It had taken twenty-four hours for him to fall under her spell and he was going to do everything in his power to break it. He’d thought her being a slob would’ve been enough to knock her off the pedestal that he’d unintentionally placed her on, but even that wasn’t enough to free him from the captivating force that was Leah.
He’d been tattooing for the past six hours and hadn’t been able to go more than a minute or two at the most without thinking of her. Initially, he’d been attracted to her sassiness, but she was so much more than that. What he really found endearing were the small cracks of vulnerability she’d shown him. And then there was how, whenever she answered questions, her responses just made him curious to find out more.
During breakfast, she’d thanked him profusely for cleaning and cooking. It gave him the feeling that no one had ever done that for her, so he’d asked if anyone had. She’d let out a forced laugh and said not unless he counted Bea, her twin.
He’d said that he didn’t count that and asked if someone she’d been in a relationship with had ever cooked for her. She’d said she didn’t “do relationships.”
When he hadn’t said anything, she’d elaborated, telling him that she’d never had a serious relationship.
Now that just didn’t make sense to him. The night before, she’d told him that she wasn’t going to date guys that she found attractive. He’d assumed that she must’ve been hurt by someone. But how was that possible if she’d never had a serious relationship?
There was so much more he wanted to know about her, but what was the point? He was going to be leaving soon. If not this week, then the next. He wasn’t looking for anything, and even if he were, his grandfather had made it clear that Leah was off-limits.
He was in town to find out who his father was, and to connect with his family. Not get wrapped up with a woman. But fuck, he’d never wanted to be wrapped up with someone as bad as he wanted to be wrapped up with Leah.
“Okay, we’re done.” Lance turned his machine off and sprayed his client’s arm before wiping it off.
Lance had made quite a name for himself in the tattoo world. Tattooing had been his salvation, in the most literal sense. He’d gotten into trouble when he was fourteen and ended up getting locked up. He would never forget the day of his sentencing. He’d thought his entire life was over.
He’d been sentenced to sixteen years, which was longer than he’d been alive at the time.
After serving eight of the sixteen-years, he’d walked out of prison with a high school diploma and years of tattoo experience he’d gained behind bars. As a kid, he’d always liked to draw. And when you’re serving time there’s not a lot to do and not a ton of resources. What he did have was a pen and paper, and he would use them to draw.
A guy on his block saw his art one day and asked him, actually told him, to give him a tattoo of what he’d drawn.
Lance had never tattooed before but he wasn’t really in a position to say no. So, he prayed, used the most primitive tools he’d ever seen, and done his best. It turned out…okay.
Word spread quickly and pretty soon, that was what he was known for. Mostly guys wanted to have pictures of their “old ladies” or pinups of Pamela Anderson or Jessica Rabbit, so he got really good at pinups. It was crazy to him how many of these hardcore criminals wanted Jessica Rabbit tattooed on them.
Once he was out, he used a connection he’d made inside and was given an apprenticeship in an old school tattoo shop in the Bronx. When he was starting out, he’d tatted anything and everything, wanting to be the best at every style. But over the past few years, he’d emerged as a leader in the field of portraits and pinups. It was funny, because that was the majority of the ink he’d done when he was incarcerated.
“Holy shit! Dude, this is insane!” his client exclaimed as he admired his work in the mirror.
The guy had asked for a 40’s pinup girl in a black and white bikini, which luckily for Lance, was a walk in the park, since his concentration was shit. The man continued to compliment his work as Lance took photos of his newest piece to post online. In the old days, tattoo artists had portfolios. Now they had Instagram.
Lance cleaned up his workspace after his client left and locked up before heading downstairs to go to the hospital. When he reached the bottom of the stairs and saw that no one was in the laundry room, he had to admit that he was disappointed.
Once he was on his bike, he was tempted to drive by the front of the shop, even though it was in the opposite direction of the hospital, just to see if he could catch a glimpse of Leah. But he quickly reminded himself that he wasn’t a stalker and decided against it.
On the short ride to the hospital, Lance told himself that he needed to knock this lovesick puppy routine off. He was a thirty-two-year-old man, not a middle schooler with a crush. And nothing was going to happen between him and Leah. She’d made that clear, in the most adorable way ever. He’d never been turned down by a woman before, and he sure as hell hadn’t been turned down by someone that he hadn’t even hit on.
Part of him was glad that she’d called out the attraction between them, but another part of him was even more frustrated. Because even the way that she’d informed him there’d be no “funny business” had been so adorably sexy. How was he not supposed to fall for a woman that looked like her, acted like her, and talked like her when she said things like her lady parts were never going to meet his man parts?
He pulled into the parking lot of the hospital and easily found a space. The one thing he could definitely say small-town living had in spades over the city was amazing parking. His mom had been hospitalized for several months before she passed away and he’d spent a small fortune on parking—and he rode a motorcycle. Not to mention, he’d had to circle the parking garage sometimes upwards of a dozen times before finding a spot.
But here in Harper’s Crossing, life was a little slower. A little less hectic. He had to admit, he didn’t hate it.
He pulled off his helmet and secured it in the back of his bike before going in. The familiar burst of sterile, antiseptic air hit his face as he walked through the glass sliding doors. He hadn’t actually been able to see either of his grandparents the day before, since Kitty had been in surgery and he hadn’t wanted to bother his grandfather with a reunion he wasn’t even sure the old man wanted.
When his grandfather had called him about the room for rent, he’d been relieved—and that was before he’d known that Leah was going to be his landlord. He wouldn’t have said no if his grandfather had offered a room with them, but he was happy that he hadn’t. This situation was odd enough without adding a shared living space on top of it.
Lance walked up to the check-in desk where two women that looked to be in their eighties sat arguing over something on one of their phones.
He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket. “Hi, I’m Lance Taylor. I’m here to see—”
“Oh yes, you’re Kitty and Doc’s grandson. We heard you were in town.” The one on the left interrupted. “I’m Mabel and this is my sister Margie.”
“We’re the M&M sisters,” Margie chimed in.
“Hi.” He smiled at them both and tried to hand them his ID.
“Oh, you can put that away. We know who you are. She’s up in room 320.” Mabel pointed to the other side of the lobby. “There’s the elevator, and you’re going to make a left when you get off. You can’t miss it.”
Margie handed him a visitor pass but didn’t release it when he tried to take it from her. “Now, if you see The Colonel, you tell him the M&M sisters say hi.” Giving him a wink before releasing the pass.
“Will do,” he agreed even though he had no idea who “The Colonel” was.
When he turned and walked toward the elevators, he was ninety-nine percent sure that he heard one of them say, “He looks just as good going as he does coming,” to which the other shot back an, “Amen, sister.”
The interaction could not be more different than the ones he’d had when he’d
gone to visit his mom. He’d had to show his ID every time he entered and exited. The pass they’d issue him had a barcode that was scanned each time as well and there were two metal detectors.
He stepped on the elevator and tried to shake off not only the bad memories but the nerves he was feeling now.
The only clear memory he had of his grandparents was their last visit when he was ten years old. He remembered them looking old then, so he had no idea how they’d look now, twenty-two years later.
Maybe they’d look the same. They sent pictures in their Christmas cards every year. He’d even got them when he was locked up. They never appeared to change much. They both had the same hairstyles they’d had in his memory.
His anxiety was building as the elevator went up. He knew he was focusing on their appearance because he didn’t want to face what he was really worried about. He hadn’t seen them since he’d gotten out of prison, and he honestly didn’t know if they even wanted him there.
He’d only communicated with them through text and over the phone, and it was clear that they’d never told Leah that he even existed.
But, damn. He’d had to come. He needed to find out about his dad, or at least try. If they didn’t want to talk about him, then he guessed he’d try his Aunt Rita, Leo’s mom. But this was step one.
The doors opened and he turned to the left as Mabel instructed. There was a yellow “Caution: Wet Floor” sign sitting in front of a room with the door open. He saw the number 320 beside the doorway, and a soft light from the television flickering inside. The soles of his shoes made a squishy noise on the freshly mopped tile as he entered.
When he rounded the hanging curtain, he saw his grandmother lying in the bed, his grandfather sitting in the chair beside her. They were both sound asleep. He had just started to back out when his grandmother opened her eyes.
“Miles?” she spoke softly as she blinked.
Her voice caused his grandfather to stir in his chair.
“No, it’s Lance,” he said quietly.
“Lance!” His grandfather stood up from his chair and pulled him into his arms.
“Oh, Lance!” His grandmother exclaimed as she held out her arms. “Come here. Let me look at you!”
Lance was overwhelmed by their reaction to him. When his grandfather released the bear hug he’d had him in, he leaned down and his grandmother placed her hands on either side of his face. As she held him, cradling his cheeks, she teared up, “You look just like him. You look just like your dad.”
Relief washed over him and a lump of emotion formed in his throat. Not only did they want him there, one of the first things they talked about was his dad. He’d done the right thing coming here, even if it meant he was haunted by knowing that a woman like Leah existed in this world and he couldn’t be with her. It was worth it.
Chapter 8
Leah could feel her cheeks heat with each step she took toward her front door. Light seeped through the partially opened venetian blinds. Through the slits she was able to see a figure moving around the space, so she knew that Lance was home.
Her home.
Wobbly legs carried her up the three brick steps to her wraparound porch. She lifted her keys and noticed that her hand was shaking. Thoughts swarmed in her mind like bees around a hive. All day there’d been a constant buzz in her brain that she couldn’t silence. Random statements of facts were flying around up there, making her dizzy with information.
She’d done a deep Google dive, trying to find out everything she could about Lance James. There wasn’t a ton of information on him. From what she’d been able to discover, he’d appeared on the tattoo scene eight years before, seemingly out of the blue. Besides an Instagram account, he had zero digital footprint.
It was the same for Lance Taylor. She’d tried to google him but all she’d found was a college football coach with the same name.
So, she’d searched Lance James Taylor, assuming it was his middle name, and she’d found an author, professor, and musician—but not a tattoo artist.
She was no closer to knowing the man now, after four solid hours of internet detective work, than she’d been before she started.
There were a few facts that she knew to be true.
Lance James was staying in her home.
Lance James rode a Harley.
Lance James had held her bra in his hand.
Lance James was Doc and Kitty’s grandson.
She’d told Lance James that she didn’t want to sleep with him.
Other than that, she was clueless.
She shook her head and took a deep breath. He was just a man. He was the same Lance that she’d met, or not met, in the laundry room. She was not going to let the fact that he was a god in the tattoo world, or the fact that she’d wanted to get inked by him for years, affect her when she interacted with him.
So what if she’d been following his career for over five years? So what if she totally wanted to fangirl out on him? So what if he was not only Lance freakin’ James, but also the sexiest human being on the planet who also happened to be funny and was the grandson of two of her favorite people on the planet? So what if he made the perfect cup of coffee and delicious French toast? So what if he always seemed to say the right things and kept her on her toes?
So what?
She was Leah freakin’ Porter. She owned Barks, Balls & Bellyrubs with her sister. She’d brought many a man to their knees with her killer curves, sexy style, and wicked sense of humor.
Okay…so maybe on paper, I’m not quite as impressive, but…
This pep talk was getting her nowhere. She just needed to sack up and go inside her home. All day she’d been trying to figure out how to approach the subject of him being Lance James without seeming thirsty.
If she just came right out and asked him about it, she thought that her inner fangirl would show through. Instead, she figured she’d bring up the conversation casually.
She’d never asked him what he did for a living. The man was staying in her house, even if it was only for a week. She wouldn’t be a creeper for asking about his work. Then when he said that he was a tattoo artist, she’d ask to see his work. Then when it was revealed that he was Lance James, she’d be able to oh-so-casually mention that she was a fan of his work.
Leah may or may not have played out exactly how this conversation would go one or two, or twenty, times. She even had an exit plan. She was meeting Brock at The Grill in forty-five minutes, so even if she embarrassed herself in some way, she had an excuse to escape.
She had a game plan. So why was her hand shaking?
“Oh, fuck it,” she whispered under her breath as she turned the key in the door.
The moment she stepped inside, her mouth watered, and this time it had nothing to do with the view. Well, at least not everything to do with it. Lance was sitting at the table—and he did look mighty delicious—but the scent of zesty spices and grilled peppers was what caused saliva to fill her mouth.
“I made fajitas. There’s plenty if you’re hungry.”
Forget dating him, Leah wanted to marry the man.
“Wow,” she stated lamely when she reached the table and laid her eyes on the spread.
There were chips and a bowl of guacamole, not to mention tortillas and grilled corn both wrapped in foil, just like they laid it out at her favorite restaurant, Don Cuco’s.
“Do you cook like this every night?”
“I enjoy cooking.”
It was just the sort of non-answer she was coming to expect from Lance Taylor, aka Lance James.
She set her purse on one of the empty chairs and lowered herself down onto the other. So many questions needed to be asked, but she figured she’d ease into them. She grabbed a plate and began to fill it. “How’s Kitty doing?”
“She says she’s doing better.”
His answer had alarm bells going off. Leah’s hand stilled mid-scoop of guac and she looked at him, brows raised. “You don’t think she is?”
She still hadn’t gone to the hospital to see Kitty, but she would if Kitty wasn’t doing well.
“I don’t know.”
His answer left more questions than it answered. Leah searched Lance’s face, trying to read between the lines of his response. The search itself was no hardship. She could easily study his gorgeous mug for hours on end, but her examination yielded zero results. The man had a poker face to beat all poker faces. It was unnerving…yet somehow also hot. Although, in all fairness, she didn’t think there was much the man could do that wouldn’t be hot.
“My sister Bea went by to see her yesterday. I didn’t go. I wanted to, but I hate hospitals. My sister was in the ICU when we were kids and it traumatized me.”
Leah could hear herself rambling, but she seemed unable to stop words from pouring out of her mouth. She’d thought she’d been nervous before she knew that Lance Taylor was Lance James. Now it was a whole different level. “But she said she’s doing better?”
Lance nodded and took a drink of water.
Figuring it was the best way to stop herself from going off on another tangent, she filled her fork and took a bite. As she bit down on the meat and peppers, a flavor explosion burst in her mouth. “Oh my god. This is delicious,” she said before she finished chewing and swallowing.
Since this line of questioning had hit a dead end, Leah figured that she would take a different path. She thought about putting her plan into action and asking about his work, but something stopped her. His relationship with his grandparents was none of her business, but she still found herself asking, “How often do you see Doc and Kitty?”
“Not often.”
Damn, he just wasn’t going to make this easy. This man tried Leah’s patience like no other, and she had to admit, she didn’t hate it. She found the challenge of getting to know him invigorating.
Or maybe it was the stubble on his square jaw, the look in his mesmerizing eyes, large hands, broad shoulders, and general oozing of sex appeal.
Either way, she felt more alive sitting at her table across from Lance eating fajitas than she ever had before.
Just One Look - Leah and Lance (Crossroads Book 15) Page 7
