by Drew Elyse
That sweet fucking mouth opened again like she might say something, that mandala septum piercing glinting in the light and highlighting the bow of that top lip, and my head cleared of everything else. There was just Jess, and she was mine.
Chapter One
Jess
“What’re you doing here?”
I looked up from my desk to Liam, who’d just come in from the back door. I was surprised he was the first one in. He and his woman, Kate, had really just settled in to being together—a long road since Kate had lost her first love a few years ago. Now they were settling in to happiness along with her six-year-old son, Owen. In the weeks since that’d worked out, he hadn’t been the most inclined to be at Sailor’s Grave much beyond when he needed to, and who could blame him? They may not have been moved in together—yet—but he was sharing her bed nearly all the time. Even though tattooing was his passion—just like it was for all the artists here or they wouldn’t last—that kind of happiness couldn’t be beat.
Not that I would know.
Ah, yes, I thought, there’s the bitterness.
These days, it was always right beneath the surface.
It wasn’t that I wasn’t over the moon for Liam. He was a great guy and was one of my closest friends. He deserved all of the joy he was feeling. It was my own baggage causing problems here.
Baggage I really needed to dump at some point, because continuing to lug it around was bordering on pathetic.
“I work here,” I sassed, trying to deflect from the hint of concern I saw already sparking in Liam’s eyes. I was becoming far too familiar with it.
“Thought it was your day off.”
He thought right.
I shrugged, scrolling through the shop’s website looking for any updates I needed to make. “Yeah, but I had nothing to do. Decided I’d just come in and get some things done here instead.”
That wasn’t even a lie. I had nothing to do—stewing in that bitterness aside, which really wasn’t a good option anyway—and it wasn’t as if I was hourly here and coming in was a no-no. No, from the time Carson, the shop’s now-retired founder, hired me, my position had been salaried. I came when I wanted, left when I felt like it. As long as I kept everything here running smoothly, I had free rein.
Luckily for Carson and now Sketch, I used that rein do everything within my power to make this shop the sensation it should be with the talent we had. This was hardly the first ‘day off’ that I’d been in working toward that mission.
“You could try getting a hobby,” Liam pointed out.
“Got one.”
He snorted. “Your clothing and makeup shit doesn’t count.”
It absolutely did. When you made a lifestyle of wearing vintage and rockabilly clothing, adding to your wardrobe didn’t mean just hitting the mall. My friend Ember and I hunted down pieces like some people went in search for rare stamps or special editions of books. Sure, the internet made it easier all the time, but that was true of anything.
“Do you have a hobby besides work?” I shot back instead, raising my voice to reach him where he was getting his station set for the day.
“Painting.”
I rolled my eyes. He knew that didn’t count. Art was art. Being in the studio in the back where the staff could all paint or sketch or anything else they pleased or drawing out a tattoo were hardly different. Not to mention, I sold a lot of the pieces he painted. So, still work.
“What a diverse and interesting life you lead.”
“Well, there’s also fu—”
Recognizing the tone of his voice, I managed to start chanting my “la, la, la’s” just soon enough to cut that off. I wasn’t a prude. Far from it. I just had no desire to know the details of any of the guys’ sex lives.
We all had to work together here, after all.
Liam’s chuckle was his only response, and I inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. I knew where that line of questioning about being in today had been headed.
Over the last several months, I hadn’t always been particularly good about keeping my moods under wraps. Liam, even in the midst of his issues with Kate, had been like a dog with a bone about it.
I hadn’t spilled. At first because it sounded ridiculous to say I was being shitty because I wanted a guy who wouldn’t make a move. Now, I really didn’t feel like talking about the fact that he’d ghosted on me after we’d had one night together two weeks ago.
No, that shame was palpable enough when only I—and fucking Jackson—knew about it.
Liam wouldn’t judge, he wasn’t that type of guy, but that didn’t mean I felt like reliving it.
I did that enough in my own head.
Shutting down those thoughts, I focused back in on my task. Danny, Clara, Nate, and Parker had all made it in, as well as a few of their first clients for the day. Meanwhile, while everyone else’s days were just getting started, I had already made the necessary updates to the shop website, placed a supply order, and sorted through all the artists’ official emails since a couple of them weren’t great at responding to things without being reminded. I was also out of things to do since it wasn’t like I sat around accomplishing nothing every other day I worked. Maybe Liam wasn’t entirely off base with that hobby comment.
Still, I messed around at the shop, finding any little task that was remotely worth my time like leaving for the day was akin to treason and I was going to be executed for it.
“What’s shakin’, gorgeous?”
I wouldn’t usually even bother looking up, since it just played into Danny’s bullshit, but I had nothing better to do. Heavily tattooed—like everyone around here—with a single piercing through his left eyebrow and a bulk to him that might make people mistake him for a guy that couldn’t take them down in a second, Danny was an all-around good-natured guy. He was also a flirt, if only because he thought it was fun to annoy me. We’d been playing this game since he’d gotten hired on.
If I was being honest, I might have thought about it if I weren’t adamant about not mixing business with pleasure. The longer he’d been around, the more I realized that Danny would actually be fantastic boyfriend material for the right woman. All his bullshit aside, he was loyal down to his bones. He wasn’t what I typically went for, but he was not hard on the eyes.
I’d never tell him all that, though. The shop couldn’t handle how big that’d make his head.
“Working,” I shot back. “You should try it sometime.”
“Looks like you’re sitting around up here doing nothin’. I could keep you entertained. There are locks on a few doors around here.”
I rolled my eyes, lobbing a peanut butter M&M from the dish to my side at him. The slick fucker veered just enough to catch the damn thing in his mouth, smirking as he chewed it.
“Was that a test? ‘Cuz I’m good with my mouth, too.”
“One of these days I’m going to tell your mother what a pig you are,” I threatened.
“Good luck with that. She thinks the sun shines out her baby boy’s ass.”
He wasn’t wrong. Danny’s mom wasn’t a stranger around here, and she absolutely doted on her only child. You’d think he was hanging his art in the Louvre by the way she gushed over it. Not that I could blame her, Danny was a brilliant artist.
“She loves me, she’ll listen.” For all of a minute before she joined in on trying to get me out on a date with him, as she always did.
“Keep tellin’ yourself that. You can add it in after whatever mantra you’ve got going to keep you on this dry spell.”
Truly, Danny was a good guy and so we’d gotten tight over the years. Part of that was me feeling cool to share, even despite this game he liked to play, that it had been a while since I’d gotten some—at least, until recently.
“Actually, I’m all topped up. And he was good, so I will be for a hot bit.”
Two truths and a lie wasn’t just a drunk party game, it seemed.
He’d absolutely been good. So good, I was aching for
more even through being pissed as hell he’d pulled that bullshit move of just disappearing after he left the next morning.
“Respect.” He nodded, then dropped the flirty act to level me with the real Danny. “No bullshit, though, is it something promising?”
I’d certainly thought it was, which just went to show what I know.
“It’s not going anywhere.”
“Well, that’s shit.” He was not wrong there. “You’re fucking awesome and you deserve someone that knows that.”
Until he said it, I hadn’t realized how bad I needed to hear it. It’d been a long time since I’d let someone else’s opinion of me matter the way I’d somehow mistakenly let Jackson’s. I thought that was a habit I’d shaken ages ago.
“Thanks.”
“Anytime, babe.”
I knew he meant that without question. Despite not opening up about this particular situation, there was no doubt in my mind that everyone in this shop was there for me any time I needed it. Sailor’s Grave wasn’t just a place you worked, not for any of us. We were a family.
After the last couple weeks, I needed that reminder.
While Danny went to greet his next customer as they came in, I wondered if that wasn’t the real reason why I’d come in today.
I managed to find ways to dick around at the shop for most of the day, then kept at avoiding home by going out to dinner with Liam, Kate, and Owen. It had taken a bit for Owen and me to get tight, but now that Liam was available to him all the time and not pulling all his attention, the little guy and I were there. That he had wanted to sit by me instead of Liam was evidence enough of that, much to Liam’s chagrin.
Kids loved me, what could I say?
As much as I feared a meal with the happy couple would only make things worse, I was actually feeling a lot better as I drove home. Sure, I was jealous. I wouldn’t deny that. I’d even told Liam as much since they’d settled in together. But more than that, I was glad a genuinely good guy like Liam and two people that had already lost so much—even if Owen didn’t fully understand the weight of it all—had found that together. Maybe I was tapping into my eternal optimist, but they gave me hope.
Hope that grew shaky as I walked past the apartment door I hadn’t seen activity from in two weeks. His car hadn’t been around, either. I didn’t even know how he managed that one. I mean, come on. Did he move? Was it because we hooked up or was he already planning it? As far as I knew, the building owner only did year leases, and he definitely had not been here that long.
This needed to stop.
First it was days of thinking he was just busy or playing it cool. Now, whatever this was. I wasn’t that girl. Never had been, certainly didn’t want to be now. I’d been screwed well, then screwed over. There were worse things. At least I got the good stuff first.
Time to pull up my big girl panties and move on.
On that thought, I unlocked my door and snapped it shut behind me.
Chapter Two
Jess
“Fuck,” he groaned, and I swear I felt the sound vibrate up his cock and right through me. “I imagined this a million ways, and the reality is still fucking better.”
Some part of my mind still capable of thought was glad he felt that, too. None of the fantasies he’d starred in since we met could hold a candle to what he was giving me.
“Come. Let loose, goddess. I need to see it again.”
He didn’t just demand it with words, he plunged into me harder, slamming me back against the wall and yanking me down with his hands on my hips so he got as deep as possible on each thrust. Even if I hadn’t wanted to let go yet just to please him, I wouldn’t have been able to help it.
“Oh, God.” I was right there, tipping over that edge again. I grasped at his back, unable to stop from digging my nails in. His thrusts didn’t even stutter. If anything, he may have gone even harder in response.
“That’s it, Jess.” His voice, that smooth sound I’d loved from the start, was rougher now. Abrasive with his fraying control. Somehow, I liked that even more.
“Jackson,” I cried out, plummeting headlong into an orgasm that was going to wreck me. It was too big, too consuming, too…
I woke on a gasp. My whole body was buzzing, charged, and ready to explode.
And I was pissed.
Really? I couldn’t have just made it one more second? I couldn’t have just let the dream take me there?
Though I didn’t want that either. I’d come more times with Jackson than I ever had in a single night. Having that knowledge was bad enough. Reliving it in my sleep and having to credit him with any more of my orgasms was really too much.
But starting my day by being denied by my own body wasn’t exactly peachy, either.
Talk about can’t win for losing.
Already thoroughly done with this day before my alarm even went off, I forced myself out of the cozy mess of my bed with the mismatched bedding I had piled on to curl up in every night.
Cozy mess might be the phrase to best describe my entire decorating style—if you could call what I did a style.
I didn’t plan out what my apartment should look like. I didn’t have a theme that tied the spaces together or even characterized each individual room. My method was more to just collect things that I liked. Even the nightstands on either side of the bed didn’t match because I’d found them both at a really cool thrift store in Portland I liked to visit on different trips. The walls of every room were nearly covered with artwork by the Sailor’s Grave staff, or other artists I met at conventions and the like. No two frames on any of them were the same. The plush, royal blue couch I loved usually had a variety of blankets and throw pillows on it in different colors and patterns.
Someone with a modern, minimalist sensibility would probably take one look and turn right around. God forbid if they had any anal retentive tendencies. It wasn’t that I was a slob that had junk everywhere, just that I surrounded myself with whatever struck me. I wanted a home, not a showroom. I’d grown up in a house like that, and it seemed I hadn’t quite shaken off the rebellion.
My home was for me, anyone else be damned.
Flipping on the coffee maker, I dragged my somehow tired and amped-up all at the same time self into the shower. I had to leave for work in just over an hour, and it took me nearly every minute of that to get ready. Jackson could slip into my dreams and spoil the first moments of my day, but I’d be damned if he derailed anything else.
I breathed deep through my nose and couldn’t hold back the groan that built in response. If this elevator took much longer, I was going to break into the unreasonably full takeout bag and have an Indian feast right here. Anyone else that hopped on before I finished gorging myself on samosas, lamb biryani, and Amaravati chicken curry would just have to deal. Tomorrow, I was actually taking the day off, so if my indecisiveness meant I ate so much I slipped into a food coma tonight, I had some time to get over it.
I just needed this damn elevator that seemed to get slower every day to deposit me on my floor so I could eat before my stomach turned on me.
When the creaking sound of the brakes and the all-too-familiar jerking started, I almost cheered, already stepping closer to the doors before they finally slid open. When I did, I very nearly missed running headlong into a cardboard box. Behind it, the man carrying it rocked back a step on a curse.
“Sorry, ma’am,” he said as he moved to the side. “You go on ahead.”
The slight twang that just leaked in on the word “ma’am” perked my ears a bit. It wasn’t that I missed that accent, just that growing up Texas meant it was as familiar as my own hand. It was hard not to notice even after all these years.
I vaguely wondered who he was helping move. He didn’t look familiar at all. I couldn’t say I’d gotten super chummy with everyone on the floor, but I was pretty sure I at least had all the faces down.
When I figured out the answer, I couldn’t help myself from drawing to a stop.
Ja
ckson.
The boxes were being lugged out of his apartment.
At first, I just watched blankly, stepping aside as another guy carried a box down the hall to where it sounded like the Texan was holding the elevator.
Then, I got pissed.
Seriously?
He was actually moving out?
Storming to my own apartment, I deposited the food on the coffee table and didn’t even think twice before turning right back around to march back to the hall. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t even know what my point was. I was running on pure instinct.
The door to his apartment was open to facilitate the move. Already stepping through, I hammered on the open wood to announce myself but didn’t bother waiting for him to come strolling out. The layout of his apartment was the mirror image of mine. With no one in the mostly cleared living room or kitchen, I stormed back toward the bedroom, glancing into the bathroom on the way.
There was only one man left in the unit, currently setting aside a roll of packing tape he’d just been using on what had to be one of the last boxes based on how bare the place was. He took me in for a moment, then his head dropped. I swore he muttered the word “shit” under his breath, but I couldn’t be certain.
“Is Jackson downstairs?” I demanded right off.
A hand came up to scrub at his face, then up over his head. His dark hair was closely cropped and left no sign of the agitation.
“No, he’s not,” he responded. It was short, but no aggression even in the face of my obvious bitchiness.
“What? Is he seriously that afraid of facing me that he couldn’t even come and move out by himself? Which, by the way, is probably the most ridiculously over-the-top, chicken-shit move ever.”
Yes, I was on a roll. Two weeks I’d let this build up—not to mention the baggage of the six months before that—and now it was time to let it all hang out. Unfortunately for this guy, he was friends with a jackass and was stuck getting the brunt of it. If he didn’t want to be my proverbial punching bag, he could call Jackson and get his ass down here.