Chapter One
Lainey
Groaning, I hit snooze for the third time and put my pillow over my head. One of my bosses, Sierra, talked me into one more shot of tequila before I left the bar last night, and I swear that did me in. I can’t be mad at her, though, because we had a fun time even though I’m paying for it now. It’s hard for me and the artists I work with to get together after work because we all work staggered shifts.
Before my alarm goes off again, I crawl out of bed and drag my hungover ass into the bathroom. I take one look at myself in the mirror and cover my mouth to muffle the scream that slips from my lips.
My bleach blonde hair is a rat’s nest, standing up in every which way. Mascara has left black marks around my blue eyes, and my red lips are now smeared across my cheek.
I quickly strip out of my clothes and climb into my shower. I wince as the cold water hits me, needing it to help clear the cobwebs from my sluggish brain. Once I feel more awake, I turn the water to hot and begin scrubbing myself clean.
Climbing out of the shower, I slip on my black silk robe that’s covered in sugar skulls—a gift from Sierra for my birthday this year. I go through my post-shower regimen: moisturizing, makeup, and then hair.
In my bedroom, I slide on ripped-up skinny jeans and a Sugar and Spice, Ink long-sleeve tee that hangs off one shoulder. I’ll admit we have the best merch and can’t keep shirts stocked because everyone wants them. I head out to the kitchen, make some strong coffee, and throw a couple of bread slices into the toaster.
I munch on a banana while I wait and let my mind wander. How long has it been since I’ve had a date? How long since I’ve had sex? It’s been about a year since the former and at least two for the latter. God, that’s depressing, but thankfully I’m busy enough that I don’t have too much time to think about it.
The girls have all been on me about getting out there and dating, but honestly, I just haven’t met anyone worth my time. Most of the guys I’ve met are either douche bags or boring. It’s fine, though, because I do have a full life—a happy life.
Once my toast is done, I slather it in butter and grape jelly and then pour a cup of coffee, adding just a splash of half and half. I’m just swallowing down the last little bite when my cell phone rings.
I see it’s my big brother. “Hey, Lance. What’s up?”
“Hey you, just checking in with my baby sister since she never calls me.” I can hear him pout through the phone.
“Oh, whatever. I call you all the time. You’re just too busy for little old me,” I sass back.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve actually called you for a purpose.”
I take a sip of my coffee. “Oh, yeah? What purpose is that? You miss me?” Five years separate us, but we’ve always been close. He’s always been my protector. The one who has supported every dream I’ve ever had.
“I always miss my girl, but no, that’s not it. I’ve developed a new cabernet, and I think this could put the vineyard on the map on a much bigger scale. I’ve hired a PR firm to help us with a big launch as well as rebranding the entire Coastal Vineyard line. They’re so sought after that our meeting isn’t for a month, but I want you to fly out and be a part of the creative process. What do you think?”
I’m surprised my father handed the reins to my brother, not that my brother isn’t qualified, because he totally is. I’m just shocked that my father stepped down at all.
“I don’t know, Lance. Mom and Dad are going to give me shit about having ink and doing tattoos, and I don’t know if I want to hear that same bullshit… again.” They weren’t thrilled when I went to school at Georgia State University for art.
Our father is a legacy at Stanford, and I was expected to follow in the Winston family's footsteps, just like Lance did, but I wanted to make my own path. To this day, I’m surprised that they even paid for my school. Of course, if they’d known I was going to become a tattoo artist, they would've said to pay for it myself, which I would’ve done if I had to.
They didn’t understand that I needed to be far away from Malibu and him, but… I’m not going there.
“You know how they are. They’re stubborn—just like someone else I know. I want you to stay at my place anyway—it’s a fucking oasis. There’s also another reason I need you to come home…” He inhales a deep breath. “I-I’m getting married. I need you there; I need my best girl.”
I’m speechless—I had no idea my brother was even dating anyone. “You’re getting married?” My eyes widen at his news. “To whom?”
“Congratulations, Lance. I’m so happy for you,” my brother says sarcastically, in a high-pitched voice.
I sigh. “You’re right. Congratulations. This must’ve happened quickly.”
“It did. We met three months ago. Her name is Noemi, and not only is she fucking beautiful—she’s smart, talented, and has the biggest heart. I’m so in love with her, Lainey. She’s my soul mate.” The conviction in his voice brings tears to my eyes.
“Lance,” I whisper. “Of course I’ll be there. I’m so happy for you. I’ve never heard you sound so happy. Email me with the information, and I’ll talk to the girls at the studio and see if they’re okay with me taking a few weeks off.” They’ll say yes; they’re always on me to take a vacation.
“Great! Don’t worry about the ticket. I’ll email you the flight information. Just show up at the airport.”
My stomach turns a little thinking about going home, but he is probably long gone. He left for the Navy the summer after graduation—long before I left for Georgia.
“I’ll text you as soon as I talk to them and let you know for sure how long I can stay. I love you, big brother, and I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks, sis. I love you, and I’ll talk to you soon.”
We disconnect, and I set my phone down. After throwing my shoes on, I gather up my bag, phone, earbuds, and a travel mug full of coffee, then I head to the studio.
Sugar and Spice, Ink has grown so much since I began my apprenticeship four years ago. I’ve had people ask why I don’t open a studio of my own, and I tell them all the same thing—I’m part of the Sugar and Spice, Ink family; they treat me like I’m their flesh and blood. Hell, their kids all refer to me as Aunt LaLa.
There are six tattoo artists and two piercers. We book out months in advance, and people pay a lot of money for us to tattoo them. We’re the best, and the quality of our work speaks for itself.
I park next to Mona’s Range Rover and climb out. We don’t open for another hour, but I wanted the chance to talk to Mona first. I let myself in and lock the door behind me.
I find the woman who gave me a chance sitting behind the desk in the office. “Hey, lady,” I say as I sit across from her.
Since I’ve worked here, Mona’s had lavender, champagne blonde, purplish gray, and rose gold hair. Now she’s rocking a smoky gray. She smiles up at me. “Hey, don’t you look pretty today?”
“Thanks. I’m loving the hair color, by the way. Your hair always looks so healthy; what’s your secret?”