I want Kaylee.
I can't have her.
Sheer willpower is still my only technique for resisting her.
Part of me hopes she hates me for this move thing.
It will be easier to stay away if she isn't looking up at me with those sweet green eyes.
Giggling as she rests her head on my shoulder. How can you like action movies when you hate "sell out music"? Is anything more by the numbers than yet another Die Hard sequel?
Better to get this over with.
I pull out my cell and I text Kaylee.
Brendon: You okay?
Kaylee: About what you'd expect.
Brendon: I'm getting a key made for you. I'll leave it at the front desk. You can pick it up whenever.
Kaylee: Thanks. I'll stop by before work.
Brendon: You want to talk about it?
Kaylee: What's there to say? My parents are moving across the country and they aren't asking my opinion about it. I hated it when I was ten, and I hate it now. At least then they invited me to join.
Brendon: Would you move with them if they'd asked?
Kaylee: I don't see how it matters.
Brendon: Your grandma okay?
Kaylee: No. But I'm not in the loop with the details. I have no idea if she has a few weeks left or a few years.
Brendon: I'm sorry she's sick.
Kaylee: Thanks. This isn't on you. You made a generous offer. I do get that. And I appreciate it. Really, Brendon. I do.
Brendon: It's nothing.
Kaylee: It's a lot. I just...
Brendon: Wanted to be consulted?
Kaylee: Want things to be different. But that too. I'm tired. I'm going to go to bed. I'll see you tomorrow.
Brendon: Sweet dreams, Kay.
Kaylee: You too.
Chapter Five
Brendon
The bell rings as Kaylee steps inside the shop.
She's in her work outfit—dark jeans, a black button up shirt, black non-skid shoes.
She hugs her pink purse to her shoulder as her eyes flit around the room.
Ryan nods hello. Runs a hand through his shaggy brown hair.
She nods back. Smiles a polite I'm trying to act like everything is great smile.
The client sitting in his chair isn't at all shy about giving Kaylee a long once over. His eyes are practically bugging out of his head.
My hand curls into a fist. It's a reflex.
Nobody like him is getting anywhere near her.
"Hey Kaylee," Ryan calls. "How are you?"
"Good. Thanks." She presses her lips together. "I'll just be a minute."
He nods.
She crosses the room to my spot at the front desk.
Leighton is running late. My next appointment is in thirty minutes. So I'm working on a mock up here instead of in my chair.
The light is better here.
But there's not enough privacy.
I need the space to think.
To let images flit through my mind and fit together.
Kaylee's steps are soft but steady. "Hey. This... I know you're only trying to help."
I nod as I pull her spare key from my pocket and hand it over. I wouldn't assign myself such charitable motivations, but I'm not going to argue with her. "You have a moving date in mind?"
"I'm off Monday."
"I'll meet you at your place at nine."
"I'll be okay on my own."
"I know."
"I don't need your help."
"Take it anyway."
She tilts her head to one side. "Fine, but only because I'm running late and I'm not in the mood to argue." She taps her fingers against the counter. "I... I guess I'll see you... everywhere. Since I'm your new roommate."
"It will be a good thing."
She nods. "Eventually."
I want to wrap my arms around her and refuse to let go.
That can't happen.
Neither can a handshake or some equally painful brush off.
Kay and I hug. Period. I need to find a way to be okay with that.
I step out from behind the counter.
She leans in to the gesture.
It's quick but tight.
And, fuck, I feel her everywhere.
I have to force myself to pull back. She's a kid. You're supposed to protect her. "You sleeping over tonight?"
"Maybe. Em's trying to convince me to go out. But I think I'd rather crash at home." Her eyes go to the clock. "Shit. I gotta go. I'll see you soon."
I nod goodbye.
Watch her ass sway as she walks away.
This time next week, Kaylee is going to live in the room down the hall.
I'm going to have to resist her twenty-four seven.
Will power isn't gonna cut it.
I need something a hell of a lot stronger.
My twelve o'clock is sitting in the teal chair, her face pressed against the wall, her tongue between her teeth.
She squints.
Bites her tongue.
Squeezes her thigh with her free hand.
Her gaze goes to the mirror. She watches me work.
At first, it bothered me. But I'm used to it now.
Clients love watching ink mark their skin.
I can't blame them.
I love it too.
And this girl—she's barely older than Kaylee—is a trooper. It's nearly two now, and she hasn't asked for a single break.
I check in. "You okay?"
She murmurs something. When I arch a brow, she nods.
"This is the last line."
"Thank fuck," she whispers.
My lips curl into a smile. This is her first piece of ink, and it's a big fucking tattoo—a teddy bear with its arms hanging off, stuffing spilling from its guts, its eye missing, its nose askew.
I don't ask what it means. I never do. Tattoos are personal. People talk when they want someone to listen.
Mostly.
Some people don't say shit, even when they're desperate for someone to listen.
Besides, there might not be a backstory. It might be as simple as a love of teddy bears.
It's better to skip assumptions.
I place the needle over her skin, work the angle until it's just right. My eyes meet hers through the mirror. "You ready?"
She grits her teeth as she nods.
I turn the gun on and draw the last line down her shoulder, all the way to the middle of her upper arm.
She's done.
I pull the gun away, set it down. "That's it."
Her shoulders slip from her ears as she sighs. She shifts her torso so she can see the reflection.
Her eyes are saucers.
Her smile is spread over her cheeks.
"Oh my God! It's perfect." She jumps out of the chair and throws her arms around me.
I'm not used to this. I should be. Getting ink releases all sorts of endorphins. Adrenaline. Dopamine. I'm a badass, I can't believe I did that vibes. It's easy for people to mistake the rush of a tattoo for the rush of lust.
Or she thinks I'm hot.
I'm well aware of my effect on women.
It hasn't done me any good in a while. Not since I gave up on finding someone who would push Kaylee out of my head.
Shit. There goes my clear mind. When I'm in the chair, my hands on my tattoo gun, I slip into this trance. There's nothing in my head but the work. Not my doubts, not my desires, not my parents' voices. Hell, I'm not even thinking about the client. Or about our owner.
It's all about the ink itself.
It's nirvana.
I'm leaving a mark on someone's skin. Something that will last forever.
It's the best job in the world.
Worth almost any amount of bullshit.
"Sit back down. I need to clean you up." My voice drops to that demanding tone. The one I use when women are naked. Or about to get naked.