“Don’t encourage him.”
Once Adrian leaves, we’re alone again, but the moment is gone. Cordell and Matty show up shortly after, and soon the shop is busy as fuck. I hear Logan’s phone ring a couple of times, only to see her reject the call both times with a distressed expression on her face. I assume she silences her phone, because I don’t hear it ring again. I tell myself to mind my own business. She’s not my girl—not my responsibility. This girl is obviously complicated. The last thing I need is to involve myself in someone else’s mess. Dealing with my own shit is a full-time job.
I spend the whole morning on mindless tattoos—butterflies, hearts, matching BFF tattoos, and bullshit like that. One guy came in and got his daughter’s name. I don’t have anything against those kinds of tattoos, but they don’t exactly get my creative juices flowing. My neck is still fucked, made worse by hunching over clients all day, so it’s probably a good thing that I don’t have anything too detailed on the schedule. Logan does her job well, making sure everyone is taken care of and everything stays clean. I try to ignore the way her ass looks in her tight jeans and the way everyone’s eyes seem to follow her every move.
Around lunchtime, Sutton walks through the door toting a plastic bag of something that smells amazing.
“Hungry?” she asks Logan, holding up the bag.
“Starved.”
“I’m stealing the new girl back,” Sutton informs me. Logan looks over at me in question.
“Take your break.”
“Does anyone need anything?” Everyone declines, and then they head toward the back.
“Maybe you do know what you’re doing,” Cord says, twisting back and forth on his stool. “I like having her around.”
“Told you.”
“Doesn’t mean you don’t want her, though.”
Yeah, yeah. It also doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it.
“Find something to do.”
The rest of the day is more of the same. The evening gets even busier, and by the time I have a chance to come up for air, Lo’s already gone home for the day. After lunch, she mentioned that she had to work a full day next door tomorrow, so she won’t be coming in. I tell myself the disappointment that I feel has everything to do with the fact that she’s a big help around here, and nothing to do with how I like seeing her here, in my shop, my space, hanging around my friends. Because that would be bad.
Three days passed without seeing Lo, unless you count seeing her go in and out of Blackbear. The third day was Monday, the only day we’re closed, so I didn’t see her yesterday, either. The guys at the shop have been pouting about her not being here, and I’m not convinced that it’s only because she makes things easier. Lo has an addictive personality. With her big smile and sarcastic sense of humor, everyone gravitates toward her.
I’ve been distracted and moodier than usual. This time of year always gets to me, but this thing with Lo is fucking with my head. I vacillate between fantasizing about fucking her on every surface of my shop and worrying about her. Then, I get pissed at myself for worrying, and in turn, pissed at her for making me worry. Like I said, it’s fucking me up.
I was up all night sketching, trying to relax enough to fall asleep to no avail. Eventually, I said fuck it and decided to come in early, once again. I managed to catch a glimpse of Lo this morning as she arrived for her shift next door. Her hair was up high in that messy ponytail, and she was sporting those tight, black leggings that I love so much, a thin flannel over her work shirt, and a pair of tennis shoes. Doesn’t this chick own a jacket? It’s like forty degrees, and only getting colder.
By the time her shift is over next door, it’s almost four o’clock. She must’ve ditched her work shirt, because now her flannel is buttoned up, showing off milky-white tits. Matty gets to her first, greeting her with a bear hug, lifting her off her feet. She squeals and smacks his shoulders to set her down.
“Miss me?” she teases.
“No one makes coffee like you do.”
“You guys have a Keurig.”
“Still. It tastes different when you bring it to me.”
Jesus Christ. I can’t contain my eye roll at his obvious flirting. Lo shakes her head at his antics before making her way over to my station. The girl in my chair is getting a script tattoo under her breasts, and I swear I see Lo’s eyes flash with…something. She schools her expression before I can decipher it.
“Hey.” She smiles, her eyes everywhere except my client, whose tits are completely out with nothing but tape in the shape of Xs over her nipples. “Need anything?”
You. Naked in the drawing room. On my desk.
“I’m good. I’m almost done here.”
Lo nods. “What about you? Water?” she reluctantly asks the girl under my needle. I forget what she said her name was. Ashley? Allison? She’s a cute girl, but she doesn’t shut up.
“I’ll take a shot.” She laughs, looking uncomfortable. Lo gives her a smile that to some might look polite, but I see the annoyance lurking behind it. I chuckle, turning my attention back to the tattoo. My client rambles on, and I nod and mhm at all the appropriate times, not really hearing anything she’s saying.
As my client is leaving, the door opens, and I look up to see Lo’s little brother. He pops the tail of his skateboard up with his foot and tucks it under his arm as he breaks his neck to check out the girl’s ass as she walks out.
“Hang on,” Lo says, holding a finger up, then runs toward back of the shop.
“Hey, man,” I greet him. He looks at me with his eyebrows pulled together in confusion before placing me.
“Oh shit, you look different without all the…” He trails off, gesturing to his face. Right. It was Halloween when we met.
When Lo comes back, she’s dangling a set of keys in her hand. “Did you go to detention?” she asks, snatching the keys out of his reach when he goes for them.
“Yes,” he says with an eye roll. He reaches for the keys once more, only for her to pull back again.
“Pick me up at eleven. You go buy your equipment, then go straight home until I call.”
“This is stupid. I should’ve just taken the suspension. Do you even know how much this shit costs?”
Lo looks at me from the corner of her eye, and I busy myself with disassembling and sanitizing my machine, pretending not to eavesdrop.
“It’s fine,” she says, her voice barely loud enough to make out over the music coming from the speakers. “This is a good opportunity. Just get your mouth guard, shoes, and singlet now. We’ll worry about the fees and all the other shit later.” She reaches into her bra and pulls out a wad of cash before tucking it into his palm. “Here’s some extra from my shift today.”
Her brother shakes his head, his hand still outstretched as if he doesn’t want to take the money, but Lo lifts an eyebrow, and reluctantly he shoves it down into his jeans pocket. I’ve been in foster care and too many foster families to count, and I’ve never once seen a brother and sister this dynamic. Lo mothers him, which isn’t unheard of for the oldest sibling, but he seems to listen to her as if she’s in charge. There’s a closeness between them that sends a little jolt of jealousy through me. Not jealous of him—I’m not that crazy—but jealous of their relationship. Asher is my brother, but he’s not my blood, and he has his own life now.