Lost, Found, Loved

by London Casey

  Then again…

  “Towel?” I asked.

  His rough hand suddenly appeared in the bathroom, black towel in hand. I paused for a second and looked at his wrist. Where his tattoos ended. The uneven faded line from color to bare skin. The veins in his hand, so full, so sexy.

  “Bella?” he asked.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  I grabbed for the towel and his hand disappeared.

  “Pizza is on the way,” he said.

  “I have money in my bag,” I said. “I’ll buy.”

  “Not a chance, darlin’.”

  “Zayne…”

  There was no response.

  I waited a few seconds. I pulled the door back a little bit more and leaned forward, sticking my head back out.

  Zayne was nowhere in sight.

  For a few seconds I had this wicked fantasy of opening the door to see him standing there, waiting for me. Watching me. His smoldering eyes devouring me, knowing my story without my telling him. Then he’d put one of his big hands to the door and push, forcing me back, forcing his way into the steamy bathroom. I would gasp, maybe scream, but his hands would grab for my hips and turn me, pinning me against the sink. It would be cold, for a moment, and then he’d lift me, sit me there, his eyes clinging to my eyes instead of my nude body. He’d lean forward…

  I shut my eyes.

  Stop, Bella. Stop.

  I opened the black towel and put my hands to my face, feeling the soft cloth against my skin. The towel was soft and smelled like Zayne.

  It made me shiver head to toe. Then it made me feel warm. Really warm.

  A warmth I wasn’t exactly sure of.

  I hurried to wipe the mirror so I could look at myself.

  I was broken down. I was stuck. My car was in a garage getting fixed. I was going to get something to eat, fall asleep, and then deal with everything in the morning. If the car couldn’t get fixed then I’d go to Plan B.

  Which was what?

  That part wasn’t exactly clear yet.

  I wrapped the towel around my body and left the bathroom.

  I got dressed and found Zayne sitting at his kitchen table, face down, drawing. He had the tip of his tongue between his teeth, nibbling at it as his head moved left to right. His eyes were open, not blinking, staring intensely at his work.

  I approached slowly and touched a chair.

  He looked up at me. “Hey.”

  “Hey. What are you working on?”

  “Just messing around,” he said.

  “Can I see?”

  He sat up straight, but he didn’t lean back. He was straddling the chair the wrong way, looking sexy and cool doing so. He spun the notebook around and slid it toward me.

  The drawing was beautiful. A penciled sketch of a horizon with faded mountains, a twisty road, birds and clocks.

  “You just did this?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “This is amazing, Zayne. How do you do this?”

  “I just do it, darlin’.”

  “I couldn’t draw a straight line.”

  “Bullshit,” he said. He flipped to a blank page. “Draw something.”

  “What?”

  “Sit down. And draw something.”

  “Draw what?”

  Zayne looked around. He stood and walked to the fridge. He grabbed two beers and put one in front of me. “Draw this bottle.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “Just draw,” he said. “Humor me for a second.”

  I curled my lip and then looked at the paper. Then the bottle. From the second the tip of the pencil touched the paper, it was a disaster. My attempt at drawing the bottle was pretty bad. You couldn’t tell it was a bottle. You couldn’t tell it was anything really.

  I turned the notebook around and saw the look on Zayne’s face. “Is this for real?”

  “Wow. Thanks. I told you I can’t draw.”

  “This is… bad.”

  “Again, wow.”

  Zayne grinned. “Here. Watch.” He took the pencil. “You just look. You see. You visualize what you want to have happen before it does. I can’t afford a fuck up because when I’m tattooing someone… that’s for real.”

  “Sounds like a lot of pressure,” I said.

  “Not really. I like what I do.”

  Zayne eyed the bottle and started to draw. It was like he was using a different pencil than I was. When I was trying to move the pencil it was like it weighed fifty pounds and the paper had little pebbles on it, making my lines choppy and uneven. But when Zayne drew, it was so even. So smooth. The way he could press harder, lift lighter, creating shadows and effects. In a matter of a minute, he drew the bottle. A perfect-looking bottle. Identical to the one I grabbed off the table, twisted the cap off, and took a drink from.

  “Show off,” I said.

  “So what’s your talent? What do you do?”

  “When the pizza comes, I’ll show you.”

  Zayne raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean?”

  “I’m a waitress, Zayne. At a shitty diner. With a dickhead of a boss.”

  “Right,” he said. “Do you enjoy it?”

  “No.”

  “Then do something else.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll just snap my fingers and find something else to do.”

  “Well, there had to be a reason you took the job.”

  “Money.”

  “So you like money.”

  “Who doesn’t?”

  “Then go trade stocks or something,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Go do something with money.”

  I laughed. “I don’t like money in that way. I mean, I needed a job. So I took one.”

  “How long ago?”

  I tilted my head. “Why are you asking me this?”

  “It’s called a conversation,” Zayne said. “Unless you want to watch me draw all night.”

  “Fine by me,” I said. “Draw me a tattoo.”

  Zayne looked at me and squinted. “A tattoo for you, huh?”

  “Yeah. Come on. You’re the genius. I’m just the waitress.”

  “Just the waitress,” Zayne said. “I know people who work at restaurants and make a shit ton of money. Just need the right place and the right attitude. Who gives a shit what you do as long as you enjoy it.”

  Damn.

  This guy was sort of turning me on beyond the fact that he was gorgeous.

  He looked at me and didn’t see what I saw in the mirror.

  Zayne flipped to another blank page and started to draw. He picked the notebook up so I couldn’t see what he was drawing.

  “Drawing me?” I asked. I turned my head and flipped my damp hair.

  “No,” he said. “I’m drawing what I would tattoo on you.”

  He focused for a couple minutes and then stopped. Then he closed the notebook and put his hand over it.

  “Well?” I asked.

  “Well, what?”

  “What did you draw?”

  “Tell me why you’re here first.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me, darlin’. Why are you here?”

  “My car overheated,” I said. “Which, by the way, why can’t that Gonzo guy just put some water-”

  “Not here,” Zayne said. “But… here…” He pointed to his head. “What had you on the run?”

  “Just going for a ride.”

  “With your bags packed, huh?” he asked. “You say you’re a waitress. You have your bags packed. You break down and just sit there. You were crying, Bella. Something tells me you didn’t plan a vacation by yourself, right?”

  “I don’t have to tell you a thing.”

  I wanted to sound pissed or defiant, but my words were weak.

  The way Zayne stared at me. He made me feel comfortable.

  “No story, no tattoo,” he said.

  “You’re a real-”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Pizza,” he
said and winked.

  He stood and the second he took his hand off the notebook I reached for it. Zayne reached back and grabbed the notebook before I could get to it.

  Damn.

  I really wanted to see what he drew. What he would tattoo on me. I didn’t know why it meant so much to me. Call me crazy, but maybe it was the stupid fact that Zayne was hiding something from me and I was vulnerable to that kind of stuff right then.

  Zayne paid for the pizza. He put the boxes on the table and then put the notebook back into his bag.

  “Let’s eat, darlin’,” he said with a wink.

  I had plenty to say but I held back.

  Instead, I sat there at the table and had two slices of pizza and a beer.

  The strangest part of the entire night was that it felt normal. It felt comfortable. So much so that I actually left my phone in the spare bedroom. I didn’t give a damn about checking a thing.

  We ate and I started to walk away when Zayne surprised me by stopping me right in the hallway. The narrow hallway. Facing each other. Too close for comfort, but that was fine with me.

  I looked up at him.

  “I’ve done it, too,” he said. “Taken off. Run away. Whatever you want to call it. I’m actually just hanging around here for a little while myself.”

  “Oh?” I asked.

  “I’d like to start my own place in Miami. That’s what I’m saving for. Right now I work over at St. Skin. Ever hear of it?”

  I nodded. I’d heard of it. I didn’t have any tattoos, though. But the place was very popular.

  “I kind of just do what I want there. I, uh, have an appointment tomorrow morning at nine. I’ll be at the shop. You’re more than welcome to hang out here. You won’t have a car.”

  “I can arrange something, Zayne. I don’t need to be in the way.”

  “You’re not in the way,” he said. “What better way to spend the night than drawing a bottle, a secret drawing, eating pizza, and pushing through conversation.”

  “Sorry I wasn’t more entertaining,” I said.

  Zayne smirked. “Night’s still young.”

  I swore I saw his eyes motion down the hall, toward his bedroom. My toes curled against the soft carpet. My brain screamed no while my heart screamed yes.

  “I can’t figure you out,” I said.

  “Oh?”

  “One second, you’re nice to me. The next second, you’re an asshole.”

  “That’s just my charm,” Zayne said. “You’ll get used to that.”

  “Get used to that?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “How badly damaged is my car?”

  Zayne looked away. “I’m not a mechanic.”

  “Right. Well, have a good night.”

  I slipped away. Each step I took, my heart and body hated me. If this guy was going to be a rebound, then tonight was the rebound night. Tonight was the night to be rolling in his sheets, not talking about a thing, doing all that I could to forget about what had happened.

  I went into the spare bedroom, sat on the edge of the bed, and I grabbed my phone. There were texts. Actually, quite a few texts.

  Are you okay?

  Where are you?

  I’m so sorry, Bella. Please talk to me. We have to talk to each other at some point.

  Give me a chance to talk to you.

  I just need to know that you’re okay.

  The messages littered my phone. From both of them. Imagine that for a second. They were the ones who had done this to me, and now they were the ones texting me, wanting to know where I was and whether I was okay.

  For a moment, I thought about texting them both back, just for peace of mind. But then, something hit me.

  What if they were in bed together while they were texting me? Naked, shoulder to shoulder, each with their own phone, texting me.

  I curled my lip and put the phone on the nightstand.

  If they cared, they wouldn’t have fucked each other. Right?

  Plus, there was nothing I had to say to either of them. Or anyone.

  I went with what I knew as I put my head down to the pillow.

  That’s when the day really washed over me.

  I clutched the pillow and the blankets tight as tears started to come. I didn’t want to cry, but I didn’t know what else to do. I was completely and totally lost. Even if Zayne did find me and help me, I was still so lost.

  As my eyes started to shut, I told myself I’d be back on the road tomorrow and I’d figure it out then.

  Unless, of course, I got stuck with Zayne for even longer.

  7

  ZAYNE

  I flicked at the wedding invitation and put it away. I barely slept last night, wondering if I could pull it off. Shit, I could pull anything off I wanted to, but to drag Bella into it was probably just stupid. She didn’t need to be around here anymore. I went to the kitchen and made some coffee. Then, before Bella came out, I hurried to give Gonzo a call. He didn’t answer, so I left a message for him to call me back.

  Bella needed to get her car back and get back on the road. Wherever she was going wasn’t my business. Just like the wedding invitation I kept hiding—that wasn’t her business.

  I put my hands to the counter and stretched my arms and shoulders. My focus should have been the tattoo I needed to work on this morning but that was the last thing swirling through my mind.

  “Morning,” I heard a voice say so softly.

  I turned, and there was Bella.

  Damn, there was just something about the way she looked right then. She had these oversized PJ bottoms on. All black. And her shirt was super tight on her body, working along curves that appeared to be deadly. Showing just the slightest hint of skin between where the shirt ended and the pants began. She had messy bedhead and acted like she didn’t care about it at all. The thin straps of her shirt rested against her shoulder. Her chest filled out the top of the shirt and then some.

  It was enough of a sight that it chased away everything I was thinking about.

  I just stared at her.

  She was hurt. And someone had hurt her. None of it was my business, but I couldn’t help being so intrigued by it all.

  “Coffee’s on,” I said. “Breakfast is usually on the go here. Didn’t know I was going to have company.”

  “It’s fine,” she said. “I’m the one imposing. Did you hear anything about my car?”

  “No. I just called Gonzo though.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  I gritted my teeth. I looked to my right. Then I pointed. “Those keys there, darlin’. Those are for my truck. Have at it.”

  “What?”

  “I have to get to the shop,” I said. “I’m going to be there all day working on this piece. But you’re going to need to eat. Whatever else you want to do. If you have to get back home or something.”

  I knew there was a slim-to-no chance she would need the truck. Once Gonzo got my message, he’d hurry and patch up her car and things would be back to normal in no time. Maybe we’d exchange numbers just for the hell of it, and that would be it.

  “I have nowhere to go,” Bella said.

  The coffeemaker gave out its final few spits and beeped.

  “Coffee?”

  “Please,” she said.

  I got two mugs and thought about the last time I had to get out two mugs in the morning. My usual night activity came with no strings attached and rarely endured a morning talk and coffee.

  Pouring the two coffees really started to piss me off. I got to thinking about what could have been. Of what should have been. Of how I let myself down over and over.

  I turned and Bella leaned against the corner of the counter. She was like a beautiful dream the way she stood there. Folding her arms across her chest, half-yawning, completely unsure of what was happening.

  I got cream and sugar and watched as she made her coffee. I memorized it—three sugars, a little bit of cream. I shut my eyes.

  Why the fuck would I memorize it?

  I drank
my coffee black and grabbed my bag to make sure I had everything I needed.

  “What are you working on today?” Bella asked.

  “A tattoo,” I said.

  “Funny. You know what I mean.”

  “Woman wants a house tattooed on her.”

  “A house?”

  I threw my bag to the table. I opened it and grabbed one of my notebooks.

  “This is an early sketch I did,” I said. “The one I’m putting on her is at the shop. It’s got more detail and it’s much cleaner than this one.”

  I spun the notebook around and slid it across the table.

  Bella leaned forward to look. I moved my eyes off her, but only for a second. I’m a guy, okay? She was in my apartment. I couldn’t help myself but stare. I stared for good reasons and I stared for bad reasons.

  “This is really awesome, Zayne,” she said. She looked at me, smiling. “I mean it. What’s the story behind the house?”

  “She used to live there,” I said. “Now it’s getting knocked down.”

  “Wow. I never thought of it like this…like capturing that memory.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Bella shrugged her shoulders. “I just always thought of tattoos as cool colors and stuff.”

  I nodded. “It’s a hell of a lot more than that, darlin’. If you want to experience what that means, stop by the shop for a day. Every line, color, all of it has a purpose. Whether it’s to tell a story or to cover up a mark or a scar.”

  “That’s amazing,” she said. “You really have a gift.”

  “Yeah,” I said. I took the notebook back and slid it into the bag. “A gift.”

  I drank the rest of my coffee and then threw the bag over my shoulder.

  “Hey, Zayne,” Bella said when I put my hand to the door.

  “Yeah?” I asked.

  “Thanks for letting me stay here.”

  “Like I had a choice,” I said with a wink.

  “I…” She bit her lip and looked down at her coffee. Then she looked at me. “I’m lost. Okay?”

  “Lost?”

  “Lost. Confused. Hurt. Insert whatever word you want.”

  “Right,” I said. I took my hand off the doorknob.

  “No,” she said. “I don’t want you to be late.”

  “I’m not going to be late, Bella,” I said. “I’m leaving too early as it is. I was going to grab a sandwich and sit to avoid being here.”