Ryan shakes his head whatever you want to believe.
"I have work." I turn on the computer and log in. "If you're done—"
"Where's the play-by-play?" Dean asks.
I flip him off and pull up the shop's Facebook account.
"Fill me in." Dean turns to Ryan. "She as kinky as she looks?"
"You trying to get your ass kicked?" Walker asks. "'Cause my money's on Ryan in that fight."
"I can bench twice what he can." Dean feigns indignant.
"He does karate," Walker says.
"Aikido," Ryan corrects.
"He's got a fire. That gets you far." Walker looks to me. "What do you think?"
"Who wins in a fight—Dean or Ryan?" I ask.
Walker nods exactly.
"Ryan. He's fighting to defend my honor. He's motivated." I catch his gaze. Try to figure out exactly what he's thinking.
But I can't. I'm too lost in those baby blues.
"You want me to kick his ass?" Ryan's voice is playful.
I shake my head. "Maybe later."
"My girl doesn't want me risking my hands." Ryan adopts a don't fuck with me stance, but his smile stays wide. "Drop it."
"She's your girl?" Dean asks.
"Of course." Ryan's eyes go to the clock—twenty minutes until we open. "What are you three doing here this early?"
Walker laughs. "Dean said we wouldn't want to miss it."
"You're an asshole," I say.
"'Cause I wanted to celebrate my brother finally getting laid?" Dean feigns offense.
Ryan ignores him. "Leighton's starting a design business. It's new, but it's growing fast. She'll be full time at it soon."
"That's happening?" Walker asks.
"Yeah." I press my lips together.
"That's fucking amazing," Walker says.
After a round of congratulatory hugs, the guys take their usual positions—Brendon leaning against the half wall to his suite, Dean and Walker at the counter, Ryan in front of his suite, leading the meeting.
"I am going to leave." My lips curl into a frown. "But not yet. Not for a while." Not until I'm sure I can do this. Even if that takes six months. Or three years. "I'll give you two weeks notice. Promise."
Work takes over. I lose myself in admin, check out customers, break for lunch at the taco truck around the corner, fill my afternoon with a mix of coffee and social media.
Sometime around four, I run out of Inked Hearts work.
I boot up my laptop and pour myself into finishing the mock-up. It feels good getting it done, even if I still have another half a dozen rounds of small changes to go.
I love designing covers.
It fills me in some place that's usually empty. Scratches an itch that's in desperate need of attention.
I love building my site's social media.
It's a million times more engaging than flirting as I thrust my chest in the air yes, that's so interesting, the tips are here. Oh, most people leave thirty percent, but the really generous guys leave fifty percent.
Design is my future.
It's what I want.
But running a business all by myself is still terrifying.
Leaving Inked Hearts is still terrifying.
Staying for a while isn't just cowardice. It's smart. I need to pad my savings. To make sure I can actually find enough design work to pay my rent and put food in my fridge.
But it's a matter of time.
If I really want this to work, I have to devote more hours to it.
I have to say goodbye to the only place where I belong.
I try to focus on my cover, but it's impossible. There's a neon sign in my head flashing THIS IS THE END.
Ryan finishes with his client. He stands and shakes the guy's hand. His t-shirt—he changed in the bathroom after the meeting—pulls up his stomach as he stretches his arms over his head.
He smiles as he catches me staring. Motions my eyes are up here. Runs a hand through his wavy hair.
The client—a tall guy with a nervous smile—whispers something to Ryan.
Ryan nods and motions to the counter.
They cross the room to me. It's all routine. Flattery, price quote, credit card, receipt, flirting, tip, smile, wave goodbye.
The bell rings as the guy takes his leave.
Ryan plants his palms on the black plastic. Leans over the counter to press his lips to mine.
Mmm. He tastes so good.
I sigh as I pull back. Everyone's attention is turned toward us. They're watching. Figuring out what this is.
Ryan ignores them. "You working on a design?"
"Are you asking as my boyfriend or my boss?"
His smile spreads over his cheeks. "I'm your boyfriend?"
"Aren't you?"
He intertwines his fingers with mine. "Of course."
"Okay. Good." I slide off my stool. Press my thighs against the counter. "So who's asking?"
"Boyfriend."
"Yeah. I ran out of Inked Hearts stuff."
"Boss doesn't care either."
"Bullshit."
"No. We have the same agreement. You do your Inked Hearts shit, you can do whatever you want with the rest of your time."
"Okay."
"You know how much longer you want to stay?"
"A lot longer."
He brushes a hair behind my ear. "You're gonna be great, Leigh. You're gonna soar. Being here forty hours a week is clipping your wings."
"I know. But they're my wings. I'll leave when I'm ready. You don't get a say."
"I'm being pushy?"
"You know you're being pushy. But I do appreciate that you have my best interests in mind."
"I'll drop it."
"You promise?"
"Yeah. For a while."
"Until after the wedding. At the very earliest."
"It's soon."
"We leave in a week and a half," I say.
"You ready for that?"
"Yeah. I think so." It's still at the back of my mind: what if he's still in love with her? Most of me believes him when he says he's over her. But there's this ugly, jealous part of me that doesn't believe it.
Walker emerges from his suite and swings his backpack over one shoulder. "Clean up after."
My cheeks flush.
Ryan shrugs maybe I will, maybe I won't.
"Damn. Ryan's still smiling." Walker winks at me. "You must be fucking amazing, Leighton."
My blush spreads to my chest.
Ryan turns back to Walker. "You have no idea."
Walker chuckles as he nods goodbye.
The door swings shut.
But the room is still buzzing with Dean's gun.
Dammit, are we ever going to be alone?
Ryan moves behind the counter. Stands next to me. "Show me what you're working on."
"Are you going to do this forever?"
"Yeah." His fingertips brush the hem of my dress. "But I can switch to stalking you on social media if you prefer that."
"No. It's sweet." I lean into his touch. "I can work here sometimes. So, we're still—"