Tempting

by Crystal Kaswell

  Would she be proud of my fixation of getting bigger and stronger?

  Maybe.

  It's hard to imagine Mom proud. Even if it's easy to imagine her on the stationary bike in some two-hundred-dollar outfit.

  I toss my towel in the hamper on the way out the door. Yeah, it's that kind of gym. It costs a fortune. But it's the only thing that clears my head, besides work and sex.

  Besides premium coffee beans and good whiskey, it's my only indulgence.

  It's bright outside. Traffic is already clogging the roads. Damn, it's early for both. And I'm without my sunglasses.

  I shield my eyes as I jog home. It's only half a mile. But tons of the drivers I pass shoot me a what's his problem look. This is Los Angeles. We all drive twenty minutes to spend an hour on the treadmill.

  My head clears as my feet pound the pavement. Today is the day. We're meeting our lawyer to talk about buying the shop. To get everything sorted out.

  That's what I'm focusing on.

  Not Kay.

  Not those tiny shorts or that tight tank top or the way her eyes went wide when I ordered her to leave her glass on the table.

  She wants to be under my command.

  And, somehow, she knows I want that too.

  How the fuck does she know that?

  I stop at a red light. Bend over to stretch my hamstrings. I'm not going there. I'm not thinking about her sitting on my bed, naked, desperate, waiting for my command.

  The light turns green. I take off. Run as fast as I fucking can. Until all my thoughts are dedicated to dodging pedestrians and turning cars.

  By the time I get home, I'm back to clarity. And I'm sticking with that.

  Emma is at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal and an oversized mug of coffee.

  I nod hello as I toss my keys on the table. Move into the kitchen. Fuck, that coffee smells good. Nutty. Rich. Strong.

  I force myself to grab a glass and fill it with water.

  "Why did I spend half of yesterday interrogating Kaylee about you having the opportunity to buy Inked Hearts?" Emma's voice is as curious as it's accusatory. It's mild, for her.

  I down half my water in three gulps. "Ryan must have mentioned it."

  Emma folds her arms. "I called Dean."

  My shoulders tense. I don't like Emma talking to Dean. He's my friend, yeah, but he's a pig. He wouldn't think anything of fucking her and throwing her away.

  "He explained." She takes a long sip of her coffee. "The four of you are going to buy it together."

  "Yeah." I finish the water and fill it again. The last thing I need today is a headache.

  Emma's dark eyes get intense. She has something up her sleeve. "Why didn't you tell me?"

  "I don't want you to worry."

  "Is that how it's going to be—you keep me out of all your decisions because you don't want me to worry?"

  Pretty much, yeah. "This is my decision."

  "No. I did some digging. With Kaylee's help. You don't have enough cash on hand to buy a quarter of the business. Not with the numbers Dean quoted."

  "None of the guys do. We're getting a loan."

  "With a shitty interest rate. If you refinance the mortgage—it would only add a few years to it."

  "Kay put you up to this?"

  "No." She taps the table with her purple nails—they match the violet tint to her hair. "But why did you tell her and not me? You trust her more?"

  "I'm not sacrificing your future, Em."

  "I thought we were a team. That it was 'our future.' It's our house, isn't it?"

  "Yeah." Both our names are on the deed. Our parents left it to us.

  "Refinance the loan. Get the cash that way. It's what I want."

  "That's what you want, me buying Inked Hearts?"

  "I think about things besides myself."

  "I'm not—"

  "Yeah, you are. You're annoying, Brendon, but I do love you. You're my only brother." She pushes herself to her feet. "If we're a team, I want to be part of your decisions. Like Kay staying here. Or you becoming a small business owner. I want that. You know how I dream about owning my own boutique."

  She does. She'd be great at it. But not until she finishes school. "You need to focus on college."

  She rolls her eyes. "You didn't go to college and you're doing fine."

  "Even so."

  "I thought about it. You don't have to refinance. Not if I loan you the money."

  We inherited equal parts of Mom and Dad's life insurance. Most of mine went to keeping shit together the first few years, while I was still training. But I made sure she never had to touch hers. "No way, Em."

  "I won't ask for interest. I just... I want to be able to see the whole process. To see the day-to-day."

  "I've offered a million times." Ryan and I basically run the shop now.

  "And I'm finally saying yes. You don't need that much. I'll still have plenty for college. Even if I do my last two years at some expensive private school." Her expression is fierce.

  This is what she wants.

  My sister, the future small business owner.

  Usually her stubbornness is a thorn in my side. Right now, it's filling me with pride. What the hell did I do to get Emma to grow into such a confident young woman?

  That's one thing I can do right.

  Taking care of Em, looking out for her—that fills me with a pride that nothing else can match. Not even finishing a perfect tattoo.

  "You want to be a part of this?" I ask.

  She nods. "Of course."

  "Come to our meeting today. It's at two."

  "I don't get off work until two. But okay. I'll figure it out." She smiles. "Thanks, Brendon. You... You aren't always the worst."

  "High praise."

  She nods. "I know." She pulls me into a quick hug. "I have to go. But, um, make sure Kay is all right. She's been quiet the last few days."

  "Yeah. I will."

  "You have any idea what's going on with her?"

  No, but I want to. "A lot's changing in her life. And then there's school."

  "Yeah, I guess you're right. You're free tonight, right?"

  "Yeah. Why?"

  "Her party. Well, Ryan and I agreed to combine it. We'll tell her we're celebrating you guys buying the shop. But it's for her too. To say welcome to the family."

  "That's sweet."

  "I told you. I think about more than myself."

  "You're a good friend."

  "Thanks, Captain Obvious." She moves to the couch to slide into her black wedges. "You think this is nice enough for the lawyer?"

  Her black dress is way too tight and low cut for an office. It's perfect for her job shilling lingerie, but it's not formal. "Wear a blazer."

  "Could you get it from my closet? Bring it?"

  "Yeah. Sure."

  She grabs her purse from the table and waves goodbye. "I love you."

  After Mom and Dad, we always close with an I love you. Even if we want to kill each other. "I love you too."

  She runs out the door.

  I'm focusing on this sale. On the shop. And even on how I'll really fuck things up with my sister—my only family, the most important person in my life—if I give into all the thoughts running through my head.

  The meeting is quick. Seamless.

  We've all got our finances figured out.

  We're going to make everything official next week.

  And Emma is sitting there with a serious, studious look on her face. It's a side of her I never see. It makes me so fucking proud.

  I'm over the fucking moon.

  Until we're walking back to the parking lot.

  And Dean is nudging me and leaning in to whisper. "What do you think Kay's going to wear tonight?"

  I say nothing.

  "What do you think she'll say if I offer to take her to the back room? You think she'll be into it."

  "Go fuck yourself."

  "Nah. I'd rather save myself for her."

  I know h
e's saying it to fuck with me.

  I know Dean has no intentions of touching Kay.

  But, fuck, I still want to punch the smugness from his smile.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Kaylee

  "Kay-bear, you're going to have to be more specific if you want my help." Grandma's voice is irritated. It's the fourth time she's pressed for details, and the fourth time I've denied them.

  Not that she can talk. She's being just as secretive about how she's doing. She's still towing the party line. I need more help, but, really, I'll be fine. Focus on school. Don't worry about me.

  "It's not like I'm gonna know the guy," she says. "Aren't you too old to keep your crushes a secret?"

  "Are you ever too old for that?"

  "Hmm. I guess not. I've taught you too well." Her voice lifts. Back to hearty. Vivacious even.

  But that only makes me think about the possibility she isn't full of life. "Are you really okay?"

  "I'm not the one with boy problems."

  "Okay, answer this. Are you doing better or worse than just after your heart attack?"

  "Better."

  My shoulders relax. Then tense. She almost died. It's a low bar.

  "You'll tell me if you're there again?" I can't say the words. "If it gets that bad."

  "Yes, Kay-bear, of course. Now tell me about the guy. You're making me feel old."

  "He wants me. I know he does. But he keeps pretending otherwise."

  "How do you know?"

  "I just do."

  "But do you know? Or do you want it to be true? You wouldn't be the first woman to convince herself of a man's interest."

  "No." I turn my phone to speaker so I can check my outfit. "I'm putting you on speaker, Grandma."

  "You know I prefer Gigi."

  "You know I'm never going to call you Gigi."

  I set my cell on my desk. This is outfit four. A plaid skirt and a white blouse. It screams schoolgirl. It screams I'm practically jail bait. It's hot. But it's not what I want.

  "I know," I say. "I... I have evidence."

  "Yeah? What? He accidentally post it on Facebook or something?"

  "Something like that."

  "Hmm..."

  "What?" I undo the buttons of my blouse and slide it back onto its hanger. "Trust me, Grandma. I know. I have evidence."

  "I could help more if you'd tell me the evidence."

  And I could help more if she'd tell me the truth about her condition. But I'm not bringing that up. I don't want to fight. "I have it on good authority that he wants me. At least physically."

  "Well, of course, Kay. You're a knock out. Every guy you're friends with on Facebook must want you after those pictures Emma posted."

  "Grandma—"

  "Hey, you got those boobs from your mom and she got them from me. Let me brag. Don't post bikini pics if you don't want attention."

  "I didn't. Em did."

  "She's a heartbreaker too. So tall and such long legs."

  "Yeah. She is." I laugh. Heartbreaker is putting it lightly. "Guys go crazy for her, but she never gets attached."

  "Kay-bear, if you want a guy's attention, it's easy. Show off your boobs. It will work. I promise."

  I push my skirt off my hips. "But I need more than him wanting me. I need him to admit it."

  "Boobs and booze. That's it."

  "That's all it takes? Really?"

  "Hey, you're the one asking a divorcée for guy advice."

  My smile spreads over my cheeks. Grandma has the best sense of humor. She makes the cloudiest day feel bright. Not that there are many cloudy days here. "You promise you're okay?"

  "Okay is relative, but I'm not dying anytime soon."

  Soon is relative too. But I don't say that. I'd rather believe her. "I have to get ready. There's a party tonight. Emma's brother, you know—"

  "Of course I know him. He's fine."

  "Him and his friends are buying the tattoo shop."

  "Ah."

  "What?"

  "The timing is interesting."

  "Timing of what?"

  "You needing guy advice. This guy gonna be at the party?"

  I can admit that. "Yeah. But—"

  "He have a name?"

  "Bye, Grandma. I'll call you soon."

  "A push up bra never hurts."

  "I love you."

  "I love you too."

  I end the call.

  Maybe she's right.

  Maybe showing off my boobs is enough.

  It can't hurt.

  There. My cream dress, the one Emma made for me, it's perfect.

  I slide it on and check my reflection. It hugs my curves. It scoops low enough to show off my chest. It only barely covers my ass.

  It's perfect.

  I'm not sure exactly what I'm trying to do.

  But I'm sure I'm going to drive him out of his head.

  I'm going to make it hard for him to pull that I don't want to talk about this, we're friends, we're nothing bullshit.

  I take a shaky step into Inked Hearts.

  The lights are dim.

  The walls are adorned with purple, teal, and hot pink tinsel.

  There's even a Welcome Kaylee banner hanging from the wall. It's in Emma's messy scrawl with a drawing—a tattoo mockup—in each of the four corners.

  One from each of the guys. I recognize their styles.

  It's...

  I blink back a tear.

  Emma bounces out from behind the desk. "Surprise. Sort of." She throws her arms around me. "I really am glad you're here."

  "Me too." I hug her back. Emma is the best. This would be impossible without her.

  "Didn't you throw her a party last week?" Dean moves out from his suite.

  "It was her birthday." Emma steps aside. "This is different. And it's for you too. It's so cool that you're buying the shop." She turns to me. "You should have seen that meeting. Dean actually wore slacks."

  "Really?" That's hard to believe.

  "Don't worry. I don't mind you picturing me without my jeans." He winks. "All these parties too much fun for you, yet?"

  "No. It's sweet." It really is.

  He moves in to hug me hello. It's sincere—a rarity for him. I really do feel like he's glad I'm here.

  I pull back with a smile. "Why are you complaining about the chance to get drunk and make a fool of yourself?"

  He laughs. "That's why I like you. Sharp tongue."

  My gaze flits around the room. There's Ryan and Walker lining up bottles on the front counter. But where's Brendon?

  "I'm not complaining." He releases me and turns to Em. "I'm making sure I get an invite."

  "You're a little old..." She smiles, reveling in her teasing.

  He mimes being stabbed in the gut. When that gets her laughing, he takes it further. Pretends to double over. Falls to his knees. Mumbles his last words as he falls backward and lands on the floor, splayed out.

  Emma nudges him with the toe of her shiny silver stilettos. "Dead. Let's check his pockets."

  "Pervert," he mumbles.

  "Not the word I'd use." Ryan steps forward. He nods to me in that I don't think there's any reason why we need to show compassion toward each other Ryan kind of way. "You're always welcome here, Kaylee."

  "Thanks." I study his expression. Should we hug? Shake hands? Uh... I step forward. Move my hands out from my sides.

  Ryan pulls me into a hug. It's quick. Messy. Awkward. He steps back, wipes his brow, sighs. Let's never do that again.

  Dean jumps to his feet. He actually jumps from his position flat on his back. That's circus acrobat stuff.

  He looks to Walker. "You joining this party too?"

  Walker shrugs, effortlessly cool. He's the type who takes everything in stride. Nothing bothers him. Or so he claims.

  He's a lot like Brendon, really. He's tall and broad with dark hair and dark eyes. He has that same tendency to keep everything to himself. But, with Walker, his typical state is fun, party boy. With Brendon
it's serious, quiet artist.

  They're the same, but they're opposites too.

  He takes his turn hugging me then motions to the booze set up behind us. "What are you drinking?"

  Uh... making a fool of myself at my party was bad enough. I'm not doing it in front of everyone.

  But I'm not going to be the weird girl who doesn't drink either.

  "Jack and diet," I say.

  "A girl after my own heart." Walker winks. He brings me to the counter/bar, pours a generous cocktail for me and a straight whiskey for himself. "You're starting school soon, yeah?"

  "Two weeks."

  He looks to the party—Dean, Emma, and Ryan are in some triangle of teasing. Ryan is actually laughing. Weird.

  "Where's Brendon?" I take a sip of my drink. Not bad. Like a richer version of soda. One that destroys my inhibitions. Gets me saying all the things I need to keep secret.

  "Something about mind your own business." Walker laughs. "I think he's making something for you."

  "Yeah?" My voice jumps two octaves.

  "The glimpse I caught looked fucking amazing."

  "You're not gonna give me a hint?"

  He shakes his head. "More fun this way."

  "Cruel."

  "Maybe."

  "How was the meeting? Was he excited."

  "Yeah. Well, for Brendon. You know him. Deadpan."

  "And you?"

  "Hey, I'm charming. He's—"

  "He's charming."

  "Well, yeah." He looks me in the eyes. "You tend to find people charming when you're into them."

  "What?"

  "Everybody knows."

  "Who's everybody?"

  He motions to the room.

  "Not Em."

  "Maybe." He plants his hands on the counter behind us. "But everybody else."

  "It's just... I, um..." God, it's hard to talk. Or think. "Don't say anything."

  He brings his fingers to his mouth and pulls an invisible zipper. My lips are sealed.

  I bury my nose in my drink. The booze only makes my cheeks warmer. It only makes my throat drier.

  Everyone knows?

  As in everyone talks about it.