Nine: A pINK Novel (A pINK Series Book 1)

by K. S. Thomas

  Ironic, really, that my dragon being destroyed is essentially what brought his to life. Liv took the small, generic tattoo we’d both gotten the night before we both got the hell out of Dodge with the intention of never looking back and turned it into a majestic masterpiece that spanned over two thirds of his back. And now she’s about to do the same thing for me.

  “When do you think you’d be able to get to work on it?” I’ve never had anything this intricate or this artistic done before, but I’m assuming she’ll need some time to finish up the design before she can get started putting it on my skin.

  She shrugs. “Twenty minutes?” She stands from her chair to peer over the divider and toward the front of the shop. “Anyone make more coffee yet?”

  “Percolating as we speak,” the blonde with the Johnny Bravo hair shouts back. “Your super Spidey senses must be slacking. Usually you can hear that shit from a mile away.”

  “Or smell it.” The girl Liv referred to as Princess earlier giggles and I get a sudden sense as to how she acquired the nickname. There’s something stereotypically prissy and girly about her. Princess fits. Of course, this makes me wonder what they call Johnny Bravo, but I don’t ask, because I’m pretty sure the answer’s not sweet, or prissy, or girly. Not to mention likely to come with a punch to some part of my face it the words come out wrong.

  “Excuse me for being a little distracted,” Liv huffs, slamming her notepad down on her desk.

  “Since when does a little bare flesh get you all hot and bothered?” Princess continues to tease her.

  “It doesn’t. But Marcus and his bullshit usually do the trick.” As soon as she says it, her head whips back toward me. She didn’t mean to use his name in front of me.

  “Marcus is back?”

  “I’m handling it.” She glares at Princess, as if it’s her fault Liv slipped up and forgot to call him dipshit, a codename which now seems glaringly obvious.

  “Does Madi know?”

  She scoffs haughtily. “Of course she knows. Just because I haven’t sent out a newsletter to your entire family, doesn’t mean I’m keeping things from my niece. She’s seventeen. She’s old enough to understand the unfortunate truths about her fucking sperm donor.”

  “What does he want?” Because Marcus always wants something, and usually whatever it is winds up costing someone else big time.

  She rolls her stool back toward her desk, pretending to busy herself with organizing her work space, something from the looks of it she never really does. “He’s here for his inheritance.”

  “What are you talking about? I thought your father left everything to you.” I remember. I was there the night she found out. It’s what triggered her meltdown.

  “He left me the house. Everything else was only mine as long as Marcus didn’t come to claim it. He has rights to half of everything, and right now, he’s interpreting half as the warehouse and parking lot out back.” She slams her pen into the jar on the corner. She’s done talking about this. For now. I fully intend to revisit the issue.

  Marcus is dangerous. There’s no way in hell I’m letting Liv deal with him on her own. Brother or not, he’ll take her down without even blinking. I learned that when my aunt died of an overdose in the backseat of his fucking car while he was standing less than three feet away, busy wheeling and dealing with the drug dealer who supplied her.

  “You said there was coffee?” It’s the only thing I can think to say that will take us both out of the ugly past and bring us back to the present. It’s still got Marcus in it, but it’s a hell of lot prettier when I’m sitting here looking at her.

  She sighs and even smiles slightly. “There’s always coffee.”

  Chapter Six

  Heartbreaker

  I could kick myself. I can’t believe I let slip that Marcus is in town. All I need is for Pru to work herself into a tizzy over the news. It doesn’t thrill me either having him here, but I can’t do anything about it. He has just as much of a right to be here as I do, only I have a hell of a lot more to lose if things go bad for him than he does. So, I’m sitting tight. Watching him. And I’m not rocking the fucking boat, because getting screwed over by Marcus is basically a given, but getting screwed on purpose because he’s pissed is a hell I’m not equipped to survive. Well, I am. My business is not.

  “So, tell me how you and Memphis know each other.” It’s the first thing I’ve said since I first started working on his shoulder nearly half an hour ago. I’ve been busy stewing in silence, and Lucas, in all of his annoying understanding, let me.

  “We’ve known each other since we were kids. Parents have been friends since way back when, dads worked together at the same law firm when mine was still practicing...but we never really had much use for one another until the week of graduation.”

  I adjust my hand on his skin as I continue to work on the new outline. “Oh, yeah? What changed at graduation?”

  I can feel his muscles tighten as if he’s fought the urge to shrug. I’m glad he did, considering I’ve got a needle spitting ink moving over his shoulder as we speak. I don’t really want to mess up my masterpiece because he’s doing something as stupid as shrugging.

  Then his body relaxes again, having dodged that bullet, and he continues, “We were both in a really fucked up way, so when our paths crossed at the country club for the graduation party of some poor schmuck whose parents our parents knew, we both wound up getting shitfaced in the parking lot with a keg we swiped from one of the bar stations. By the end of the night, we’d determined that the easiest way to solve both of our troubles would be to just get the hell out of town and away from everything here dragging us under. We were drunk when we concluded this, of course...but that didn’t stop us. Ten days later, on my eighteenth birthday, I marched straight into the recruiter’s office. Same day, Memphis loaded up his pickup and took off for Wyoming where his grandfather knew a guy that could put him to work. We’ve been best friends ever since, even though we haven’t been in the same place for more than a few days at a time in seven years.”

  “I can see how that would bond you two. That and getting inked by the same amateur in his mom’s kitchen.”

  He grins. “Yeah. And that.” He pauses, then, “So, how do you know Memphis?”

  I knew the question would come, and I could give him a shit answer that would make total sense – I own a tattoo shop; he has a boatload of tattoos – but I can’t get myself to do it.

  “Riot.”

  He gets quiet. It’s probably not the answer he was expecting. “You knew his girlfriend?”

  I glance over at Sketch’s station. She’s not in it. She’s at the other end of the shop, busy bullshitting with Princess. It’s good. I don’t want her to hear this conversation. We don’t talk about Riot unless she brings it up. That’s the rule.

  “She’s Sketch’s sister.”

  I can hear Lucas exhale with force. “Shit. I didn’t know that.”

  “Why would you?” I’m still wrapping my brain around how much our worlds have overlapped without my knowing it over the years. His best friend dated my best friend’s sister. It’s weird. It also reminds me of the gap in our ages, because Riot was a baby back then. Not that I needed reminding. “Sketch was long out of the house by the time you knew Riot, and besides, it’s not like you’d ever know they were related by looking at them.”

  He laughs. He’s probably thinking the same thing. “Are you sure one of them isn’t adopted?”

  “Pretty sure.” Sketch hoped for a long time, but all of her detective work always came back with the same results. Her mother had actually given birth to her. There was no way around it. “But enough about them, let’s get back to talking about you.” I don’t even care if he misconstrues my desires to hear more about him as some sort of interest. I can’t be talking about Riot when Sketch walks back over this way, and that’s just a matter of time.

  “Were we talking about me?” He sounds doubtful, and I can see why. I’ve been making it a
point to talk about anything and everything that doesn’t lead back to either one of us.

  “You were telling me why you decided to join the army.”

  His head shakes slightly. “I don’t think I was telling you that at all.”

  “Well, maybe you should.” I adjust my seat for a better angle of his skin. “What was your reason?”

  “A need to breathe.”

  Lucas

  It sounds stupid when I say it out loud now. It seemed like the end of the world back then. “You know my dad, the senator. Third generation politician. He’s represented the same party, republican, his entire career, same as his father did before him. Suffice it to say, it’s been a given my whole life that I would grow up and run for some office or another like every other male born to this family.”

  Soft gauze runs over my skin. “I take it becoming an elected official didn’t seem as obvious to you as it did to everyone else?”

  I sigh. I can’t believe I’m sitting here spilling my guts to her about my petty teenage bullshit, but I’m not about to stop either. “That’s the thing, it might have been. No one ever gave me a chance to figure it out, and no one was about to give me that chance either. When I brought it up, both my parents flipped. According to them, choosing between Harvard and Yale was the only choice I needed to have access to, so I took school out of the equation completely. I joined the army and made sure I volunteered for any gig that would take me as far away from here as possible.”

  I can sense her smiling even though I can’t see her face. “Get plenty of fresh air while you were gone?”

  “You could call it that.” I wish I could see her. See her expression. It’s killing me that I can’t even attempt to read her right now.

  “What made you decide to come back? Ready to take on the family business now?”

  I shake my head. “No. I mean, I’m pretty sure my parents are still holding out hope I’ll come to my senses. They’re still convinced joining the army was all part of my grand plan to run for president someday, but that’s not why I came back. I came back because somewhere in all my efforts to make my own way, I lost track of where I was going. I need to start over, and I figure the best place to do that is where I started to begin with.” And her. I came back for her.

  “I get that.”

  “You do?”

  “Yep. Wasn’t that long ago I was in the same position.” She stops what she’s doing for a moment and with the break comes a temporary relief from the burning in my skin. “When I left, it was for a lot of the same reasons. Not that my dad ever expected me to take over the family business, but between Marcus and his constant drama, and my dad getting sick, it seemed like everything was blocking me in, backing me against a wall I couldn’t climb or break through, you know? So, I took off, thinking I was following some magic yellow brick road that would lead me onward and upward, and help me make things better for my family in the process. Then shit fell apart anyway, and the magic road I thought I was on brought me right back here. But you already know all about that part.” She leans around me to face me, a quirky half-smile on her gorgeous lips. “What you don’t know is that sometimes coming home isn’t so much about finding your past as it is about having another go at making your future.”

  “Are you happy with yours?” I want her to say yes. I want her to think staying here and opening this shop was the best thing she ever could have done. But I also want her to say no, because she doesn’t see me in it yet, and she needs to, because she’s all I see in mine.

  “I’m fairly optimistic... most days. Having my brother back in town does worry me a little.” My face tightens and she adds, “But it’s nothing I can’t handle.” Then she swings back around to stab me with her needle again. In silence.

  Liv works on my piece for nearly three hours before she decides it’s enough for today.

  “Mouth’s up front,” she says, nodding toward the desk in the waiting area and Jonny Bravo. Mouth. Makes sense. “Stop by to see her on your way out and she’ll set you up for another appointment so we can get this finished.”

  She presses down on the edges of the plastic wrap strapped across my skin once more before giving me the thumbs up to put my shirt back on.

  “I’m guessing you have another client coming in?”

  “Not for a couple hours.” She tosses her gloves into the trash.

  “Perfect.”

  She frowns. “Maybe you don’t understand what makes a business successful.”

  I laugh. “Your business seems to be doing just fine, and, personally, I think it will help keep things that way if you let me take you out to lunch.”

  Her brow arches exceptionally high. “How exactly will that help?”

  “Well, for starters, you won’t pass out from low blood sugar.”

  “Did you see how I take my coffee? Low blood sugar isn’t something I ever have to worry about.”

  “Are you really going to be an ass about this?”

  Finally, her face takes on an expression I haven’t managed to put there before this instant. Surrender.

  “Fine. Let’s eat.”

  It’s not the emphatic yes I was hoping for, but I’ll take it.

  “What’s good around here?” I ask, following her down the narrow aisle between the stations back up toward the front door.

  “The new Mexican joint up on tenth is pretty decent if you’re still craving guacamole,” Mouth yells out from behind the desk as we pass by. It’s almost scary how accurately they assign nicknames around here. Makes me wonder about Liv’s.

  “We can swing into the Garlic for some Italian,” Liv says grimly, ignoring Mouth in such an obvious way it can hardly be considered ignoring anymore.

  “Italian works.” And then we’re almost running out the door.

  “You want to follow me there?” she asks, her keys already in hand.

  “I kinda figured we could ride together,” I admit, somewhat confused.

  “This isn’t a date, Lucas.”

  “I’m pretty sure it is. I asked you to lunch. You said yes. Sounds like a date to me.”

  “You don’t want to take me on a date.”

  “I don’t think you get the point of asking someone out.”

  “I’m older than you.”

  “I remember. First time you sat in my mother’s kitchen, I was eleven. You were twenty. The age difference was pretty obvious.”

  She sighs. “I’m raising a teenager.”

  “Again, I’m aware.”

  “I’m running a business.”

  “Which I suggested you do. I dig that you used my name by the way.” I grin. I can do this all day.

  “My brother and his bullshit. Not to mention your mother and the shit storm she’ll rain down on us if she ever found out.”

  “Are all of these random statements meant to sway me in some way? Because they’re not going to. I’ve waited fourteen fucking years to be old enough to ask you out, Liv. This is happening. The sooner you get on board, the better.”

  Her nostrils flare and her eyes narrow. She’s pissed. And hot as hell. At this rate I may decide to piss her off on the regular just to see her get like this.

  “We can take your car. If your shoulder starts leaking, I don’t want it to happen on my seats.”

  “You’re sweet, you know that?” I smirk. I’ve never seen anyone try to hate me and fail as much as she’s doing that exact thing right now.

  “Fuck you.”

  “On our first date? What kind of guy do you think I am?”

  “Oh my Gawd,” she groans loudly as I open the door for her. “You’re going to make me crazy.”

  “Really? You think you’re going to be able to blame me for that?” I laugh, getting into the driver’s seat beside her.

  “I hate you.”

  “You love me.”

  “Nope. It’s not love. Definitely not love.” She shakes her head repeatedly, lips pressed firmly together.

  “It’s okay. You’ll get there.�
�� Then I turn the key and let the sound of my engine drown out her response.

  Chapter Seven

  Heartbreaker

  I hate him. I hate him. And I hate the way he makes me feel. I really, really hate him.

  “Why?”

  The sound of his voice startles me right from my hateful rampage. Now I hate him even more.

  “Why what?”

  “Why are you so against this?” He’s smiling. I hate his smile. It’s infuriating.

  “I’m pretty sure I covered a long list of reasons before you forced me into your truck.”

  He laughs. It’s even worse than his infuriating smile. “So, you’re against going on a date, period.”

  “No!” Although, now that he mentions it, it has been a while. Why is that? Maybe I am against going on dates. I probably am. Yeah. Yeah, I’m against dating. “Yes. Yes, I’m against it.” There. Solid out.

  “Fine. After lunch we’ll never go out on a date ever again.” He nods, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel along with the radio, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. As if this is nothing. Means nothing. “We’ll just stay in.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “You’re difficult.”

  “Says the toddler who is taking out an older woman just to piss off his parents and avoid doing what they want.” There. That was a good one.

  His jaw tightens almost instantly. Suddenly I miss the smile that pisses me off so much.

  “You really think that’s what I’m doing?”

  I resort to flipping my phone case back and forth in an awkward attempt to seem nonchalant. “I was just kidding.” Sort of. I’m still trying to pinpoint his motivation for wanting to go out with me, unless it really is a matter of realizing some sort of childhood fantasy he’s had about me all these years. I guess weirder things have happened. Of course that leaves me to ponder my motivations for saying yes, and I’m not quite comfortable enough to do that yet.

  “Look,” his tone is softer. Deeper. Good God, it’s so damn smooth I want to wrap myself up in it. Is that a thing? Can one do that with sound? “I get that this is freaking you out a bit, but for the sake of giving this a fair chance, could you just drop the comments about our ages...and my parents?”