
Jesus Christ. A series of curses that would’ve made Brian proud lit off in her head. If Deanne found out who it was, she would go straight to tell Michelle, and while she knew her cousin would find out eventually if she and Brian ended up together—yeah, right—she wasn’t ready for that information to get back to her yet.
Deanne looked sympathetic, but Candace couldn’t tell if it was fake or not. The inevitable question followed. “Who are you seeing?”
“Um…no one, apparently. I’d rather not say right now, if you don’t mind.” Candace shot her mom a glance and found Sylvia glaring at her over the top of her menu. She dropped her gaze to her own and thought about how not hungry she was.
And then Deanne dropped a bombshell. “Oh, Aunt Syl, I invited Michelle to eat with us and come to the fitting. She’s just running a little late. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course I don’t. I haven’t seen her in weeks, it seems. But she’s so very busy with school, the poor dear.”
I’m so very busy with school too, Candace grumbled inwardly. I’ve never been your poor dear.
Okay, she was feeling entirely too sorry for herself. Her freaking cousin was coming, and Candace could still taste Brian’s lips, still feel his fingers lodged inside her, still hear his erotic enticements in her ear to tell him all her fantasies…
“Hi, everyone!”
Blowing out a breath, Candace stood to face her ravishing cousin and waited her turn to give her a hug. When Michelle finally enveloped her in a cloud of perfume and chestnut brown hair and soft bosom, Candace held on tight for a second longer than she needed to.
“Hey, there, little cuz. Where’ve you been lately?”
“Here and there,” Candace said, trying to sound bright and not as if she was about to burst into tears any second. She’d been a freaking moron to tell her mother about Brian. Stupid stupid stupid…
Michelle stepped back and her brown eyes—the same gold-flecked color as her hair—roved over Candace’s face as concern filled her expression. “Oh, honey, are you okay? You haven’t been sick, have you? You don’t look like yourself.”
No, and she didn’t feel like herself either. Her mother was watching her like a hawk. Just waiting to hint at the bit of news she was privy to? If she said anything about Brian, anything at all, Candace was going to throw a glass of water in her face and tell Deanne to hell with the wedding. She was in no mood for their crap.
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
“Better shape up in the next couple of weeks,” Deanne chimed as Michelle and Candace took their seats across from each other. “You’ll go with me and the girls for a spa day next week. We’ll get manicures, pedicures, facials…the whole thing.”
“I’m so glad you’re in,” Michelle said to Candace. It was probably the first genuine thing that had been said at this table. “We’ll have a good time. And we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
“I’m looking forward to it,” Candace replied, trying to pour some truth into the words. She’d love to catch up with Michelle, but preferably some other way that didn’t involve a crappy pastel bridesmaid’s dress and dyed pumps and hanging out with a bunch of people she couldn’t stand. She’d have to train herself to walk in the shoes so she didn’t wind up face down on the floor of the church.
Michelle turned to her sister. “So you never told me why Becky’s out. What happened?”
Candace picked up her water glass to take a sip, thinking this was probably going to be a riot.
Deanne rolled her eyes heavenward, lifting her hands for emphasis as she bellowed: “She got a tattoo!”
The mouthful of water Candace was in the process of swallowing jammed in her throat and came back up. Frantically, she grabbed one of the heavy linen napkins and pressed it to her lips, certain she was turning beet red as she tried to catch her breath. Michelle was grinning knowingly at her, but Deanne and Sylvia were both too caught up in their horror over the situation to notice.
“It’s on her upper back. Right here.” Deanne indicated the spot on her left shoulder blade. “I said, ‘Rebecca! Oh my God! The dresses are off the shoulder. I can’t have you walking down the aisle like that! It’s trashy.’ I mean, you’re all wearing up-dos. That thing will be right out there for everyone to ogle.”
Sylvia was shaking her head as if being faced with all the suffering in the wide world. “How dreadful. Those things are hideously unattractive.”
“Oh, Aunt Syl…” Michelle began indulgently. She’d always been so much better at dealing with Candace’s mom than Candace herself. She was so easygoing about everything, taking it all in stride. Of course, that was the best way to survive in this family. “They’re the norm now. You might as well face it.”
“I will not. People are ruining their bodies with those wretched things. Candace Marie, if I ever hear of you—”
“Aunt Syl, before you say anything, don’t forget I have three.” Michelle was laughing, having a great time. “Of
course, you don’t date a tattoo artist for over a year and not walk away with a few souvenirs.”
“What did he do, hold you down and tattoo you against your will?” Deanne asked. A dreamy smile—remembrance?—spread across Michelle’s lips and there was no denying the flush that crept up her cheeks. Her entire demeanor had softened.
Oh, crap. There were still feelings there. Candace had just witnessed Michelle silently go to pieces at the mere mention of him.
Thankfully, Sylvia’s lips were currently sipping water, but her narrowed, accusatory gaze flickered over to Candace.
“At least yours aren’t anywhere I can see,” Deanne finished.
Michelle managed to pull herself out of her own Brian-induced funk. If only Candace could do the same. “So what are you saying? If they were, I couldn’t be in your wedding? Your own sister?”
Deanne sniffed and pursed her pillow lips. “It would depend on what they were. I guess.”
“What did Becky get?”
“I don’t even know.”
Michelle shook her head, giving Candace a wink as the waiter came to take their orders. Still feeling stuffed from her late breakfast, she ordered a garden salad and earned an approving nod from her mother that made her not want, but need to tear the woman’s hair out and then order the most fat-laden item on the menu.
“Good for you, Candy. Better to have to take the dress in than let it out, I always say. And you do look as if you’ve put on a few pounds these last couple of months.”
She did not just go there in front of everyone. Are you kidding me?
“I don’t think she’ll need too many alterations,” Deanne said, eyeing Candace critically from the neck down. “You’re basically the same size as Becky, I think. Maybe take the bust in a bit.”
Of course. Because I have no boobs. But remember, I’ve got ass.
If she didn’t get through this day without hitting someone or screaming, she had far more self-control than she thought.
Chapter Nine
Brian must’ve been wearing one hell of a thunderous expression. When he stalked into the shop that evening, his employees glanced up at him, opened their mouths to speak, apparently thought better of it, and went back to whatever they were working on.
Shit. They were swamped. Everyone had a client and there wasn’t an empty seat in the waiting area.
So much for going back to his office or his studio and unwinding by drawing and blasting the music until his eardrums bled, which had been his plan when he’d forced himself to leave his apartment. All he’d been doing there was pacing like a caged animal, thinking about calling Candace and apologizing for being such an ass this morning. He hadn’t necessarily wanted to interact with anyone, but now that he was here, he couldn’t go into the back and hide while his guys were working their asses off. That’s something the old Brian would have done, the one he kept insisting didn’t exist anymore. Hell, the old Brian wouldn’t have gotten off the couch tonight in the first place. He’d have wallowed in his misery, or drowned it in booze.
Now he would drown it in work. He needed to put the mindfuck Candace had run on him out of his head. Of all frigging ways for it to end. If only he’d cut out as soon as he’d been dressed and ready, like he usually did in those situations, he might still be willing to stick it out and see what the future held. It was probably for the best it had happened the way it had, before he let himself get too involved.
“I’ll be with you guys in a minute,” he told the waiting group as he strode through toward the back. He thought he sensed a collective sigh of relief from his artists. It only took him a few seconds to grab his cap and his gum—damn, but he needed a smoke—and head back out to the chaos.
His first client of the evening wanted her navel pierced. She thought. She was petite and really pretty, and looked young enough that he made her flash her ID. Nothing irked him more than sixteen-year-olds coming in here trying to pass themselves off as eighteen—well, nothing except thirteen- or fourteen-year-olds who actually had permission from their parents—but his girl checked out.
She’d only ever had her ears pierced, and had about five bazillion questions. As he began to settle into the routine, explaining aftercare, helping her pick out the jewelry she wanted, he started to feel a bit better.
But his girl was so hung up on whether or not it was going to be unbearably painful that he was finally forced to give his usual spiel about the pain factor, only it came out all wrong. And ended with, “So, hey, it’s all gonna hurt, there’s no way around it. If you’re deciding on where to get pierced based on where it’s going to hurt the least, then it’s not for you.”
She looked at him in surprise. Great. He was supposed to put them at ease, not chase them away. But just then he realized where his statement had come from…it rang true with relationships too. They weren’t for him. Too much pain involved.
Physical pain he could take. It came, did its damage, and was gone. He didn’t know what to do about the ache that gnawed at his gut after everything crashed down around him. There’d only been a handful of times he’d experienced it, and today was definitely one of them.
After one night with the girl? No way.
It couldn’t be just about her. The way she’d treated him was shitty, that was all, and he’d be pissed at any girl who screwed him over. God knew he didn’t mind using someone, and he didn’t mind being used. But that shit was supposed to be understood from the start. There were ethics involved. Two people getting each other off was one thing. But she couldn’t ask him to be her first, she couldn’t look at him as if she wanted to crawl inside him, she couldn’t cry on his shoulder for ten minutes in the shower only to turn around and treat him like dog crap afterward.
But she wouldn’t know a damn thing about how any of this works, dumbass. Remember?
That was the exact reason he was better off without the hassle.
His girl finally stopped fretting and went ahead with the piercing. The clamps seemed to freak her out more than the needle. She did better than he expected, but then, he knew he was good. Most of his clients said they felt a pinch and that was it, but he had the occasional one get light-headed. It always made him feel like an ass, and he ended up buying them a drink from the machine and talking them through it until he was sure they were okay to leave.
That was actually how he’d met Michelle at his old workplace, the one and only client he’d ever let himself get involved with. As soon as she jumped off the table after getting her navel pierced, she’d gone dead white and swayed. He’d taken her arm and steered her to a chair before she could hit the floor. It had been such a slow weeknight, he’d ended up sitting with her and talking until closing time. Her friend had finally grown exasperated and taken off.
They’d continued the conversation over beers and tequila shots at a bar up the street, and then at her place, where they’d had marathon sex until well after the sun came up. It wasn’t his normal MO at all, but that night, he’d figured what the hell. She was hot and funny and she’d been all over him as soon as they’d reached his truck at the bar. Fond memories.
Too bad those from last night and this morning were tainted from Candace’s subsequent freak out. He could’ve still been drifting on the euphoria of it all. Even now, he could still smell the scent of her skin, still taste her on the back of his tongue. Still feel her wrapped tight and wet around his fingers. He’d been walking around all day at half- mast from that memory alone, and it was beginning to wear him down.
When he went back up front, someone had turned up the tunes, but the sounds of Static-X were doing nothing to soothe his savage beast. He got the next person in line—who wanted a tat, thankfully, because it was his favorite thing to do to mellow him out—and got her prepped and under the needle in no time. She wanted a fairy on her shoulder blade, and it would probably take a good hour or so. Plenty of time to clear his head.
Until Starla stuck the phone under his face, totally destroying his already feeble con
centration. “Here. It’s your brother.”
He frowned and leaned away from the offending instrument. “He can get me on my cell later.”
Starla rolled her eyes and brought the phone back to her ear. “Evan, he’s tied up, can you call him later?” She listened for a second and then held it back to him, laughing. “He says you need to learn how to multitask.” Even the girl he was working on giggled.
“Dammit.” He grabbed the phone, crammed it between his ear and shoulder, and picked up the line he’d left off on her skin. “We’re swamped, brother. I don’t call for you and tell them to drag your ass out of court, do I?”
Evan cut right to the chase. He and their mom were alike in that regard, at least when it came to Brian. “Why is Sylvia Andrews calling me out of court asking me to help her keep you away from her daughter?”
“The hell. Are you shitting me?”
“What have you done now?”
“Man, I ain’t done nothing. I can’t even begin to tell you how much nothing I did.” Well, okay, he’d done a little, but that was no one’s business but his and Candace’s.
“Ordinarily I wouldn’t believe that for a second, but because it’s Candace we’re talking about, you might be telling the truth.”
Did everyone know this girl was a virgin except for him? Did other guys have some kind of built-in hymen alert mechanism he was lacking? He never would have taken Candace for someone who took frequent trips around the block, but hell, at least once or twice. She was in college and she was hot, for fuck’s sake. How had she managed to keep that smokin’ body under wraps all this time? Were the guys over there blind?
I’d still want to wait for you.
Shit.
“Why do you say that?”
“Her parents guard her like she’s Fort Knox. If they had snipers stationed around her place to take out anyone who dared approach her door, I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Then they must have fucking surveillance cameras mounted somewhere across the street. Or spies. “I kinda get that now,” he muttered. “I’d already heard, but Jesus, I thought Michelle was always exaggerating at least a little whenever she talked about it.” Damn, it must have been hard for Candace growing up. Guys probably ran screaming from her at the very thought of facing down her parents.
