But he wanted to press his lips to that red.
She kept it secret, and he wanted to see it. She was pale. The colors would be vivid. And the design started right at the top of her supremely excellent ass. She kept it hidden, but he knew it was there.
Ox had a sudden mental picture of Emmie back up on the ladder, her lower back at eye level. He wanted to lift her shirt and lick up her spine in that warm soft curve at the small of her back where he’d seen vines and leaves curling. He wanted to press his hands into the soft swell of her—
“Fuck.” Ox rammed his toe into the base of his counter. He had to stop thinking about her.
“What was that?” she yelled.
“Just kicked my counter. Accident. No big deal… Buttons.”
“Stop calling me that.”
Buttons. The name made him smile. “I like buttons.”
Yeah, so do I, Emmie. Bet I could find a few of yours if I tried.
She was fucking adorable and unintentionally hilarious. How was he going to get this chick out of his head? He flipped open the catalog and started jotting down a list to start an order when he got back to the ranch. He needed to bring his laptop in to the shop, but he’d been letting Abby use it for school and was using it to watch TV in his room. Maybe he’d get a separate one for the shop. He pulled out his phone and looked at prices.
Shiiiiit. Maybe not. Abby would have to use her mom’s computer.
Emmie left the shop and walked upstairs to her apartment. Every now and then when he’d been working late over the past few weeks, he’d heard her up there, puttering around. She played music. He heard the TV every now and then, but not often. Mostly it was music. Folksy stuff with guitars and banjos and shit. She probably listened to music while she read. Sometimes it was just a piano. He wanted to sit in a corner and sketch her while she read. Sometimes he’d catch her reading a book, and he liked the tiny expressions that crossed her face when she was deep in concentration.
Ox vaguely remembered a time when he’d thought Emmie would be boring. He didn’t remember why he’d thought that, but he’d been wrong. With some people, quiet meant boring. With Emmie, it just meant he couldn’t quite figure her out. And that was interesting as hell.
She came down a few minutes later wearing another baggy sweater. “Hey, I’m going out for lunch. You want anything?”
For you to take off that god-awful sweater? “You going to Café Maya?”
“Yeah.”
“Coffee would be great.”
She flashed him a smile before she slipped out the door. “You got it.”
A few minutes after she left, Adrian Saroyan, the asshole real estate guy, walked past on Main.
“Keep walking,” Ox muttered. “She’s not here.”
Sadly, Adrian walked in, his designer suit spotless and his shoes shined. Ox glanced down at his boots.
They were not shiny.
“Hey!” Adrian said in a newly familiar greeting. “Emmie around?” The first time he’d come by it had been “Good afternoon.” The second time, it had been “Nice to see you again.” And now it was simply “Hey.” Ox wished the guy would get the hint.
He flipped past the piercing supplies in the catalog. “She’s not here.”
The bright white smile didn’t waver and the man's hair didn't move. “I sure wish I knew what her hours were. I’d really like to speak to Emmie.”
Ox could have told him she’d just left for lunch and she’d be back in an hour, but… he didn’t want to. “She’s the boss,” he said simply. “Keeps her own hours.”
“You’ve been giving her my messages?”
“Yep.”
Adrian nodded slowly. “And you’re sure she has my card?”
“You can leave another one on the counter if you want. I’ll let her know it’s there.”
The man’s friendly demeanor cracked just a little. “No, that’s fine. I’m afraid…”
Ox looked up.
Adrian continued, “I’m afraid I made a bad first impression the last time we spoke.”
“Didn’t you go to school with her or something?”
“I did.”
“So when was the bad first impression?” Ox asked. “Back in first grade or something?”
He knew exactly what Adrian was talking about, but he didn’t feel like cutting the man any slack. According to Emmie, the first time she’d run into the guy after she’d moved back to town, he’d pressured her into selling her building or letting him rent it out as a property manager, basically implying her business was doomed before it started. That kind of shit pissed Ox off. You think someone was fooling themselves and taking a bad risk? Keep it to yourself unless they ask you for your opinion. Every damn person thought their opinion was like gold these days.
Ox blamed Facebook.
Adrian said, “I haven’t had a chance to talk to her again after our first meeting. Since I only ever seem to find you here, just tell her I stopped by and that I’d really like to speak to her again. Not about anything to do with selling or renting the place. I’d just like to see… her.”
Ox narrowed his eyes on the man.
Shit.
He didn’t want Emmie’s shop. He wanted Emmie.
And Ox should not have had a problem with that. In fact, if Emmie hooked up with Mr. Shiny Shoes, it would be best. Then she’d be off-limits and Ox could stop thinking about her. He didn’t fool around with women who were in relationships. Adrian Saroyan, real estate agent, was probably the kind of guy she’d go for anyway. Girls like Emmie fooled around with guys like Ox, but they didn’t get serious about them. They got serious with guys who wore ties, gelled their hair, and had office hours.
Adrian’s frown made Ox realize his lip was curled. He cleared his throat and flipped the catalog closed. “Yeah, I’ll let her know you came by. Sorry, man, that’s all I can do.”
And I will not be giving her your heartfelt sentiments about seeing her. Fuck you.
Ox smiled and put his hands in his pockets, glancing meaningfully at the door.
“Right,” Adrian said. “Thanks for all your… help.”
“You’re very welcome.”
But don’t come back until you wash the shit out of your hair.
An hour later, like clockwork, Emmie returned from lunch. Ox was working on screwing his counters into the wall, wincing as he drilled through the old plasterwork, when she set his coffee on the floor.
“One large coffee. Black with two sugars.”
He rolled up to sitting and set the drill down. “Buttons, you are my coffee angel.”
She rolled her eyes. “If you tell Tayla that name—”
“I won’t.” He grinned. “It’s my own special name just for you.”
“Thanks.” She walked back to her shelves. “I feel so honored.”
She took off her oversized sweater and tossed it on the wingback chair in the lounge area. Beneath it, she’d changed into a slightly-less-baggy-than-normal green T-shirt that read One More Chapter across the bust like a nerdy sorority shirt.
“Your friend Adrian came by again.”
“Not my friend.” She made a face. “Can that guy not get a hint?”
The face made Ox smile inside. Suck it, Shiny Shoes.
She climbed up the ladder and started dusting again. When she lifted her arms, the shirt rode up and he could see the edge of her tattoo.
He tore his eyes away from that sliver of skin.
Business. Strictly. Business.
Chapter Eleven
The week before the opening, everything about INK was in full motion and Emmie was trying not to lose her mind. Ox and Ethan were putting the final touches on the tattoo shop, hanging newly refinished doors on the cabinets, waxing the floors, and perfecting the plumbing in the sinks Ethan had installed. Emmie and Tayla were cataloging inventory, sorting shelves, and creating displays for the opening-day reception.
Ethan and Emmie had driven out to Metlin Brewing Company to work out a deal f
or the microbrewer to serve their seasonal ale, cider, and root beer at the opening reception while Daisy was baking dozens of book cookies decorated like the covers of classic books. Ads were already in place in the Metlin Gazette, and Ox’s phone was ringing off the hook with clients booking appointments for when he was ready to open.
The old barber chair Ox had bought was the centerpiece of his shop, but a new rolling stool and a massage table hid behind a discreet screen for privacy. The walls were hung with his art, and yes, he had found a stuffed jackalope. The tattoo shop had a distinctly masculine feel, but it was still open and friendly with windows Ox had painted facing 7th Avenue. A sign advertising his hours and website was ready to be placed on the sidewalk outside.
The coffee station was ready for business. They had a drip machine to make larger pots for things like book clubs and a single-serve machine for those times in between. An eclectic selection of mugs lined the counter along with assorted sweeteners. Cream and milk was in the small fridge beneath the counter.
It was all a bit overwhelming, but she’d be fine in a week.
Probably.
The shared lounge area was the centerpiece of the shop, sitting right in the middle of the tattoo shop and the bookshelves. The long couch had been re-covered and was joined by two chairs, a coffee table, and several stools. A mix of art books and tattoo magazines littered the table. Bookmarks, stickers, and journals sat in racks by the register.
Emmie stood at the door, trying not to be overwhelmed. It was seven days till the grand opening, and she had nothing to be worried about. Tayla had already been updating the shop’s social media accounts and posting pictures. Over three hundred people followed them already, and they weren’t even open. Emmie had sent postcards announcing the opening to her grandmother’s old mailing list. It was only a few hundred people, but she’d already had a few excited calls asking about book clubs.
Emmie turned when the bell over the door rang and saw Daisy walking in with another pillow for the couch.
“Hey,” Daisy said. “Finished the last one.”
“Thanks.”
“Why do you have a scared-shitless expression on your face?” Daisy asked.
“Probably because I’m scared shitless.” Emmie tugged on the sleeve of her cardigan. “What if no one comes?”
“Didn’t Tayla say that over one hundred people had already responded to the online invite?”
“Is that enough? I have no idea.” She was trying not to panic. “I remember running the numbers and doing the projections, but somehow none of that is coming to mind right now. I just look at my grandma’s shop which”—she turned and put her hands in a frame position—“does not look like my grandma’s shop anymore. At all. And I’m now almost positive this was the stupidest thing I’ve ever done and I should have taken Adrian’s advice to sell or rent this place to Banana Gap or something.”
Daisy bit her lower lip, trying not to laugh. “Banana Gap?”
“Or something.”
Daisy came beside Emmie and put an arm around her. “Okay, deep breaths.”
Emmie forced a breath in and out. Then she let her eyes rest on Ox, who was hanging upper cabinet doors. His shirt—the evil shirt that covered his beautiful inked muscles—rode up over his waistband as he stretched his arms over his head. She shouldn’t have been so hard on him. If she was standing behind him, she’d be sorely tempted to run her tongue along the small of his back, not just her fingers.
Daisy followed Emmie’s eyes. “Are you in your happy place now?”
Emmie kept her voice low. “I know I shouldn’t, but…”
“This is judgment-free space between us right now.” Daisy patted her shoulder.
“I’m judging myself.” She closed her eyes and pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead. “Okay, what am I forgetting?”
“That shopping trip we were taking today to revamp your wardrobe before the grand opening.”
Emmie squinted. “Nope. That is not what I’m forgetting because I never agreed to that.”
Tayla walked over with her purse. “Yep, pretty sure that’s it. Hi, Daisy.”
“Hey, Tayla.”
Emmie looked between her two best friends. “Is this a setup?”
“No,” Tayla said. “This is a kidnapping.”
Two hours later, Emmie was still in hell, but it was starting to feel cozy warm instead of sweltering. Of course, that might have had something to do with the three margaritas she’d had at lunch.
She tried to wiggle out of the trendy, torn jeans they’d forced her into. “These are too tight. And they’re torn. I’m pretty sure they make my butt look huge.”
“They do not. And they’re artfully torn,” Tayla said. “Since we’re going for the nerdy bohemian look for you, artfully torn jeans are a must.”
“What is nerdy bohemian?” She tugged on the jeans, which she had to admit were comfortable but also fitted to her butt, which she hated. Of all the areas of her body to be oversized, it had to be her ass. Not her boobs. Her butt.
Luckily, margaritas had been invented by the patron saint of long lunches.
“Nerdy bohemian?” Daisy sipped on an iced coffee. “Let’s see, you watch sappy period drama but also you might fly off to Budapest at the last minute to visit a friend who’s preparing for fashion week in Milan.”
Emmie’s eyes bugged out. “I don’t know anyone who’s going to fashion week in any city. What—”
“You watch Doctor Who,” Tayla interrupted, “but only while drinking absinthe.”
“You drink craft beer and listen to K-pop.”
“You guys are ridiculous.” Emmie caught a filmy kimono thing that Daisy threw at her head. “What am I supposed to do with this? Is this a robe? Where do I wear something like this?”
“You wear it to work! Listen, you in cool torn-up jeans, that vintage Great Gatsby T-shirt you’re wearing—we should see about stocking that kind of thing in the shop, by the way—and a coordinating wrap like this.” Tayla squared Emmie to the mirror and put the kimono over her shoulders. “Rock and roll jeans. Nerd-girl T-shirt. Bohemian shrug.” She tugged Emmie’s braid over her shoulder. “Loose braid of amazing hair. Mismatched earrings. Maybe add a scarf or a chunky necklace.”
Emmie stared at the more stylish version of herself in the mirror. “This is mostly stuff I have.”
“You have a lot of T-shirts—you need good jeans and cool accessories,” Tayla said. “But it’s not a makeover because you don’t need to be remade. You have cool stuff, you just need to learn how to put it together. Will you trust me? This is a thing I do, okay?”
Emmie wavered. She did look nice in the mirror. Still herself, but more put together. And the jeans were torn, but they did look cool. And they were definitely more comfortable than her regular work clothes.
Daisy added, “You’ve been wearing old jeans and T-shirts for the renovation, but you can’t wear those or your Bay City wardrobe when you open. This is Metlin, not Union Square. I get itchy just hearing the word slacks.”
“That’s because slacks is an awful word,” Tayla said. “But Daisy is right. You need to let your hair down.”
“Literally?”
“And we really need to show off your ink,” Daisy said.
Emmie glared at her in the mirror. “It’s my whole back. No.”
“One shirt!” Daisy said. “There’s this amazing burgundy velvet shirt at Marcella’s you need to see. It’s got an open draped back—”
“I’m not going braless!”
Tayla rolled her eyes. “You have adorable teacup boobs. You can wear one of those sticky bras and be fine.”
“Spider is going to finish your back—your beautiful, amazing piece-of-art back tattoo—this Friday night,” Daisy said. “Which gives you a week to heal. And this shirt would show it off perfectly. It’s high-necked in front, so it’s still modest. It’s just totally open at the back and the colors would be amazing with the butterfly wings.”
Tayla rested her chin on Emmie’s shoulder. “Please let me dress you up. You wear a size six. There are a million clothes that fit you. Let me live vicariously.”
“Don’t pull that. You have way more clothes than me, and you always look amazing.”
“But it takes much more effort. Trust me on this.” Tayla gave her puppy dog eyes. “Please, Emmie. Please please please—”
“Fine.” She looked at the price tag on the kimono thing and her eyes went wide. “How many of these am I supposed to buy?”
“This one is your birthday present. Two more and then some cool scarves and you’ll be fine. Think of it as an investment. In you. In the shop. In your nonexistent sex life—”
“Hey!”
“You know you want Ox to look at you and drool,” Tayla whispered. “Even if you never do anything about it, you want to make his eyes bug out.”
Emmie took a deep breath, glanced at Daisy’s hopeful eyes in the mirror, and gave in. “Okay, I’ll try on the shirt.”
Daisy stood up and clapped. “And you can try on the leather pants that go with it.”
“I did not agree to leather pants!”
Emmie stumbled back to the shop with four bags of clothes including the backless shirt. Despite begging and pleading, she hadn’t given in to the leather pants, but she did have three new pair of jeans that “did justice to her legs” according to her friends.
It was dark and she was more than a little off-balance from a combination of shopping bags and the steady stream of margaritas Tayla and Daisy had been dosing her with all afternoon. Her head swam nicely as she waved at them in the car. As she opened the Main Street door, she saw a light in Ox’s corner of INK. He was still working. He had a pile of frames on the counter, and it looked like he was mounting flash to hang on the wall.
“Hey!” she said. “You’re still here.”
Ox glanced up. “Hey yourself. Where have you been?”
“Tayla and Daisy are evil and made me buy girl-clothes.”
“I thought chicks liked buying clothes,” he muttered.
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