by Nikki Ash
“It’s not the same,” she murmurs softly, and my heart breaks at her letdown, defeated tone, which is a thousand times worse than the pissed off tone.
“I know,” I tell her, turning off the car. I get out and open her door while she unclicks her seatbelt and jumps down out of my new SUV. After having the Cayenne for eight years, it finally was ready for retirement, so I traded it in and got the same model, only newer. My brothers laughed at me, saying I’m so predictable. It’s not my fault, though. I’m not good with change. I know the SUV is good and reliable, so why chance buying something else? I’ll be forty years old in less than six months. It’s a little too late to take a walk on the wild side now.
We walk into the shop, and since it’s only nine in the morning, they’re not open yet. I haven’t been here in quite a few months, but it still looks the same as it has since they opened the place over fifteen years ago. Graffitied walls, black leather comfy couches, a pool table on one side, and a front counter on the other. In the middle is the hallway that leads to each of the six rooms. When Jax and Jase first opened this place, it was just them. Now, every room is filled with a tattooist.
Forbidden Ink is one of the most well-known places to get tattooed. It probably has something to do with their best friends being retired NFL players, and Jase’s wife, Celeste, being an international supermodel, who owns her own clothing line. But the truth is, even with all of that publicity, a business will only flourish if it provides quality service and product, and my brothers, along with their employees, are the best of the best when it comes to tattooing. People drive from all over just to get inked by them. Hell, I have several tattoos, and I would never let anyone but them ink me.
“Who are you?” Kinsley asks, grabbing my attention. When I look to see who she’s talking to, I spot a guy standing at the front counter, who I’ve never seen before. He must be the new guy Jax mentioned he hired. The first thing I notice is his silver barbell brow ring. Moving my eyes downward, they land on his neatly trimmed mustache and thick, bristly beard. It’s well-groomed, but still long enough that if he were to go down on me, he would leave rug burn behind on the inside of my thighs.
With a grey beanie on his head, I can’t see the color of his hair, but I imagine it’s the same golden copper color of his facial hair. He’s wearing a white T-shirt that stretches across his chest, showing off all of his ink that covers his arms. I spot the Forbidden Ink signature logo in the corner. When I take a closer look, I notice he has sea-foam green eyes, and under all that facial hair is a baby face. He can’t be any older than mid-twenties. And with that thought, my cheeks heat up, remembering I was just imagining his face between my legs. Which is kind of crazy in itself because I can’t even remember the last time I thought about a man in that way, let alone him doing those types of things to me.
Without meaning to, my eyes lock with his, and I know without looking in a mirror, my entire face and neck is now flushed pink—thanks to my pale complexion I was just talking about. He smirks knowingly, and if it’s even possible, I’m positive my flesh is now scorching hot. Jesus, he’s fucking gorgeous…and young, I tell myself. Too damn young.
“I’m Lachlan,” he says with a tinge of an accent that sounds like it might be Irish. He smiles warmly at my daughter before he looks back over at me—his smile turning from warm to arrogant. He totally knows I was checking him out. “We’re not open yet,” he tells me, “but I would be more than happy to help you in any way I can.” His gaze trails down my body, and even dressed in a modest pair of dress pants, a loose blouse, and professional pumps, I feel completely exposed. I stare at him for a long second, waiting for the look of disgust to come now that he’s gotten a closer look at me. And then I mentally slap myself for thinking like that.
Every time I think the wounds Rick caused have finally healed, these self-conscious, self-deprecating thoughts resurface. I should push them away, bury them right next to Rick, six feet under. I know I should. I’ve spent the last five years finding myself. Finding my strength, my voice, my sass—as my brothers call it. But one look from a good-looking guy and I shrink back into my old self. Worried I won’t be enough. Scared he’s not going to like what he sees. That he’ll take a good look at me and be disappointed or let down or repulsed.
So, even though it makes me sick to feel like this—weak and insecure—I wait with bated breath for him to realize he’s checking out an overweight, almost forty, single mom. But it doesn’t happen. Instead, he cocks his head to the side and licks his lips like he wants to make me his next meal. His muscular arms flex slightly as he crosses them over his chest, and the side of his mouth pulls into a cocky grin. “Please tell me you’re inked under all those clothes and my day will be made,” he says.
My body ignites at his words, making me feel things I haven’t allowed myself to feel in years. I haven’t wanted anyone to see what’s under my clothes since Rick, but with the way he’s looking at me, and talking to me, my hormones are taking over and telling me to strip down right here and show him what he wants to see.
“My mommy has lots of tattoos,” Kinsley says, reminding me there’s a five year old in the room who’s listening to every word he’s saying.
And with that realization, I’m able to regain my voice. “What’s underneath my clothes in none of your business,” I state matter-of-factly, cringing on the inside because if he did, in fact, actually see what’s under my clothes, he’d probably stop looking at me like he wants to devour me. “I’m here to see Jax,” I say, grabbing Kinsley’s hand and pulling her behind me down the hallway.
“Whoa! Wait!” he yells after me. “We’re really not open yet, and Jax is appointment-only.” I see him in my peripheral vision rushing to catch up to me, but I don’t stop. I don’t have time for this. I don’t have time to play whatever games he’s trying to play.
“I don’t need an appointment.”
“We have a no kids in the back rule,” he informs me, chasing after me. When we get to the back office, I swing the door open to find Willow in Jax’s lap, and the two of them making out like horny teenagers. Jesus! It’s not even noon yet.
Kinsley giggles, and I quickly shut the door.
“I’m going to have to ask you to come back up to the front,” Lachlan says with a scowl. I roll my eyes—a childish habit I’ve been unable to break over the years—as the office door opens and out walks Jax and Willow. Both dressed similarly in a black Forbidden Ink shirt and jeans—only Willow’s shirt is lower, showing off her tattooed cleavage, and her jeans are a lot tighter.
“Uncle Jax,” Kinsley yells, throwing herself into her uncle’s arms, while a fresh set of tears fill her eyes. While I know my daughter is genuinely upset over missing her field trip, I’m also way too aware at how well she’s learned to play her aunt and uncle over the years.
Jax, of course, buys her tears and picks her up. “What’s the matter, K?” he asks, even though he already knows. I explained it all to him on my way here when I asked if they could please watch Kinsley for a couple hours. Speaking of which…I pull my phone out of my pocket to check the time. Shit! I am so late.
“Mommy made me late, and I missed going to the science museum,” she cries, like it’s literally the end of the world. Willow’s brows furrow in sympathy as she rubs Kinsley’s back. My heart swells as I watch my brother and his girlfriend love on my daughter. One of my biggest fears was that she wouldn’t grow up in a loving household, so it makes my world feel complete to know my daughter is surrounded by so many people who love her and would do anything to make sure she’s taken care of and happy. Even if it means buying into her dramatics.
“I’m sorry, K,” Jax says. “I know it’s not the same, but Willow and I are looking forward to hanging out with you today.”
“It’s not the same,” my way too honest daughter says with a pout, causing Willow and Lachlan to laugh under their breath.
And then Lachlan glances my way. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were Jax’s sister
.” He shrugs unapologetically, then extends his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Quinn.”
“No worries,” I tell him, quickly shaking his hand, while trying like hell not to stare at his sexy mouth. “Kinsley, I’ll be back in a couple hours,” I tell my daughter, who’s now refusing to acknowledge me. Apparently, we’ve left Upset Avenue and have ventured back onto Pissed Off Avenue. At least she’s no longer yelling at me and saying I’m the bane of her existence.
“I love you,” I tell her, giving her a kiss on her cheek. As I walk away, I try not to look back. For one, my heart is breaking over how upset my daughter is, and from the fact I caused it. And two, I have a strange feeling Lachlan is staring at my ass. I make it halfway down the hallway before I give in and steal a glance back over my shoulder. And sure enough, my daughter is back to crying on her uncle’s shoulder, and Lachlan is, in fact, staring at my ass.
Five
Lachlan
Holy mother of MILFs. As I watch Quinn breeze by me out the door, with her shiny black hair and matching onyx eyes, I only have two questions: Who the hell is that woman? And how do I make her mine? When Jax and Jase mentioned they had a younger sister, my brain created one of those filters—you know, the ones that take the animal body and place a human head on it, and everyone posts it on their social media like it’s not at all fucking creepy. Only in my filter, it took Jax’s body, and put Jase’s head on it. Okay, maybe I’m not making much sense right now. But bear with me. My world has just been rocked by a sassy woman in high heels.
My point, I’m doing a piss-poor job at making, is I never imagined the Crawford brothers’ sister would be so goddamn beautiful. In my twenty-seven years of existence, I’ve never been so turned on and thrown off by a woman. She’s a walking fucking contradiction. Even in that uppity professional attire she was wearing, I could still make out the perfect swells of her tits and those luscious fucking curves. And Jesus, those thick hips…and that ass. I could imagine taking her from behind and leaving fingerprint marks from gripping her flesh. And what I’d do to that ass…spank it…fuck it…both at the same time.
When she pursed those fuckable lips in a shitty attempt at glaring at me, the first thought that came to my mind was how I wanted to bite them and then lick them. I wanted to kiss her fleshy lips until they were red and puffy. Which led me to my second thought. The visual of her on her knees, with me watching as she wraps those same plump lips around my dick. I wonder if she’s ever been with a man who has a Prince Albert piercing. I sure as hell would love to show her the benefits of fucking a guy with one.
And that visual has me imagining what she looks like naked…again. Although her clothes covered most of her skin, I still managed to catch a glimpse of a tattoo peeking out along her collarbone, and fuck if it didn’t have me wanting to beg her to strip down so I could see all the other tattoos she has inked on her body. And for a brief second, the way she looked at me looking at her, I think she might’ve agreed.
Her brothers are covered in tats, so if I had to guess, I would say she probably has quite a few. And as a man who spends his days inking people, I’m now wondering who Quinn has let ink her. Was it just her brothers and Willow? Or has she let Evan and Gage permanently mark her? And that thought has me feeling a ridiculous amount of unjustifiable jealousy toward them—that they were allowed to touch her when I haven’t yet. Holy shit! What’s wrong with me? I’m standing in the hallway of my workplace working myself up over a woman I literally met less than ten minutes ago. Pissed off at two guys I work with because they might’ve inked her.
When I hear a throat clear, I snap out of my craziness. I look over and see Willow and Jax both staring at me. Willow is smiling, and Jax is glaring. “I’m going to go get my station ready,” I mumble, needing to get the fuck away from the both of them, and also needing to adjust the semi in my pants I’m now sporting.
The next couple hours fly by, with only a minimal amount of fantasizing about Quinn. I tattoo some dates on a retired Navy officer and a butterfly on a girl who is getting a tattoo for her eighteenth birthday. Because I’m new to this shop and haven’t been here long enough to establish a clientele yet like the others, I generally get the walk-ins and piercings.
At ten thirty, Willow knocks on my door. When I turn in my chair, my eyes go to the cute little girl peeking out from behind Willow’s leg. “Hey, Lach,” Willow says, “my client got here early, and Quinn is running late. Would it be okay if Kinsley hangs out in here with you for a little while? Everyone else has someone in their room.”
“Sure,” I tell her. Even though I’m an only child, I come from a huge family with tons of cousins who have all had no problem adding to the world’s population. I love spending time with my nieces and nephews. I view it as practice for one day when I meet the woman I’ll want to spend my life with and we start a family.
“Thanks,” she says to me. Then to Kinsley, she says, “I’ll be right next door. If you need anything, just ask Lachlan and he’ll get it for you. Okay?” Kinsley nods once then enters my room. I’ve seen her laughing and talking to everyone else, so I’m assuming she’s only shy around me because she doesn’t know me.
“You having fun with your aunt and uncle?” I ask in an attempt to break the ice. Kinsley climbs up into my tattoo chair and shrugs, and that’s when I remember she’s here because her mom was late to drop her off for her field trip. I think she said it was the science museum. “Sucks you missed your field trip.”
“That’s a swear word,” she says. “I’ll give you a warning, but next time I get a dollar.” She’s dead serious, not even a hint of a smile on her face. It takes me a second to put together what she said, but once I do, I bark out a laugh.
“All right... So, what’s your favorite part of the science museum?”
This gets me a small smile. “All of it,” she says softly. “The bodies and dinosaurs and space and music and…and…water and animals and all of it.” Her smile grows with each word she speaks, and by the time she stops to take a breather, her face is lit up like a Christmas tree, reminding me of the way her mother’s skin flushed pink in embarrassment earlier. They don’t have the same hair or eye color, but both of their skin is that shade you see on dolls, almost a translucent porcelain, and their smiles are identical, just a tiny bit crooked with a hint of mischief.
“I’m sorry you missed it,” I tell her. We’re both quiet for a long beat, and I’m not sure what to do with her. Being in a tattoo shop kind of limits what I can do to entertain a small child.
I glance around my room, trying to find something that might interest her. When I spot my markers, an idea forms. “Want me to give you a tattoo?” I flash her a playful grin, holding up my markers so she knows I don’t mean a real one. And just like her damn mother, her eyes roll to the top of her head.
“My mom told me never to get a tattoo by anyone except my uncles and Aunt Willow because they know what they’re doing.” She shakes her head to emphasize her point. “Just because you can pick up a pen, doesn’t mean you can draw.”
“What?” I ask. I mean I heard her, but how old is this little girl? Twenty? “I work at the same shop as your uncles and Aunt Willow,” I say, unsure why I’m trying to convince this mini version of Quinn that I’m not just another guy with a pen in his hand.
“Yeah… but how do I know you can draw? They’re my family, and I can’t really draw that great, and my mom can’t draw at all.” Her eyes go wide, and I laugh.
“Check these out,” I say, grabbing my portfolio and placing it in her lap. She spends the next few minutes flipping through the pages before she finally reaches the end and closes the book.
“So?” I prompt.
“I guess you’re good.” She eyes me with cautious eyes…just like her fucking mother.
“You guess I’m good?” I scoff. “Listen here Mini-Q, I’m damn good.”
“What’s a Mini-Q? Wait! You owe me a dollar.” She puts her hand out, and it takes me a second before I catch on
that I just said the word damn. Pulling out my wallet, I flip through my bills until I find a dollar, then hand it to her. I can’t even imagine how much she’s made over the years from her uncles and Willow. Those three curse like drunken sailors.
“Where does the money go?” I question. “Into a swear jar or something?” My cousin Milstead uses one with her kids because her husband has a horrible habit of cursing in front of the kids, and when it gets filled to the top, they use the money to do something fun.
“Nope, right into my pocket,” she says, folding the bill and shoving it into her pocket as she answers me. “We tried a jar once, but I caught Uncle Jax ‘borrowing’ from it.” I laugh at the way she actually uses air quotes when she says the word borrowing. She’s obviously been hanging out with too many adults.
“So what happens when you curse?”
“I don’t,” she says, deadpan.
“What if you did?” I press.
She thinks about this for a moment. “I guess whoever catches me gets to keep the money.”
“Nice. So am I good enough to tattoo you or not?”
“I suppose so.” She shrugs a shoulder.
“Great!” I smile at the thought at having won her over. Hopefully it will be just as easy to win her mother over. “So, what do you want? A butterfly? A pretty heart? How about a unicorn?”
Her nose scrunches up in disgust, and she gags. “Mommy says a unicorn dies every time one is tattooed above a woman’s ass.”
I laugh hard, loving that Quinn would say something like that. I seriously need to get to know this woman. Then it hits me she just cursed. “Hey Mini-Q, you owe me a dollar.”
“I wasn’t cursing,” she says, her tiny brows furrowed. “I was telling you what Mommy says.”