“Where the hell did the detention part come from?” Jess asks, losing patience.
“Watch your mouth. That’s the second time you’ve used foul language. Now, this is the only deal you’re going to get. Take it or leave it.” She shrugs.
I can tell Jess is about to say something stupid, so I stand and say, “He’ll take it.” I turn to Coach Standifer. “And thank you,” I say with a little more sincerity in my voice.
He gives me a nod. “Jesse?” Coach prods. “You good with this? It’s a commitment, and I expect you to show up.”
“I’m good with it.”
“All right, then. You’ll do your detention first, and we’ll start the wrestling next week.”
“I’m going to send you home for the rest of the day,” the principal says. “Come back tomorrow with a better attitude.”
Jess gives a reluctant nod and shakes the hand that Coach holds out for him.
“Deal,” I say when Jess doesn’t respond. Fucking teenagers. “Thanks, again.” And then I’m dragging Jess out of the office by his sleeve.
“What is your problem?” I whisper-yell once we’re in the hall.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Should I have thanked them for punishing me for defending myself?”
“I know.” I pause in the hall and give a heavy sigh. “I know. It’s bullshit. But we have to play by their rules.”
“I fucking swear I’m trying, Lo,” he says, the fight leaving his voice, and the guilt in his voice tears me up.
“I know you are.” I throw an arm around his waist, and his goes around my shoulders as we walk out of the school. “Try harder.”
“Did you have to leave work?”
“Yeah.” I shrug.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Instead of taking Jess home, I decide to bring him to work with me. I figured I could get back faster this way, and I can probably score him a free dinner. I plan to offer to work an hour later to make up the time I missed thanks to Jess. Right before we walk in the door, I get a call from Henry. I lift the phone to my ear, waving for Jess to go in without me.
“Henry,” I greet him.
“Kid,” he says, and I almost crack a joke about him referring to us as kid because he doesn’t know us well enough to remember our names, but I refrain. Barely.
“What’s up? I’m heading into work.”
“Just wanted to give you a heads-up. Got word today. We’re out at the end of the month.”
And the remainder of my earlier optimism is gone. Just. Like. That. “Already?”
“Sorry, kid,” he says, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I, uh, I gotta get back to work. I just wanted to give you as much notice as possible.”
“Yeah. Thanks,” I say quietly before stuffing my phone back into my pocket. Tears prick my eyes, and I squeeze them shut, willing them not to fall. “Fuck!” I yell before kicking the wall. Hard. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” That hurt like hell. I squat down, back against the wall with my elbows propped on my knees, forehead leaning against my steepled fingers.
I hate this feeling. Helpless. Useless. Inadequate. But I’ll make it work. We always do. It’s just bad timing, and when it rains, it pours.
“What’d the wall ever do to you?”
I don’t need to lift my head to know the source of that deep, sarcasm-coated voice. I look up at him for a second, to see him standing a few feet away, all crossed arms and creased brows.
“It had it coming.”
He nods, wordlessly walking over and sitting on the ground next to me, ass on the hard pavement with his knees up. He doesn’t speak. Just sits in silence, waiting for me to compose myself.
“Jake cut my hours,” I finally divulge. Forehead still in my hands, I swivel my head to face him. “I really fucking needed those hours.”
“Prick.”
“It’s not his fault. But yeah.”
“He’s still a prick.”
“Henry’s lease is up, too.” I don’t elaborate. He can put two and two together.
We’re quiet again, and if I wasn’t so worried about coming up with cash, it might be awkward to be around him. We haven’t spoken since Halloween. Haven’t so much as exchanged a single text. But I’m too preoccupied to care right now.
“Work for me,” Dare surprises me by saying.
“What?”
“Work. For. Me,” he says again. “I need an assistant, and someone who can man the front desk. You need the money. It’s a win-win.”
“Pretty sure I already tried to work for you and you made it clear that you weren’t hiring.”
“Well, I know you’re a local now. We locals gotta stick together, right?”
I want to ask him why he’s helping me, because I don’t buy that for a second. I don’t want pity. And I definitely don’t want this to turn into another situation where my boss thinks he can throw money at me and expect me to be his fuck toy at his disposal.
“What happened the other night…it won’t happen again.” If I’m going to take this job, it has to be said. No matter how much I want to feel his mouth between my legs and his hands on my waist again.
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “If it happens, it happens. But anything that does or does not happen won’t affect your job. You have my word on that.”
“Not happening,” I reiterate, raising a brow.
“Do you want the fuckin’ job or not?” he asks, exasperated. I do. Of course, I do. But this has the potential to get complicated. I make a promise to myself right here and now that I’ll bail before anything has a chance to get messy.
“Yes. Thank you,” I say sincerely, meeting his icy eyes.
Dare nods. “Meet me after your shift tomorrow. We’ll go over everything then.” He stands, and I crane my neck to see him as he runs a hand through his thick black hair.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats, and then he turns and disappears inside Bad Intentions.
* * *
I STAND IN FRONT OF the mirror in the Bad Intentions bathroom and lift the front of my work shirt to my nose. Ugh. I smell like cheeseburgers and the beer that a drunk customer spilled all over their table…and me. I strip off my work shirt before digging around in my backpack, thankful that I had the forethought to bring an extra shirt for my first day. I toss my shirt onto the porcelain sink and notice a framed cross-stitch photo that reads Please don’t do cocaine in our bathroom. Surrounded by flowers, it looks like something someone’s grandmother would have hanging on their wall. I laugh out loud and take a picture with my phone to show Jess before I pull my plain black V-neck over my head.
I don’t know what I expected, but I’m surprised at how clean everything is here. I’ve only been inside a couple of times—the last time it was dark, and I was drunk on Dare, so I didn’t pay too much attention. I guess a tattoo parlor would need to be a sterile work environment, so it makes sense.
I tie my red and black flannel around my waist before I pull the hair tie from my ponytail. I let my hair fall around my shoulders and shake it out with my fingers. Good enough.
I leave the bathroom and go back to the front desk, where Dare is waiting for me. I’m not boy crazy. I don’t swoon or lose my mind when an attractive guy comes along. Looks don’t matter much to me—I know firsthand that some of the most beautiful people are ugly on the inside—but Dare is on another level. His inky black hair is perfectly disheveled like it was on Halloween, and I have the urge to run my fingers through it. He’s tall, probably a good eight inches taller than my five foot three. His eyes seem impossibly blue, his jaw sharp. Thick, black eyebrows. Full bottom lip, the top one slightly thinner.
But the sexiest thing about Dare isn’t physical. It’s in the way he carries himself. His intensity. His give-no-fucks attitude. I may not be drawn to a pretty face, but like a typical girl, I am drawn to a challenge. He’s closed off and mysterious and kind of cranky, so why do I want to be the one to crack the shell
and get under his skin?
He gives me an appraising look, his eyes lingering on my cleavage for half a second, then clears his throat. I get a sick sense of satisfaction to know he’s affected by me, too, if only a little.
“I’m going to warn you now. Your title as a receptionist? It’s a little misleading. What I need you for goes way beyond that.”
I arch a brow at him.
“Not that far, smart ass.”
I laugh and move behind the counter next to him.
“You’ll be in charge of scheduling, answering phones, greeting customers, payments, and all that shit. But what we really need help with is keeping everything clean, sterilizing our stations, setting up and breaking down stations, cleaning, offering the clients water or reading material, cleaning, taking photos for our albums, cleaning, grabbing stuff for the artists when we need it, cleaning…”
“A lot of cleaning. Got it.”
“A clean shop is a happy shop. No one wants to get tattooed in some haggard ass tattoo parlor.”
“Not really a good look,” I agree.
“Exactly.”
Dare clicks around on the computer.
“This is called InkBook. It’s what you’ll use for scheduling, client records, online bookings and confirmations, payroll, everything.”
He walks me through the program, step by step, telling me it’s “just like QuickBooks,” whatever that is. I should be writing this down. I’m going to forget every single thing he says in approximately seven seconds. I’m halfway tempted to pull out my phone and record the whole thing, but somehow, I don’t think he’d appreciate that.
I can’t help but stare at his colorful arms, and his big veiny hand as he grips the mouse, and the way his long, thick finger clicks it, his eyebrows cinched together in deep concentration, the inky black strand of hair that fell in front of his eye, and the tattoo that peeks out from the collar of his T-shirt. Get it together, Lo. Have I not learned my lesson? Eric was the last person to affect me and look how that ended up.
After he finishes teaching me how to use the software, he shows me how to set a station up. There are covers for every goddamn thing, and nearly everything is good for one use only. Then, he introduces me to the guys.
“Guys, this is Lo. Lo, this is Alec and Matty. You know Cam and Cordell.” Dare points to each one. They’re standing around the pool table, not a client in sight.
“Wait, are you…?” I trail off, looking at the one with blond hair that reminds me of the guy from Sons of Anarchy, tattoos clear up to his jaw.
“Another fan girl?” the one with the golden-brown skin and backwards fitted hat asks—Matty, I think, and I look to Dare in confusion.
“Nah.” Dare chuckles, looking down at me. “Not even on her radar.”
“Fan girl? I was going to ask if they were brothers.” They look alike, but I didn’t realize how similar until they stood next to each other.
“My bad. Cam is a pro snowboarder. And yes, they’re brothers,” Matty informs me. What’s up with this town? Apparently, River’s Edge loves snowboarders like Oakland loves the Raiders.
“Ah,” I say, rocking on my heels. “And that’s like…a big deal?” I don’t mean anything by the question, but they all seem to think it’s hilarious.
“Little bit,” Matty says. “Chicks around here dig that shit.” He smirks, twisting the pool stick between his fingers before he bends over and takes his shot.
“Oh.”
“I like her,” the lean pale guy with plugs in his ears and hair sculpted into the perfect pompadour announces. He’s wearing a white tee with suspenders and cuffed jeans. Very vintage. Very rockabilly. The process of elimination tells me he’s Alec.
He saunters over and props an elbow on my shoulder. “Everyone’s obsessed with fucking snowboarding around here, except for Dare and me. I think even Matty wants to suck Cam off.”
“Fuck you,” Matty says, but there’s no heat in his words.
“I actually met you on Halloween, too. Briefly,” Cam finally chimes in—not bothered in the least by the way they talk about him like he’s not here—a knowing look plastered to his pretty face. My cheeks heat when I realize he was the one who told us Jess was in a fight at Blackbear.
Dare’s bottom lip is trapped between his teeth and his eyes lock with mine, as if he’s remembering that night, too.
“So, Logan. Ever think about getting a piercing?” Alec asks out of nowhere, inspecting me for any signs of metal, and I’m thankful for the interruption.
“Not really.” I shrug. I don’t even have my ears pierced. I attempted to pierce my belly button with a safety pin when I was thirteen, but I leave that part out.
“No tattoos, either?”
“Nope.”
“You’re working at Bad Intentions now, baby. Time to look the part,” Alec says.
Matty and Cordell laugh, and Dare knocks Alec’s arm away from my shoulder.
“Alec is our piercer. Stay away from him or he’ll have you looking like a human pincushion by next week. Hit me up if you want to put some ink on that virgin skin, though,” Cordell says, and Dare scoffs.
“What? Her skin is pale as fuck, and completely free of ink. It’s an artist’s wet dream.”
Dare looks down at me, eyes full of heat. “I’ve noticed.”
I roll my eyes, ignoring the heat that crawls up the back of my neck. He’s been up close and personal with my paleness.
“Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the shop.”
Dare leads me around, showing me the waiting room that I got a glimpse of on Halloween with the pool table, vending machines, bar, and fireplace, couches…this place has it all. There’s a room with tattoo stations and a piercing booth. When we reach the door to the drawing room, we both pause. I bite my lip, and Dare smirks, knowing exactly what I’m thinking.
“You already know what’s in there,” he says, reaching past me, his arm grazing my waist as he grabs the doorknob. I glance over my shoulder, seeing the desk he almost fucked me on. There’s a couch next to it, too, and I childishly wonder if this is where he takes all his hookups.
“Talk to Jake and see if you can work out a schedule. We need the most help on weekends. If you want the extra hours, you can always come in for a while after your shifts, too. I’m pretty flexible…what?” Dare asks when he notices me staring.
“I still don’t know why you’re doing all this, but regardless, it’s really helping me out. So, thank you.”
“Stop reading into it and stop thanking me. There are no ulterior motives. No bad intentions—no pun intended.”
“Okay.” I nod, trying to take what he says at face value. I don’t think Dare is a bad guy, but I don’t necessarily think he’s a nice guy, either. I’m just…not used to people helping me. At least not when they don’t want something in return. Maybe he really does just need to hire someone and finally caved.
“This place is huge,” I say, changing the subject. “It’s just the four of you here?”
“I keep my circle small.” He shrugs. “I told you. I like my privacy. We have guest artists from time to time, but it’s mostly just us.”
“I could live here.”
“I practically did live here at one point,” he admits. Another little clue to the mystery that is Dare. I wait for him to elaborate, not prodding for more information, but of course, he doesn’t.
Dare’s client walks in, all buttoned-up suit and tie, but when he takes his shirt off, his torso is completely blasted with ink. Dare leads him to his chair while I keep busy with cleaning, familiarizing myself with the software and upcoming appointments, and more cleaning. Dare was right. It doesn’t seem like it would be a lot, but I haven’t run out of things to do yet. It’s a good thing, though. When I have downtime, I get anxious. Probably because I’ve never had the luxury to just…be. I’m always working, cleaning up Crystal’s house—which was a full-time job itself—taking care of Jess, fending off Darrell. Having free time is a foreign co
ncept to me.
I constantly find myself looking his way as he works on a back piece. Dare’s mostly oblivious to my existence, but every now and then, his eyes find mine with an intense expression before returning his focus back to the task at hand.
“Dare never hires women, you know.”
The voice startles me, and I realize it’s Matty. He stands, one arm propped on the front desk.
“Don’t worry. I’m not really a woman,” I say, giving him a bored stare. He laughs.
“I don’t mean anything by it,” he clarifies. “We were all a little…surprised when he told us. I’m just trying to figure out what’s different about you.”
“Probably the whole having a penis thing.”
“There’s no way you have a dick, but nice try.” His smile is contagious, and I crack, unable to keep a straight face.
“I think he feels sorry for me,” I admit with a shrug. “I just moved here and needed a job pretty badly.”
“But you work next door, too, right?”
“Yeah, but it’s not enough. I have to support my little brother, too.”
“I feel that,” he says, nodding. “Mom’s disabled, so it’s on me to provide for her and my baby sister.”
I decide right now that I like Matty. He’s charismatic and real, and who can dislike a guy who takes care of his family? That alone gives him major brownie points. Plus, he’s beautiful. All the Bad Intentions guys are good-looking, but Matty is probably breaking some serious hearts with his perfect smile, full lips, and black and gray tattoos covering his golden-brown skin.
“You got any more clients today?” Dare shouts.
“Nah,” Matty says, looking at Dare over his shoulder. “I got nothin’ till tomorrow.”
“Then go home,” he grumbles, not even bothering to look up. My eyes widen, but Matty chuckles.
“Think someone’s feeling a little territorial,” he says for only my ears. I shake my head dismissively.
“It’s not like that.”
Bad Intentions (Bad Love) Page 8