His gaze meets mine. “Maybe you should work out twice a day.” He smirks and side-steps me.
“Some of us own our own business. Well, one of us anyway,” I say.
He laughs and shuts his door.
I shake my head. He’s not worth the aggravation. Never has been.
Lucky for me, after I shower and get dressed, Jax is nowhere in sight.
On the elevator ride down, I retrieve my phone from my pocket in order to text Rian.
Me: What’s up with this roommate dinner?
The three dots appear immediately, as they usually do. She’s never one to leave you hanging. It’s one of the best things about her.
Rian: Because we need to set some rules in order to get along. This whole everyone ignoring everyone thing isn’t going to work.
Me: I’ll let the other guys know.
Rian: No you won’t.
Rian: It’s just us.
Rian: The three of us.
I send a gif of a man rolling on the floor in a tantrum.
Rian: Funny. But still happening. See you tonight.
I pocket my phone and walk across the street, then unlock the door of Ink Envy. My favorite part of the day is coming here in the morning when it’s quiet. Sometimes I still can’t believe it’s mine. Walking by the stations of all the tattoo artists who want to work for me feels surreal. Heading to the back, I go to my office because I have paperwork to do that I’ve been putting off.
I boot up my computer then spot a note from Frankie on my desk.
I’ll be out for a while. Call you when I can.
I crumple the note and toss it into the trash can. Seems I don’t like any notes I receive today. I was hoping to ask Frankie for some advice about Rian.
Instead of worrying about all the bullshit that will surely go down tonight, I bury my head in the part of this business I hate—the actual business bullshit.
After an hour of recording expenses, I review last month’s numbers. There’s no way last month took a loss. I inch up closer as if I’m eighty and can’t see the glaring red number on my computer screen that’s blinking like a stoplight at two in the morning.
I knew things had been slow. Frankie was out more than usual, and let’s face it, when I lost Mad Max, he took one helluva following with him to New York City. Not that I blame him for wanting to make it big. Cliffton Heights isn’t where you make a name for yourself in the tattoo industry. Although I do have some clients who come from pretty far away for me and Frankie specifically, most of our customers are from neighboring towns.
Without Mad Max and Frankie working, I’m not making a cut of their jobs which has clearly hit my bottom line.
I press my palms to the edge of the desk and push myself back. The wheels of my chair slide until it hits the wall. What the fuck can I do? I need to get another artist in here.
Pulling out my phone, I scan Instagram for a newbie in the tat world who’s trying to make a name for him or herself. The first artist to pop up is Jax, so I click off my phone and toss it onto the desk.
One thing’s for sure—I’d better do something, otherwise I’m not making bills next month. The worst thing you can do in this industry is not have a functioning space for your artists to work in. Might as well lock your doors.
Hoobastank plays on the other side of the door, which means Jax is already home. Rian is more of a country music girl.
I put my hand on the doorknob and stand there for a second. Rian’s right—we can’t live like this until Jax decides Cliffton Heights isn’t for him. Since high school, he usually cut ties every four months from wherever he’s living at least. We don’t have to be best friends, but we can keep it civil.
All the kumbaya shit in my head dies when the door opens and I find Jax licking batter off of Rian’s finger.
Her head shoots my way, eyes wide like I caught her doing something wrong. Jax’s Cheshire Cat grin is obvious even with his lips wrapped around her finger. My jaw aches from clenching.
“Don’t let me interrupt.” I hold up my hands and walk through the living room toward my bedroom.
“You’re not interrupting. Jax was just joking around,” Rian says, but I’m already at my bedroom door.
“Let me know when you two are done, and I’ll do my vegetables.”
I kick the door shut and throw my bag on the bed. When I hook my phone to my radio, Papa Roach’s “Scars” plays, since that’s what I was listening to at Ink Envy. For a moment, I calm myself down, pissed I showed any cards to that fucker by slamming the door. I can already picture his cocky smirk waiting for me when I open that door again.
Not much has changed since high school with Jax and me. We listen to the same music, we’re almost like the same person. Hell, even down to being into the same girl.
I gotta get a grip though, because Rian isn’t Naomi. She’s not even close to being mine. She’s a grown woman who can protect herself. My reaction is just from the stress of the store. The underlying worry that I’m going to lose everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve.
Might as well get this roommate dinner over with. I leave the seclusion of my bedroom and thank God that it’s only Rian in the kitchen.
She turns around, her blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She’s wearing the apron I got her last Christmas. I still remember the blush that crawled across her skin when she read, “Warning: spooning will lead to forking.”
“You okay?” she asks.
I hate that question. I’ve probably been asked that same question five million times in my life. It was part of the social worker’s handbook. When they come to get you because you’re not wanted, they lay their hands on your shoulders as they bend over to get face to face. Always the same question—are you okay?
“I’m good. Just didn’t want to interrupt.” I pull out the vegetables I picked up at lunch and ran up here to put in the fridge.
“You’re not interrupting. You just happened to walk in when he was trying out my batter.”
“Where is he anyway?” I ask.
“He’s gone up to the roof to heat the grill up.”
I eye her like she can cut the bullshit. “You like him?” Grabbing the cutting board, I place it on the counter and open the drawer with the knives.
“I barely know him.”
I wash the lettuce, peeling back the bad layers. “He’s not the ever-after type. He’s not like Adrian or Ethan.”
She says nothing, and when I look up from the sink, the kindness that usually radiates off her isn’t there. “Who said I want that?”
I chop the lettuce as a distraction. Rian isn’t a one-night-only kinda girl. She might think she could do it, but she can’t.
“Are you going to answer my question?”
I scoop up the lettuce and put it into a bowl, ready to peel the carrots, but Rian’s already doing that for me. She thinks I’m incapable of doing shit, which is why she always does it for me. “Even if you want a quick fuck, do you really think your new roommate is the best choice?”