“What’s up?” He nods to me as if I’m an acquaintance.
I cross my arms. “Care to explain?”
He releases a breath. “Explain what? You know it’s my job to tattoo people in private places and that means private rooms.” He sits at his desk. “I’m actually done early today. Want to go get dinner?”
“Dinner?”
He swivels in his chair. “Yeah. You know, when we put food in our mouths, chew, and swallow. Third meal of the day?”
“Don’t.”
The smile falls from his face and that hurts worse because he knows what he did out there. What I want to know is if he did it only for my benefit.
“Don’t what?” he asks.
“You took her number.”
He huffs. “You know how many numbers I get on a nightly basis?” He digs it out of his pocket and tosses it in the trash. “You know this relationship won’t work if you don’t trust me.” He swivels back around, looking something up on his computer. “I could order and we could pick it up and eat at home, or if you want, we can hit up a restaurant.”
“Stop it!” I yell.
His chair slowly turns, which reminds me of the movie The Godfather that Dylan made me watch a few weeks ago. Like I don’t want to mess with him right now. But I desperately do. It’s time we hash this out.
“What is your problem?” he asks.
“How would you feel if you witnessed what I just did?”
He shrugs, and my hand itches to slap his don’t-give-a-shit attitude off him. “I threw it away. I had no intention of calling.”
“Let me call Lyle in here so he can pat my ass then. That’s okay?”
A condescending laugh erupts out of him. “Lyle wouldn’t do that unless he wants to get fired.”
“See? There’s a problem that you allowed her to.”
“She’s a client.”
I blow out a breath. “You’re sabotaging us, aren’t you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now do you want Italian or Mexican? I kind of feel like eating a taco.” He waggles his eyebrows.
I throw my hands in the air. “Stop acting like there’s nothing wrong. Just stop.”
His jaw clenches. “You’re seeing things. You can’t be insecure if you’re my girlfriend.”
All that fight in me crumbles. The Dylan I know is gone. “So that’s the way we’re going to play this? You’re going to shut me out?”
“Babe, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He stands to approach me, but I put up my arm to stop him.
“Babe?” He’s never once called me that. He always says my name, or calls me brainiac if he’s teasing me. “You want me to break up with you?” I almost whisper, unable to meet his gaze.
He says nothing.
“Just be straight with me, Dylan. If you’re done with me, say so. If you don’t want to continue this, please don’t play games with me. Just be straight. Is this because of the job in Houston? Are you scared? You have to talk to me.”
His face softens and his shoulders sag. Finally we’re getting somewhere. But then his cell phone rings, and he turns around to grab it.
“Please don’t pick it up,” I say.
“It could be a client.” He answers it.
I have no idea what he even says because my thoughts are on how he’s chipping away pieces of my heart. When I leave this office, I have a feeling we’ll be done.
He tosses his phone onto his desk. “Are you sure you’re not seeing things so you have an excuse to go to Houston?”
Every cell in my body heats with anger. He did not just say that. “Are you sure you’re not trying to push me away?”
“Why would I push you away?” His face distorts into a “you’re crazy” look.
“Oh, I don’t know, look around your office.”
He actually scans the room and looks back at me, waiting for me to explain.
I say, “You don’t have one personal effect in here.”
“You want me to put up a picture of you? Is that what this is about?”
My frustration is so great, I want to scream at the top of my lungs. I settle for digging my nails into the palms of my clenched fists. “You keep everyone at arm’s length, and I thought we were over that. I thought you were all in. One roadblock and you’re doing everything you can to push me away?”
He scoffs. “You being jealous of a girl whose tits I had to tattoo isn’t me pushing you away. It’s me paying the bills.”
“Come on, you know what you’re doing here. I know you do. I’m not even sure I want the job.”
Like a cord snaps, his back goes ramrod straight. “I gotta go.”
“What?” I run to the door, blocking it. “We’re talking this out.”
He pockets his cell phone, grabs his jacket off a hook, and puts his hand on my hip, nudging me out of the way. “Take the job.”
“Is that what this is about?” I ask. “You think you can force me to leave? Pretend that you made out with some girl in the back room, get me pissed, and I’ll go to Houston? And what? It’ll prove your theory about life?”
His gaze locks with mine. I shiver at the chill it sets off, but I won’t shy away at this point.
“I know you didn’t do anything with that girl,” I say. “You wiping your mouth with your shirt to pretend like she kissed you isn’t the Dylan I’ve fallen in love with. You did that for your own benefit so you can blame me for leaving.”
He tears his eyes away from mine, his hand landing on the doorknob. “You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about.”
“You’re not that guy, and I will not run off to Houston because of some lame attempt to force my hand. I know you would never cheat on me.”
A cruel smile crosses his lips and he turns the knob, but I use every muscle in my body to keep the door shut. If he gets out, he’ll be gone. “You have no idea the man I am. You think you love me? You love an illusion.”
“You have it wrong. That is the man you are. That is the man I’m in love with. You’re the one who’s scared of him. You created this illusion for yourself so you can always be the victim. It’s easier that way, right? It’s never your decision, never your fault. Everyone else leaves.”
He scowls and turns the knob, pulling forward. My body loses all strength as he opens the door and flees. I slide along the wall and sink to the floor, my face buried in my knees.
The door slowly opens, and when I peek up, Jax is there, eyes closed, shaking his head. He crouches, pulls out his cell phone, types out a message, and puts it back. He doesn’t say anything to me, just sits in a similar position, his arms wrapped around his propped up knees.
“I don’t understand.” I rest my chin on my knee. Jax has known him the longest. Shouldn’t he have an answer for me?
He shrugs. “The way we grew up… it comes with a lot of fucked up beliefs.”
“But we were doing so well.”
He nods. “I thought for sure you were in it for the long haul.”
“Were?” My voice cracks. “Past tense?”