by Kate Stacy
Ryan knows me, so he sits in the chair on the other side of my desk and waits in silence as I gather my thoughts.
“I wish I fucking knew,” I finally admit. “When I first met her...hell, almost the whole time I’ve known her...I had the wrong idea about her.”
His brows narrow, confusion showing clearly on his face.
“I thought she was a stuck up, spoiled princess. She never talked much and she damn sure didn’t talk to me. It seemed like she thought she was better than everyone else and it pissed me the fuck off.”
“Presley’s nothing like that, man.”
“I know that now. I’ve spent a little time with her, and it didn’t take long for me to realize how wrong I was, but before that…” Shaking my head, I drop the sketchbook on the desk and rub my hand across my scruffy jaw. “Before that she had me totally fucked up in here.” I point to my head with the pencil in my hand. “I couldn’t stand her, but I wanted her. I hated it, ya know? What the fuck was I supposed to do with that?”
“I sure as hell hope you figured it out because your caveman act at 80 Proof has everyone talking. The girls had to keep Holden from following you out the door.”
“Fuck!”
The asshole only laughs. “That about covers it. You better get your shit straight. And soon. They convinced him to stand down for now, but he won’t let it go for long.”
“I can’t stay away from her. I tried. Fuck, I tried.”
“Don’t. No one said you had to.”
Sighing, I lean back in my chair. “I don’t do relationships, man. You know that. She can’t be anything more than a good time for me. A fling. Friends with benefits. Whatever the hell you wanna call it. Even I know she deserves better than that. She says we don’t need to put a label on it, but she also said she’s never been in a relationship. What if she catches feelings? Huh? Then I’m gonna end up breaking her heart and her brother’s gonna bury me six feet under.”
“And what if you catch feelings?”
Laughter bursts out of me.
I laugh until my stomach hurts and I can barely breathe.
I laugh until I realize that Ryan isn’t laughing.
“You’re serious?” He pins me with a sobering stare. “Ryan. You know me, know my trust issues with women…”
“And I also know that when the right woman comes along none of that will make a damn bit of difference.”
“I’m not built for playing happy families, brother. My mom...my sister…”
He leans forward, pounding his fist on my desk. “You think all the shit with your sister didn’t fuck me up, too? I know what you’ve been through, Adam! I was there for it all, lived that life with you. Stood by your side and had your back every fucking time something went down. None of us has had an easy life, but the difference between me and you? I refuse to let the past keep me from having a future. There wasn’t a damn thing that happened with your sister that could have stopped me from recognizing a damn good thing when I found it.”
“I hear what you’re saying.”
“Yeah, I know you hear me, but are you listening? Really fucking listening?”
“Yeah, man. I’m listening,” I huff.
“Good.” He relaxes back, taking a deep breath. “I’m not saying you have to propose to her, Adam. You don’t even have to jump into a relationship. But if things are really like you say...you can’t keep her outta your head...think maybe there’s a reason for that. Keep an open mind is all I’m sayin’.”
Acknowledging his advice, I give him a tight nod before changing the subject.
Kinda.
“I’ve been spending a little time with her, but she’s like a closed fucking book. I can’t get a read on her. What do you know about her?”
“Truthfully? Not much. I only ever see her at family gatherings. The little I do know, I learned from Camille.”
I wave my hand, wanting him to continue.
“She’s introverted? I guess. Quiet, but not shy. Camille says she keeps her shit close to her chest and doesn’t really let anyone in, which drives the rest of them crazy. She doesn’t talk to them about anything personal, and never opens up. Camille says it’s like Presley has the weight of the world on her shoulders at times but won’t let anyone help her carry the weight.”
I can only nod, having a good idea of what some of that weight may be.
“And the secrets. The girls love keeping their secrets, so it’s a safe bet to say Presley has some.”
She sure fucking does.
I’m not about to share that tidbit with Ryan, though.
It’s not my secret, not my story to tell.
I don’t even know the damn story.
I may recognize Presley’s scars for what they are, but I don’t know the story behind them, the reason she does that shit to herself.
Oh, I have every intention of finding out, but I’ve gotta get her to let me in first.
I may not be sure about what’s going on between the two of us, but I plan to break down those walls she’s built up so high. I’m determined to uncover all her buried secrets.
“I don’t know, man. If you wanna get to know Presley, you’re gonna have to do it the organic way and spend time with her. But we’re gonna back up for a minute. You said that she said you don’t need to put a label on it? When the hell did she say that?”
I curse under my breath.
Guess it was too much to hope that he missed that part.
We don’t keep secrets, Ryan and I, so I suck it up and tell him the truth.
“The other night after I went home with her.”
“You…” I nod. “Damn.” He drags his hand through his hair and checks the time on his phone. “I’ve got a little more time before I have to meet Camille at home. Give me the details. How the hell did you end up in her bed?”
I tell him about it all.
Carrying her out of the bar, which he witnessed.
The tense as fuck drive home.
The kiss.
The misunderstanding.
The apology.
The heated make out in the parking lot.
The sex, leaving out the more intimate details.
The morning after.
“Fucking hell, Adam. I hope you know what the hell you’re doing.”
I chuckle and shake my head.
“Not a fucking clue, brother.”
TWENTY-TWO
Presley
Almost two months.
Close to ten thousand followers.
Countless offers to promote for companies.
How is this my life?
When I set up my Instagram account almost two months ago, I didn’t expect it to blow up in such a big way. I mean, ten thousand people isn’t a lot when you think about the billions of people in the world. But ten thousand is an astronomical number in my little world.
“Ten. Thousand. Followers,” I whisper to myself.
Just saying the words gives me chills and makes me giddy.
I send Derrick a quick text with a screenshot of my follower count and a wide-eyed emoji.
Hopping back over to Instagram, I tap to create a story and record a short message to thank everyone for following me. Derrick would kill me if I let this huge milestone pass without making some kind of post about the occasion.
Posting videos of myself talking has become second nature. The first few times it was nerve-racking, and gut-wrenching. Literally. I was physically ill afterward, complements of my anxiety. Derrick babied me, held my hand through the aftermath like the amazing best friend he’s always been. We’d get tipsy on cheap wine and he’d build me up each and every time I’d try to tear myself down. It got easier with each video I posted, and I realized that I was fine as long as I didn’t think too much about it. I talk to the camera like I talk to Derrick, and that’s the easiest thing in the world to do.
Tapping on my DMs, I scroll through and read some of the
offers that are waiting in my inbox.
My eyes flit over the screen, picking up terms like sponsor, collaboration, brand ambassador, and influencer.
I guess that’s technically what I’d be called now...an influencer.
My posts aren’t centered on any one thing.
If I read a good book—which happens often—I talk about it.
Feelin’ cute? I post a selfie.
Hair. Nails. Makeup. Quotes. Loves. Hates.
Nothing is off limits.
I even got brave enough and posted some of the photos from my boudoir session, including the original one Derrick wanted to post. It’s been my second most-liked photo to date.
The first? My ink.
My notifications blew the hell up the day I posted a picture of my finished tattoo.
I made sure to tag the Three Kings Instagram page to give credit where credit is due.
Adam did a fantastic job on my ink and I’ve been getting antsy to get some more work done. He’s been working on a design for my thigh that I’m dying to see.
He and I…
I don’t know what we are.
Friends with benefits? Maybe?
It’s been a couple weeks since that first night Adam stayed at my apartment. Since then, we’ve spent more than a few nights hooking up and hanging out. It’s not always about sex, though there is plenty of that. Some nights we just sit in comfortable silence while he works on tattoo sketches for clients and I read a book. Other times we watch movies or talk about random things. I’ve opened up more to him than I ever have with anyone else. We’ve yet to broach any sensitive or uncomfortable topics, like my scars, but I can tell he wants to ask.
For now, we’re keeping it low key. Our nights belong to us.
We don’t include family or friends, we haven’t even really told anyone about us, whatever we are. We’re not actively hiding our unlabeled relationship, but we’re not shouting about it from the rooftops either. Maybe I should feel like a dirty little secret, but that’s not the case at all. I enjoy having him to myself and not having to deal with the incessant questions I know will inevitably come when everyone finds out.
And yes, I do mean when, not if.
Someone is bound to find out about us at some point. Once it happens, the news will spread like wildfire through town even though it’s no one’s business but ours. The questions will start, the pressure will be on, and whatever this is...it’ll get really fucking complicated.
I meant it when I told him we didn’t need to put a label on it. I’m totally fine with the way things are going. It works for us. Is part of me curious if any of it means anything more? Of course I am. He’s the first guy that’s ever stuck around for more than one night. But for now, we’re having fun and enjoying each other. I try not to let myself think about anything else.
Dragging my lazy ass off the couch, I head to the door and slip on some flip-flops. Derrick will be getting off work soon and I’m in the mood for Mexican and margaritas. I’ll pick up our favorites and meet him at his place. We can pig out and celebrate my big milestone. Grabbing my purse, I drop my phone in and dig to find my keys but end up pulling my phone right back out when it rings.
I answer it, not bothering to see who’s calling.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Presley. It’s Tara! How are you?”
“Doing good! How are you?” I put the phone between my ear and shoulder and continue to dig for my keys.
“I’m doing wonderful, thanks. So, I called to tell you congrats! I just saw your IG story. Ten thousand followers? You’re killing it, girl!”
“Thanks,” I laugh out. “I’m pretty excited about it. I never expected so many people to give a shit about the things I post.”
“I did. When you open yourself up, Presley? You’re magnetic. People are drawn to you.” I can feel a blush creeping up my neck. “Which brings me to the other reason for my call.”
“Okayyyyyyy.” I bite my lip, a little nervous about where this conversation might be going.
“A friend of mine is a romance author and she’s in the market for some custom photos for her next book cover. Looking through my portfolio, she saw the pictures from your session, and she fell in love instantly. She loves your look and the vibe she got from your photos. You’re exactly what she’s looking for. How would you feel about being a cover model?”
Abandoning my quest for my keys, I suck in a deep breath and lean against the door.
“Are you serious?”
“Hell yeah.” She laughs, making me smile. “She wants you! What do you say?”
“Wow,” I breathe. “I say...count me in.”
“Perfect! Now...she wants a couple photo, so you’ll be posing with a guy. Is that gonna be a problem?”
My anxiety spikes, but I force down the nagging little voice that wants to tell me I can’t do it.
“I’ll be nervous at first, but I’m sure we can make it work. You’ll be the photographer, right?”
“Absolutely.”
“I’m comfortable with you, so that should help. Who’s the guy? Anyone I know?”
“Actually...I was hoping maybe you might know someone? I’ve seen the guys you surround yourself with. They’d be perfect for what she wants.”
“Ew.” I mock gag. “Most of those guys are like my brothers.” Her laughter through the line destroys any lingering anxiety and an idea sparks. “On second thought, I might know someone. Let me try to convince him and I’ll get back to you?”
“Sure. Just let me know and we’ll get something set up soon.”
“Sounds good. I’ll let you know as soon as I do. Talk to you later, Tara.”
“Bye, Presley.”
I end the call and before I lose my nerve, I make another.
It rings once, twice, and my heart skips when his deep voice carries through the speaker.
“Hey, Princess. What’s up?”
“Hey, Adam. Wanna do something with me that might be a little out of your comfort zone?”
TWENTY-THREE
Adam
It’s my birthday.
Another year gone; another year older.
Thirty-two years of life.
I somehow managed to escape this day being turned into a big event, not for lack of everyone trying. I get it, everyone wants to celebrate. If nothing else, it gives them an excuse to go out and have a good time. The way I see it? They can do that shit without me. Since when does anyone need a reason to get together?
I don’t hate my birthday, but I’m not much for making it a big event. It’s just another day.
There is a low-key thing at Ryan’s later that can’t be avoided.
My gorgeous niece is making me a special birthday cake.
I wouldn’t miss it for the world.
No way in hell I’d ever intentionally let that girl down.
I’ll happily spend some time with my family later so they can celebrate another year of me being alive. I’ll be the fun, loving uncle and eat a huge piece of the cake my niece is baking for me. I’ll open the presents they bought for me that I told them I didn’t need. I’ll smile and love every minute of it because I love my family. But that’s later.
Until then, I’m at Three Kings, machine in my hand and a living canvas beneath my fingertips.
My crew tried to get me to take the day off, insisting “it’s lame to work on your birthday, especially when you’re the boss.” I wasn’t hearing that shit. Unlike most people, I fucking love my job. Ninety percent of the time, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
Even if that wasn’t the case...
Let’s face it, spending a few hours between Presley’s thighs is no fucking hardship.
Especially when I know my girl has more than a little love for getting inked.
It’s so fucking easy to see that the bite of my needles turns her the fuck on.
Happy Birthday to me.
Her thi
gh piece is big. Three big roses, three stopwatches, and a fair amount of intricate detailing. It’s going to take more than one session. The goal for today was to get the outline done, which I did. She insisted she was good to keep going, so I’ve been working on the shading in the roses. We’re gonna have to stop soon because she can’t take much more.
And I don’t mean the pain.
The more I ink, the more she squirms. I swear she’s ready to wiggle her sexy ass right out of my chair. I’ve been paying attention. I’ve seen the way her body has flushed, the way her breathing has gone ragged and rapid. She brought her e-reader with her today and she’s been reading a book, trying to keep herself distracted.
It’s not working.
I glance up and see her pull her bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes move back and forth across the screen. Hmm. Now I’m curious. Maybe it’s more than the ink making her hot.
“What are you reading, Princess?”
Her eyes flit to mine and she smiles. “Romance.”
“You’re reading smut? While you’re in my chair?”
The sound of her laugh goes straight to my cock.
“It’s not smut, though I do read a ton of that, too. This actually has a storyline.”
“But there’s sex? You’re reading a sex scene right now aren’t you?” Her smile and the lust swirling in her eyes tells me everything I need to know. “Read me something.”
Knowing she’ll do as I ask, I go back to work shading her roses.
Her voice joins the low buzz of my machine seconds later.
“Blindfolded, with my wrists firmly bound in silk, I was completely at Xavier’s mercy. His weight lifted from my body, and I lay there naked, utterly exposed to him. I could hear him moving around the room as I waited, eagerly anticipating his next move. I couldn’t see, couldn’t touch, but I wanted to feel everything. A gasp escaped my lips when something cold circled my nipple. I moaned when the frigid sensation was replaced with the warm suction of his mouth. He repeated the actions on my other nipple and my body began to writhe. ‘Be still,’ he demanded, with a firm slap to my thigh. ‘If you cannot remain still, I’ll be forced to stop and punish you.’”
