“It’s not like that.”
“You’re trippin’. Trust me. It’s like that.” He smirks. “Otherwise, he wouldn’t give a shit that I’m over here flirting with you.”
“But you’re not flirting.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
I laugh, and that earns another grumble from Dare. Matty leaves, and the rest of the night is mostly silent, save for the music coming through the speakers and the quiet whirring of tattoo guns. Eventually, Dare finishes, washing the excess ink off his client’s back. He stands, instructing his client to stand in front of the full-length mirror before giving him a handheld one to check out his work.
“Just a few more sessions, I think,” Dare muses, one arm across his chest and the other gloved hand under his chin, assessing. “Think you can handle a longer session next time?” This one must have lasted at least four hours. They took a couple of short breaks, but I can’t imagine a longer session.
“I’m game if you are. Looks awesome, man. Thanks again.” Dare covers his client’s tattoo in cellophane and goes over aftercare instructions. I check him out at the front desk, putting him on the books for two weeks from now, and then he’s gone.
I help Dare clean up, both of us wordlessly moving around the shop. Earlier in the day, I felt a little lost, but once I figured out where everything was and what was expected of me, I fell into my role pretty effortlessly. Alec and Cordell are still working in their stations, so I ask if their clients need anything. They decline, so I move toward the front of the shop to hold down the front desk.
“Hey, Logan, come here a minute,” Dare says from somewhere in the back. I bite my lip, looking over my shoulder, hoping he’s not in the drawing room. I don’t see him when I get to the waiting area, which means he is in the drawing room.
Awesome.
The door is cracked, and I push it open to find him sitting at a desk. He flips his sketchbook shut when he sees me.
“What’s up?” I ask, lingering near the doorway. Dare smirks, as if he knows that I’m uncomfortable and exactly why I am.
“I told you I don’t bite.”
“Unless I want you to,” I say, walking toward his desk, repeating what he said to me the night we hooked up. His eyes heat for a minute, and his teeth dig into his bottom lip.
“Right.”
I come to a stop next to him and lean my hip against the side of his desk, crossing my arms, aiming for casual and trying not to remember how his head looked between my thighs while I sat on this same desk.
“So, what do you think?” he asks.
“About…?”
“Your job,” he deadpans. “How was your first day?”
“I like it. A lot, actually.”
“I do, too,” he says, which makes me laugh.
“I hope so. It’s your business.”
“I like having you here,” he clarifies, and I’m shocked into silence by his admission. There it is again. That tension. That feeling. It’s impossible to put into words, but it’s palpable. He has to feel it, too. I swallow hard, looking into those icy eyes. He clears his throat.
“I mean, you were a big help. I’ve been needing to hire someone for a long time now, but I never pulled the trigger,” he says, confirming my thoughts from earlier.
“Oh.” Whether I misread his initial comment or he’s backpedaling, it stings nonetheless. “Well…good.” I avert my eyes, focusing on the shelf stocked full of supplies. “I should get back up there in case someone comes in,” I say, turning around, but Dare surprises me by sticking his finger through the belt loop of my black skinny jeans, stopping me in my tracks. The back of his hand grazes the inch of exposed skin between my pants and shirt when I turn back toward him, and he jerks it back, like he’s surprised by his own actions. That makes two of us.
“Can you come in tomorrow? I want to show you how to open.” He seems uncomfortable.
“I don’t work at all tomorrow, so I can do that.”
Dare nods.
“Ten a.m., then.”
“Okay.”
The air is charged with a different emotion now. I’m not used to feeling insecure. It’s not that I think I’m a beauty queen, but I realized long ago that I have what men want, and I’ve used that power to my advantage. But with Dare, it’s different. Sometimes I think this attraction is mutual, but other times, like right now, it feels one-sided.
“I’m going to close up once these last two clients are gone. Go home and get some sleep. You’ve had a long day.”
I am feeling pretty beat and I should get home to check in with Jess, so I don’t argue. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Dare looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, so I don’t wait around for a response.
I notice the mailbox hanging open, the tin flap rattling in the wind, when I pull into the driveway. I grab the mail out and tuck it under my arm as I walk inside. Jess is sprawled out on the couch in his sweatpants and a dingy wife beater tank reading The Outsiders.
“Hey,” he says, not looking up from his book.
“How was school?” I toss the mail down onto the kitchen table before taking off my jacket.
He lifts a brow before meeting my eyes. “How was school? What is this, Leave it to Beaver?”
I roll my eyes. “I’m just making sure you’re staying out of trouble. Did you go to detention?”
“I am, and I did,” he says, going back to his book. “Don’t trip.”
Something on the table catches my eye, and I snatch it up, seeing the words Santa Rita County Jail on the front. I flip it over, confirming my fear.
“Jess?” I ask, holding it up between my thumb and index finger. “Why?”
Jesse looks equal parts guilty and defensive. We agreed not to tell Mom where we were going, and we agreed on no contact, at least for now. She needs to know it’s different this time. Plus, I didn’t want to give her the chance to manipulate us into believing her bullshit or feeling sorry for her. Again.
“She has no one,” he says, and my heart fucking cracks wide open because his is still so pure and naïve, even after everything we’ve been through.
“Jess, we agreed…” I try to keep the anger out of my voice. I can’t fault a kid for wanting to talk to his mom.
“I know. I know.” He sits up, running both hands through his disheveled hair. “She seemed…almost normal. And we’re family. I didn’t want to turn my back on her when she’s finally making progress.”
“I get that, but this is what she does. It won’t last. It never does.”
“Probably.” He shrugs. “But I didn’t see any harm in sending her a postcard.”
“Have you been talking to her this whole time?”
“No. She tries to call my phone collect every single day. I ignored it for the first week. Tried to accept it by the second week, just to tell her to fuck off, but it wouldn’t let me. Something about our carrier not allowing it. Fuck if I know. When she was supposed to say her name, the last call said, ‘Please, Jesse. I’m going crazy in here.’”
I shake my head, furious that Crystal would do this to him, but not the least bit surprised. I’m also pissed that she knows where we are. She’s not the brightest crayon in the box, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who we’re staying with in River’s Edge.