by Emery Rose
“Sometimes it is. Sometimes it ain’t.”
I chuckled. “Thanks for clearing that up.”
“Never claimed to be an expert. Just trying to look out for you, that’s all. The road to recovery ain’t paved in gold. It’s hard work. And if the people in your life aren’t supportive, that just makes it a hell of a lot harder.”
“She’s supportive,” I said, jumping to her defense. “I put her through a lot. It’s hard for her.”
He clapped me on the shoulder. “Take care of yourself first. Keep doing the work and don’t let your ship get tossed around by every storm.”
“That was deep. Did you read that in a fortune cookie?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “You know what I’m saying, smartass.”
“Connor. Hang on,” Killian called after me as I was leaving the gym.
I released my hold on the front door and turned to him, raising my brows as he came to stand in front of me.
He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes not meeting mine. “I should have been more supportive. About buying the shop. It’s a good idea.”
It looked like it had pained him to say those words. “Did Eden put you up to this?”
He shrugged. “She made me see the error of my ways. But I’m serious. I’m proud of you. You’re doing good.”
I’d waited a long time to hear those words, and now I wasn’t sure how to handle his praise. I rubbed my hand over my chest. “Thanks.”
He nodded and fixated on a spot over my shoulder. We sucked at this warm and fuzzy shit and now neither of us knew what to say or do next.
“Do me a favor?” I asked.
Killian’s eyes narrowed. He crossed his arms over his chest, widening his stance. I smothered a laugh. Good old Killian. Always on the defensive.
“Cash that check I gave you.”
He rolled his shoulders and relaxed his stance. “I don’t need the money. Put it into your business.”
“If you don’t need it for yourself, put it into your program. It’s not just about the money. It’s about taking responsibility for my actions.” The check I’d given him covered the amount he paid for my rehab and the cash I’d stolen from him over the years to fund my addiction. To say that I wasn’t proud of stooping so low was the understatement of the century, and I needed him to understand that. All the rest of it… what had happened last year, I couldn’t do a damned thing about it. But this was something I could make good on. “It’s important to me.”
Killian studied my face for a few seconds before he nodded. “Okay.”
I let out a breath of relief. One more item to tick off the long list of amends I needed to make. “Thanks.”
His phone buzzed, and he checked the screen. “I’m supposed to invite you to dinner tomorrow night. You free?”
It sounded like no big deal, and maybe it should have been perfectly normal for him to invite me to his home for dinner. But it was a first. I knew this was Eden’s idea. But Killian was going along with it. That gave me hope. “Yeah. But I’ll be late. The shop closes at nine. Is that okay?”
“I don’t get home until then so yeah, it works.”
I exited the gym, feeling lighter and better-equipped to handle all the shit going on in my life. Killian was taking tentative steps to be supportive, and that meant more to me than I could ever put into words.
I parked my bike in Killian’s underground garage and retrieved the box of chocolate truffles, Eden’s favorite, from the bungee net. Luckily, the box was still intact. Killian raised his brows. “You brought Eden chocolates?”
“You’re not married yet. I’ve still got a shot with her.”
“In your dreams.”
“She’s always in my dreams,” I said, goading him.
He scowled at me. “She’d better not be.”
I chuckled. Eden was great, but I loved her like a sister. A sister. I pushed thoughts of Keira Shaughnessy out of my head as I followed Killian into the elevator. “You take an elevator to the third floor? You’re getting lazy in your old age,” I joked. He spent twelve hours a day in his gym, teaching classes and training amateur fighters. Lazy wasn’t a word anyone would ever use for Killian.
He gestured with his hand. “You’re welcome to take the stairs.”
“I’m good,” I said as the doors closed. The elevator stopped at the lobby and the doors opened to the girl who really did visit me in my dreams, an enormous bouquet of snapdragons in her hands.
“Fuck,” Killian muttered.
“Nice to see you, too,” Ava said. “Thanks for the welcome.”
“I didn’t know you were invited,” Killian said. By the look on his face, he wasn’t happy about it either. Killian endeavored to keep me and Ava separated. Our screwed-up relationship fucked with his head, as he’d told me on numerous occasions.
“Eden’s done it again,” Ava said, turning her back to me and Killian.
“Looks that way,” I said, silently thanking Eden for meddling. Killian shot me a look. I shrugged. Not my fault, dude. Take it up with your wife-to-be.
“Were you in on this?” Ava asked the elevator door.
“Not this time.”
I looked down at the top of Ava’s blonde head. I had nothing against the lavender hair. It was cool. But now she looked more like the Ava I used to know. When I saw her on Sunday, I couldn’t help but wonder if it was symbolic. The cherry-red lips and blonde hair. She knew I’d always had a thing for those red lips. They looked so ripe and kissable. Tempting as a poison apple.
“I’m only going along with this for Eden,” Ava told me in a low voice as we walked into the loft.
Two could play this game. “I’m only here for the lasagna,” I said as the scent wafted my way.
My eyes raked over Ava, taking in the curves of her body that she’d hidden underneath a baggy sweater on Sunday. She untied the belt of her long black cardigan, revealing a silky black strappy tank top and painted-on jeans. Were they leather? Jesus. She looked like she was going clubbing. My eyes traveled down her legs to ankle boots with a heel. Then back up to those fuckable red lips and white-blonde hair framing her gorgeous face. It was almost too much to handle.
“You look hot,” I whispered. “Not that I noticed.”
“So do you,” she whispered back. “Not that I looked.”
I winked at her. “Too bad my body’s off-limits to you.”
“Right back at you.”
She tossed her hair over her shoulder and sashayed into the kitchen. I watched her perfect, tight ass and the sway of her hips, knowing she was putting on a show for me as I followed behind.
Eden thanked us for the chocolates and flowers, pulled us into hugs, and shot down our offer to help. Dinner was ready. The table was set and all we had to do was take our seats.
I was seated next to Ava and across from Eden with a view of the midtown Manhattan skyline from the wall of windows across the expanse of their open-plan living/dining area. The loft was cool with soaring ceilings, exposed brick walls, and distressed hardwood floors covered in faded oriental rugs. A plush sectional and overstuffed chairs were grouped around a vintage railroad cart coffee table. Eden’s abstract paintings hung on the walls and I studied them from afar. She used a lot of drabs and blues with bursts of color to break up the darkness.
“Don’t judge my paintings too harshly,” she said when she caught me studying them. “Killian insisted on hanging them. If it had been up to me, they’d be living in the closet.”
“Tell her they’re good,” he prompted. I didn’t need prompting.
“They’re awesome. You should set up your own show in a gallery.”
“That’s what I told her,” Ava said, flashing me a smile like we were on the same team for a change. She returned her attention to Eden. “I’ll promote it for you.”
“Do it,” I told Eden. “You can rent the space. You’d sell enough to cover the cost and end up with a profit.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
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“It is easy.” I had no doubt that people would buy her paintings. Painting with oils on canvases had never been my chosen art form, but I could tell from across the room that her abstracts were layered and textured. They had life and form and movement. No two people would see the same thing when they looked at them which was the beauty of good art. It was open to interpretation. It demanded that you sit up and take notice. “What’s the worst that could happen?” I asked, spearing a bite of salad.
“Everyone will hate them. They’ll call me out for being an amateur. And nobody will buy them.”
“Not happening,” Killian said. “Your art is amazing.”
“You’re biased.”
“Am I biased?” Killian asked me and Ava.
Ava and I said no in unison, once again in agreement over something. “Do it,” I said. “Life’s too short to worry about other people’s opinions. If someone doesn’t like it, fuck them.”
“Connor’s motto,” Ava said. “He never worries what anyone thinks.”
I side-eyed her. “I care about some people’s opinions.”
“I meant it as a compliment.”
“In that case, thank you.”
She gave me a brilliant smile. “You’re welcome.”
I took a bite of my lasagna and caught Eden’s eye. She grinned. “I’ve just come up with the best plan.” Killian groaned, and she smacked his arm. “Hey. I’m full of great ideas. Look how great this dinner is turning out. It’s already a success.”
My left hand wandered over to Ava’s thigh. She didn’t swat it away. Success.
“The night is young,” Ava muttered.
I gave her thigh a gentle squeeze, testing it out, and once again she didn’t deny me. Ava and Eden took over the conversation, chatting about bridesmaid dresses, color schemes, flowers, and all things wedding-related while Killian and I powered through our dinner. It sounded as if Ava was not only the maid of honor, but she’d assigned herself as the wedding planner. I wasn’t sure I’d even get an invitation to the wedding, let alone get asked to be the best man.
“We’ll put together a spreadsheet tomorrow,” Ava said, warming up to her topic. God help Eden. When Ava took over a project, you could be certain she’d go over the top and throw herself into it one hundred percent.
My hand ventured farther, sliding along her inner thigh. I heard her suck in her breath as my fingers found her sweet spot and rubbed against her clit. Her lips parted, and her breathing shallowed so I applied more pressure. She bucked against my hand.
“Ava?” Eden prompted. I felt like she’d been talking for a while but we’d both missed whatever she had said.
“Hmm?” Ava lifted her glass of wine to her lips and took a sip. “Great wine. Great food… everything is…”
My dick strained against my jeans as I rubbed between her thighs. Oh God. This was the sweetest form of torture. I was so turned on I could barely see straight.
“Great,” Ava finished, her voice breathy.
Eden was talking. Ava was nodding in agreement. Maybe she was even answering. Who the hell knew?
Ava lifted her wineglass again and I could tell she was close by the way her legs trembled. I stroked her, my finger pressing against her clit through the leather. Her body spasmed and her glass tipped. Red wine splashed down the front of my shirt.
She set her glass on the table and eyed my blue button-down shirt. “How did that happen?”
I smirked. “No clue, butterfingers.”
Eden jumped up from the table and grabbed paper towels from the kitchen. Killian retreated to his bedroom and came back with a clean T-shirt. I blotted the wine with paper towels before I stood, my shirt stuck to my skin. “I’ll help you clean up,” Ava said, nudging my arm. It sounded like a promise, one I was all too willing to go along with.
When Ava and I got into the guest bathroom, she closed the door behind her, forcing us into a confined space that was too small for both of us. “I can’t believe I just let you do that,” she said, her voice low. “We’re supposed to be friends… not…”
I gave her a wicked grin as I adjusted myself in my jeans. Christ, I was so hard. Her body brushed against me as she tried to get past and I sucked in my breath. “Maybe you should give me a minute on my own.”
Her gaze lowered. “Are you going to jerk off in their bathroom?”
“Wanna watch? Or do you want me to finish what I started?”
“Yes. No. Absolutely not,” she said, pressing her lips together.
She turned her back to me, ran a washcloth under the water and squirted hand soap on it. She was watching me in the mirror above the sink as I unbuttoned my shirt, waiting for the big reveal, no doubt. I could have stepped aside to give us more space, but I stayed where I was, right behind Ava. I peeled off my wine-stained shirt and tossed it on the tiled floor. She turned around to face me, her eyes studying the dragon on my chest. For a few long moments, she stared silently before her eyes lifted to mine. “It’s so beautiful,” she said, her voice hushed.
I gave her a little smile. “To hide the ugly.”
She lowered her eyes and ran the washcloth over my chest, her movements jerky. I could see that she was struggling for composure, taking deep breaths to calm herself. Her face always gave her away. She was on the brink of tears. I’d never been able to handle her tears and had always wanted to kiss them away, make things better for her. Ironic that I’d made her cry more than anyone ever had.
I took the washcloth out of her hand and finished the job myself then rinsed the washcloth and wrung it out. I pulled on Killian’s T-shirt and Ava snatched up my stained shirt from the floor. “I’ll wash it for you.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I took the shirt out of her hand. “I can do my own laundry.”
Cupping her chin, I tilted her face up to me. Her gray eyes searched mine, her lips slightly parted. I lowered my head and brushed my lips against hers. Gripping her bottom lip between my teeth, I bit it then sucked on it to take away the sting. Her body leaned into mine, soft and yielding and I wanted to take her right here, right now. Lift her onto the vanity and fuck her until the only word on her lips was my name. But this wasn’t the way I wanted her. I wanted all of Ava.
I released her and walked out of the bathroom, wiping her lipstick off my mouth with the back of my hand before I joined Eden and Killian in the kitchen.
I nudged Eden away from the sink. “I’ll do that.”
“Thanks.”
I rinsed and stacked the plates and silverware in the dishwasher while Killian ground fresh beans and brewed coffee in his sleek Italian machine. No doubt the coffee was for me, the only person at this little party who had to abstain from alcohol. He pressed a mug of coffee into my hands and topped off everyone else’s wine glasses. Sucks to be me. I added milk and drank my Columbian roast to the tune of Macklemore’s “Starting Over.” At some point, Ava joined us, and she and Eden powered through the chocolate truffles.
“So… here’s my idea. We can do an exhibit together,” Eden said, smiling at me like she’d just solved all our problems. “I’ll do it if you do it with me.”
I shook my head. “Not happening.”
“Scared?” she taunted.
“I’m too busy to work on something like that.” Christ, I just bought the shop this morning. I couldn’t even think about an art exhibition.
“You probably already have tons of stuff you can exhibit,” Ava said, popping a chocolate into her mouth.
“I don’t,” I said, watching her lick the chocolate off her fingers. It was so fucking sexy I almost forgot what we were talking about. God, she loved to torture me. “I’m not a painter.”
“Yes, you are. You’re a graffiti artist,” Ava said. “That’s painting. Besides, you’re really fast. You can whip up a piece in a few hours.”
“Exactly,” Eden said. “It takes me days, sometimes weeks, to finish a piece.”
“Because you’re a perfectionist with your art,” Killian said,
not masking the pride in his voice.
“There’s no such thing as a perfectionist when it comes to art,” Eden said.
Eden was confident in every area of her life except for her art. She still didn’t believe that she was good enough, but I understood exactly where she was coming from.
“If you won’t do it, I’m not doing it,” Eden said, crossing her arms.
Killian jerked his chin, indicating that I should follow him. How the fuck had my innocent suggestion come to this? We wandered over to the wall of black steel-framed windows. From the kitchen, I heard Eden and Ava talking, their words drowned out by the music. “I’d owe you one,” Killian said.
I wish I’d never suggested this idea. It was meant for Eden, not for me. I wasn’t lying when I said I was busy. I already had a shitload to deal with. Running the shop. Getting up to speed with the accounting and paperwork. I’d be working long hours and I had no time for this. Not to mention, I had zero desire to ever display anything in a gallery. That wasn’t my scene. Perfect for Eden, a terrible idea for me. “Eden’s art belongs in galleries. Mine doesn’t. I’m a tattoo artist.”
He stared out the window, lost in contemplation. “You’ve always had the same problem Eden does. Thinking your art’s never good enough,” he said. “Seamus was wrong. You need to stop believing the things he said.”
I rolled my shoulders, remembering some of the things he used to say. You call that art? A kindergartener could do better than that. Stop wasting your time doodling and do something useful. Get your head out of the clouds, you fucking pussy.
“Have you?” I asked Killian
“I’m working on it.”
“Still seeing the shrink?”
“Yeah. I’m singlehandedly funding his exotic vacations.”
I chuckled. “That bad, huh?”
“It’s not easy, that’s for damn sure.”
“I know.”
“I know you know. We lived it. But we came out the other side. Stronger. More resilient.”
Killian never talked like this. Was he putting me in that same category? Stronger? More resilient? His shrink sessions must be paying off. Yesterday he said he was proud of me.