Hell, for all I know she could only be playing nice for her brother’s sake. But I don’t think that’s it. We may not have gotten along in the past, but it was clear to me from the instant my eyes landed on her that she’s not the same girl I knew all those years ago. Not that I expected she would be. Almost eleven years is a long ass time. I can’t even begin to comprehend how much I’ve changed in that time.
I honestly never understood what her problem was with me. It was like one minute we were all friends and the next she hated my guts. I don’t know if it’s because we got older and started leaving her out or if she truly came to dislike me. Whatever it was, I don’t sense anything like that coming from her now. Then again, this all very well could be an act.
Yeah, maybe she’s just as good of an actor as I am. Not that I’m purposely acting where she’s concerned. More like my entire fucking life is one big act. One I’ve gotten so good at putting on, some days I can’t tell if I’m still acting or if this is who I am now.
“We’ll get you there.” Winston’s response pulls me back to the subject at hand. “You should at least get something small,” he continues. “Like a heart on your ankle or some shit like that. That way if you hate it, it’s small enough that no one can see it.”
“If I’m going to go through the pain of having a tattoo done, I sure as hell am not going to get a heart on my ankle.” She shakes her head at her brother, that familiar Harlow sass making its first appearance of the night.
I was starting to think she’d lost it – that fiery part of who she used to be. Now, I’m wondering if it isn’t just buried under whatever hell she’s been through over the last decade.
“Is there something specific that you don’t like about tattoos?” I ask, just out of curiosity.
“Alan,” she starts, stumbling over her words for a moment. “My ex-husband. He hated tattoos. Considering he was the one who had to look at my body, I made the choice that they aren’t for me.”
“They aren’t for you, or they aren’t for him?” I challenge, never having pictured her as the type of girl that would let any man tell her what she can and can’t do.
“For him I guess,” she answers like she’s embarrassed by this fact.
“Well fuck that.” Winston jumps despite the needle pressed to his skin.
“Dude. Sit the fuck still,” I warn, pulling the tattoo gun back.
“Sorry, man.” He shifts, turning toward his sister. “What better way to show that mother fucker that he can’t control you anymore?”
“You might be right.” She shrugs. “But I’m still not convinced I want one regardless.”
“Tell you what,” I cut in. “You think about it, and if at any point you decide you want to get one, you come see me. I’ll hook you up.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that.” She gives me a genuine smile, and it highlights just how fucking pretty she is.
“Now sit the fuck back.” I turn my attention to Winston. “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to be out of here before four a.m.”
“Sorry, man.” He laughs, readjusting so I can resume working on his piece.
We spend the next two hours talking about random shit. From things as simple as the weather to heavier topics like Winston’s on again, off again, girlfriend that can’t seem to commit.
I keep telling him that if she’s still this back and forth after nearly two years, he needs to cut her loose, but for some reason, he can’t seem to let her go. It seems ridiculous to me, but then again, I can’t say I’ve ever cared for someone the way he cares about Stella, so what the hell do I know.
Harlow eventually moved to the tattoo chair at the next station so she could sit more comfortably. It was less than thirty minutes later that I looked over and she was out, curled into a ball with a mess of loose hair falling around her face as she slept. After that, I couldn’t help but glance back at her every once in a while.
I finished Winston’s tattoo just after three, slathering his new ink in Vaseline before slapping a piece of plastic wrap over the top of it for protection.
“You are all set, my friend,” I tell him, standing to stretch out my back.
“I seriously can’t thank you enough for this, man. It’s incredible.” Winston turns to look over his shoulder in the mirror on the wall.
“Glad you like it,” I say, already starting to disassemble my station so I can head home for the night. Not that I’ll get any real sleep once there, but for right now all I can think about is crawling into my bed and shutting my eyes for a few minutes. “Would you mind sticking that in the fridge in the back?” I ask, gesturing to the still nearly full case of beer he brought with him.
I won’t have more than a couple when I’m working, and since Winston is driving, he only had one earlier in the night. I’ll keep them here that way the guys or Delia can snag one if they feel like having a beer after their shift.
“Only if you handle that.” Winston hitches his thumb toward his sister. “She’s mean as shit when you wake her up.” He chuckles, snagging the case of beer off the floor. “Or at least she used to be.”
“All the more reason for you to do it,” I holler after him, hearing him laugh in the distance.
“Sorry, too late,” he calls from the back.
“Asshole,” I grumble under my breath, shoving my tattoo gun onto the shelf before making my way toward Harlow.
I hear her soft intakes of air as she breathes, her body barely moving under the action. She looks so peaceful, and an instant wave of longing washes over me. Not for her specifically, but for the kind of peace, normal people find in sleep. Something I haven’t known for years.
I imagine what it would be like to crawl into the chair behind her and pull her toward me. Feel her warmth against my skin and the steady thump of her heart against my chest. I wonder if it would rub off on me. I wish I could piggy back onto her dreams and for once be able to shut my mind off enough to find a moment of silence.
“Harlow.” I reach out and run my hand gently down her forearm, trying not to startle her.
Her eyes immediately shoot open and a wave of confusion washes over her face.
“Winston’s ready to go,” I tell her, hoping that will remind her where she is.
“I fell asleep?” Her face calms and she sits up, stretching her arms over her head.
“About two hours ago,” I confirm, taking a full step back.
“Sorry. I haven’t been sleeping well recently,” she says, sliding her legs over the side of the chair before pushing into a stand.
“No problem.” I shrug, resisting the urge to tell her that I understand the feeling.
“Okay, beer is in the fridge, and I dropped some cash on your desk.” Winston reappears from the hallway.
“Cash?” I question. “I thought beer was my payment.”
“Yeah, like I’m not gonna give you one hell of a tip.” He snorts.
“Man, how many times have I told you not to do that?” I scold.
“And yet I still do it every time.” He smirks, turning his attention to his sister.
“You ready, sleepy head?”
“Yep,” Harlow answers on a yawn.
“Thanks again for this.” Winston gestures to his shoulder. “I really can’t even begin to explain what it means that you thought of Mom.”
“Don’t even mention it. It’s the least I can do.”
“If you two are done bro-ing out, can we go?” Harlow cuts in, humor in her voice.
“Bro-ing out?” Winston laughs.
“Bro-ing out,” she confirms, crinkling her nose at him.
“Yes, we’re done.” He chuckles, throwing a nod my way. “We’ll talk soon,” he says, leading his sister toward the front door.
“Sounds good. You guys be safe on your way home,” I call after them, grabbing the sanitizer so I can clean my station.
“Hey, Miles.” I look up to see Harlow in the doorway that separates the work area from the lobby. “It was really nice
to see you again.” She smiles, and the weirdest fucking sensation settles in my stomach. “I just might take you up on the tattoo,” she adds.
“It was good to see you too, Harlow,” I say, not sure how else to respond. “And I hope you do.”
With that soft smile still on her lips, she gives me one last look and turns to disappear into the lobby, the front doorbell ringing seconds later.
I shake off the odd feeling still prominent in the air and refocus, almost thankful that I won’t be able to sleep tonight. Because if I could sleep, if I could dream, I have no doubt that Harlow Cabell would be the very thing I would see.
Chapter Six
Harlow
“What do you mean he refused to sign the papers?” I pace back and forth in my brother’s living room, with my cell phone pressed to my ear. “Can he even do that?”
“Technically yes, but I can’t see it lasting for long. He’s just trying to test you,” my lawyer, Regina, reassures me.
“Test me?” I stop mid-stride and look up, catching sight of a sleek black motorcycle circling into the parking lot through the open double windows of my brother’s apartment.
“I’ve seen it a million times. He’s trying to wait you out. He’s hoping you’ll change your mind.”
“That will not happen,” I grind out.
“We just need to be patient on this. We’ve got one hell of a case if he wants to try his luck. I can’t see him pushing this to the point where it goes to court. He’ll settle eventually, and when he does, you can put this whole mess behind you.”
“Eventually isn’t now. I want this over with.”
“I know you do. But sometimes things don’t always go as smoothly as we’d like. Trust that I know what I’m doing. I’ll get this closed for you as quickly and quietly as possible.”
“I know.” I blow out a breath, running a hand through my messy ponytail.
I’ve spent the entire morning scrubbing Winston’s apartment from top to bottom and was heading toward the shower when Regina called with the update on my divorce. My brother isn’t as bad as I’m sure some bachelors are, but he certainly isn’t the cleanest person either. I swear I scrubbed two inches of toothpaste out of the bottom of his bathroom sink.
“I have a phone call scheduled with his attorney for Friday. Hopefully, by then Mr. Montel will have been able to talk some sense into his client.”
“And what happens if he still doesn’t sign?” I ask, my eyes still locked on the motorcycle as it pulls into a vacant spot before the driver quickly climbs off.
“Then it goes to court, and we air all his dirty laundry. Something tells me he won’t let it get that far.”
“I think you’re right there,” I agree, knowing Alan and how much importance he places in what others think of him. The last thing he’ll want is his wife in a courtroom telling anyone and everyone that will listen about all his infidelities.
“Just work on getting yourself settled, and I’ll take care of Alan Nagle.”
“Thanks so much, Regina,” I say, stepping closer to the window to get a better look at the motorcyclist right as he slides off his helmet and rests it on the seat of the bike.
“No problem. I’ll touch base soon.”
“Okay,” I murmur, having stopped listening the moment I realized the man beneath the helmet is none other than Miles Hollins.
I haven’t seen him since that night at the tattoo shop three weeks ago and even though I have no idea why he’s been on my mind a lot more than I’d like to admit.
Regina says something else seconds before the call disconnects, yet several moments later I’m still standing with the phone pressed to my ear, watching Miles climb the outdoor stairwell toward the apartment.
The closer he gets, the harder my heart pounds in my chest and for the life of me, I can’t understand my body’s reaction.
I lose sight of him seconds before a hard knock sounds against the door.
Looking down, I’m painfully aware that I’m still dressed in my ratty plaid pajama shorts and gray tank. My hair is tied up from cleaning, and I don’t have an ounce of makeup on.
Shit.
I freeze in the middle of the living room, not sure if I should answer the door and face Miles looking the way I do or if I should pretend that no one is home. I mean, it wouldn’t be completely untrue. Winston stayed the night at Stella’s and since I’m sure that’s who he’s here to see, not answering would be acceptable, right?
The second knock sounds and even though I’ve already talked myself into not answering, for some reason I cross the room toward the front door just the same.
Seconds later, I’m standing face to face with Miles, who in the late morning sunlight looks even more attractive than he did three weeks ago.
“Hey,” I get out breathlessly, wedging my body in the open door frame.
“Hey.” Miles slides his dark sunglasses off his face and gives me a quick once over, making me feel squeamish under his gaze. “Winston here?”
“No, he’s at Stella’s.” I tuck a stray strand of hair that’s fallen loose from my ponytail behind my ear, wishing I had at least looked in the mirror before making the impulsive decision to answer the door.
“I knew it wouldn’t last long.” He smiles to himself.
“What wouldn’t?” I question, not hiding my confusion.
“The latest breakup.”
“Breakup? Haven’t they been together for a couple of years?”
“Yes, but they break up about once a month. It usually only lasts a day or two. This time I think they set a record though. Four whole days.”
“They’d been broken up for four days?” I ask, more to myself than to Miles. I’m just trying to figure out how I missed that or why Winston never said anything.
“In case you’re wondering why he didn’t tell you, it happens so often he’s gotten past the point of sharing the information. As I said, it never lasts.”
“Then how is it you know they broke up?” I ask, crossing my arms in front of my chest, feeling next to naked in my thin tank top. Especially when his gaze dips downward, for a long moment.
“Because I’m the one he drags out for a drink after every one of their big blow-ups. He spends about two hours complaining about how impossible his girlfriend is, gets it out of his system, and then waits for her to call. They’re beyond predictable at this point.”
“Interesting.” I clear my throat. “Well, as I said, he’s not here. I can let him know you stopped by when he gets back.”
“No need. I was just heading over to your dad’s shop for a bit. Wanted to see if Winston wanted to come with.”
“You’re going to see my dad?”
“Yeah. I try to stop out at least one Saturday a month. Sometimes we just bullshit, sometimes he puts me to work.” He shrugs, a smile playing on the corner of his mouth.
“I didn’t know that,” I admit, having realized over the last few weeks that there’s a lot I don’t know about where my family is concerned. “I was actually thinking about stopping by there later today.”
“Oh yeah?” He rocks back on his heels, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his dark jeans. “You wanna ride over with me?”
“Huh?” I stutter, caught off guard by the offer.
“To your dad’s,” he clarifies, clearly finding humor in my reaction. “If you’re heading out that way, you can ride over with me if you want.”
“Oh well, I can’t right now.”
“Why not? Too busy cleaning up after Winston’s slob ass.”
“How did you know I was cleaning?” I ask.
“Because I could smell the bleach and Lysol before I even knocked on the door.”
“Oh.” I laugh lightly. “Well, he certainly isn’t the cleanest of people to live with.”
“I’d guess not.” He chuckles. “Are you almost done? I could wait. I really don’t have anything going on this morning.”
“You don’t have to do that. I have to shower and ge
t ready first.”
“So go do it then.” He steps forward causing me to instinctively step back, giving him room to enter the apartment.
His hard chest brushes past me as he steps inside and his incredible scent suddenly engulfs me. It takes me a good ten seconds to shake off the fog that settles over me.
“Please, come in,” I grumble semi-playfully, closing the door behind him.
With Miles here, the apartment feels half the size, and I shrink under the incredible set of hazel eyes I find locked on my face when I turn back toward him.
“Place looks good.” He smiles, looking around the room.
“Well, it better. I’ve been going at it for nearly two hours.” I huff, blowing a strand of hair out of my face.
“It shows.” His smile widens as his gaze comes back to me. “You gonna go get ready now or...” He lets the question hang.
“Um, yeah, okay. I guess,” I stutter, shuffling both my feet without actually moving an inch forward. “You gonna just wait out here?”
“Pretty sure I know how to make myself at home.” He chuckles, snagging the television remote off the coffee table before flopping down on the couch.
“Right. Okay. I won’t be too long.” I take off toward my room, not sure what the hell I just agreed to or if I actually agreed at all.
——
When I reenter the living room about a half an hour later, Miles is in the exact spot I left him in. He’s flipping through channels but immediately stops when he senses my presence.
Powering off the television, he drops the remote back onto the table before looking in my direction.
“Feel better?” he asks, his eyes doing one long sweep down my body.
Even though I’m fully clothed in jean shorts and a dark blue shirt, that one motion makes me feel like I’ve been stripped bare in front of him.
“Much.” I clear my throat and shuffle toward the kitchen.
Because I didn’t want to keep Miles waiting too long, I decided to let my hair air dry, so I’d have time to apply a little bit of makeup to feel half human.
All That We Are Page 4
