“Lo.” Eric smiles, coming to grab my elbow in a show of ownership. He flicks his eyes at Jake but doesn’t acknowledge him otherwise.
“What are you doing?” I ask through my teeth, not wanting to make a scene.
“Follow me and we’ll talk.” His eyes narrow in warning, and I nod my agreement if only to get him outside before I chew his ass out.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” I say to Jake, doing my best to reassure him with my eyes.
“You sure?” Jake’s eyes bore into mine.
“Positive.” I see Sutton looking at us, a mixture of suspicion and concern written all over her face. I smile at her and mouth call me later.
“Let’s go,” Eric says, losing patience. I lead him outside, intent on steering him away from the building, but he jerks my arm, stopping me.
“What the hell are you doing?” I try to tug my arm out of his grasp, but he tightens it painfully. “Ow, Eric. You’re fucking hurting me.”
“Still got that mouth, I see,” he says disapprovingly.
“Let. Me. Go.”
“Why won’t you take my calls, baby?” His voice is that menacingly sweet one. The one that barely conceals his rage lurking beneath his calm façade.
“I left, Eric. It’s over. What don’t you get?”
“It’s not fucking over,” he grits out, yanking me closer. I shove him, but he never loses his grip.
“You’re acting insane!”
Jake pushes the door open, arms folded across his chest. “Is there a problem here?” Sutton is right on his heels, phone in hand as if she’s ready to call the police.
God, this is humiliating.
“Why don’t you go back to flipping burgers?” Eric spits, condescension coating every word.
Before he can respond, the door to Bad Intentions flies open, and Dare strolls toward us. His fists are clenched, but otherwise, he looks completely calm. Eric doesn’t even see it coming when Dare cocks his fist back and smashes it into the side of Eric’s jaw.
Cordell, Matty, and Alec walk out of Bad Intentions half a second later, ready to jump in at any moment.
Eric falls to the ground, cupping his jaw before spitting out a mouthful of blood. I gasp, covering my mouth. Matty tucks me into his side, moving me out of the way. Eric laughs, getting onto his feet, but Dare charges him again. He bunches his suit between his fists and throws him against the brick wall. I cringe when Eric’s head hits the wall.
“Stop calling her. Stop texting her. Do not fucking touch her. Don’t even look at her, or we’re gonna have problems. You feel me?”
Eric blinks in surprise. “Are you fucking this guy?” he asks sardonically, pointing a finger at Dare. “I thought you were with that tool.” He flicks his chin toward Jake. “But clearly, this one knows my business. Or perhaps you’re fucking both? I wouldn’t put it past you.” He shoves Dare away, but Dare head-butts him, effectively knocking that cocky grin off his face.
Eric swipes a hand underneath his bloody nose, and when he looks like he might fight back, Jake steps forward, along with Matty, Cordell, and Alec—their message clear. Despite the fuckupness of it all, something inside me warms at the fact that these boys who barely know me at all have my back. This is what family feels like, I think.
“Go home, Eric.” I shake my head. “This has gone far enough.” Eric’s a betting man, and he knows his odds aren’t favorable.
“How do you think Cayden is going to feel when he finds out?”
Dare looks at me over his shoulder, questions in his arctic eyes.
“This is on you, Eric. Don’t put this shit on me, and don’t you dare bring Cayden into it,” I say, jabbing a finger in his direction. I don’t wait for a response. Ignoring everyone’s curious stares, I grab my bag off the ground and dart inside Bad Intentions, all but running to the waiting room in the back.
I drop my bag onto the pool table and pace the floor. How did this escalate so quickly? Why did he have to come here? A minute passes before I hear the door open, hitting the wall. My head snaps up to see Dare prowling toward me, the guys right behind him.
“Let’s go.”
“Go?” I ask, confused.
“Come on.” Dare holds out his hand, his eyes angry and pleading at once. I place my hand in his, and he pulls me toward the drawing room. Cord asks if we’re okay, but Dare ignores them, slamming the door behind him before flicking the lock.
“Am I fired?” I don’t think he’d fire me for a hookup gone wrong, but for bringing drama to the workplace might be a solid reason.
“What was that?” he asks, ignoring me, pointing to the closed door. “What the fuck was that?”
“Why are you so mad? I didn’t ask for you to jump in!” His anger seems directed at me, and it throws me off.
“So, was I supposed to stand by and watch while he hurt you?”
“I don’t need to be saved, Dare. I had it handled!”
“Yeah.” Dare gives a humorless laugh. “Sure looked that way.”
“Why are you so upset?” His reaction makes no sense to me. I’m humiliated enough, having had almost every person I know here witness my dirty laundry, and his screaming only makes me feel worse. My eyes sting with embarrassment and frustration and I will myself to get it together.
“That’s the guy who’s been calling you. The ex.” He doesn’t ask. It’s a statement.
“Yes,” I say through clenched teeth.
“What else aren’t you telling me, Lo? What did you leave out? Because something isn’t adding up here.”
I shake my head, turning for the door, but Dare’s palm slaps against it.
“Who’s Cayden?”
I whip around, unable to believe the nerve of him. “And how exactly is any of this your business?”
“Cut the shit and just fill me in.” His voice rises with each word. He’s clearly frustrated.
“What do you want me to say, Dare?” I screech back, throwing my arms in the air. “That I fucked the father of the child I nannied? That I’m a whore? That I was too fucking stupid to see how I was being lied to and manipulated the entire time I worked for him?” The tears fall freely now, and I do nothing to stop them. I hate crying in front of people. Dare stands there, jaw clenched and speechless, as I walk over and collapse onto the couch, dropping my head into my hands.
Dare sits next to me, putting a palm on my back, but I flinch away from his touch. I don’t want his pity.
“Don’t.”
Dare pulls his palm back and I keep my head down, trying to get my emotions under control. A minute passes before I feel him stand, then he’s walking out of the room. I flinch when the door slams behind him before bouncing off the hinges.
I smooth my hair behind my ears, then wipe my face with the palms of my hands as I walk toward the door to shut it gently. I give myself five minutes. Five minutes to calm down. Five minutes to get the fuck over it. Five minutes to put on a happy face and go out there like nothing happened. Just five minutes. It’s all I need.
* * *
I CLOSE THE BATHROOM DOOR behind me before kicking it once, twice, three times for good measure. I need to reel it in. I have a client coming any minute, and I’m fucking losing it. It’s not only about Lo. It’s about the fact that I’ve spent ten fucking years working on my self-control, and I’ve blown it twice in twenty-four hours. First, when I fucked Lo without a rubber, and then again when I lost my shit in some bullshit attempt to protect her.
My self-preservation instincts war with my desire to keep her safe, and I don’t know what to do with it. She’s been here for a couple of weeks, and she’s bringing shit out of me that I thought had died long ago. Conflicted doesn’t even fucking begin to cover it.
I turn the metal knob on the sink and splash some water onto my face. Taking a deep breath, I open the door. I walk straight to my station and focus my attention on putting my tattoo machine together, sliding the needle through the tube before pushing it through the vise into the machine
, snapping the rubber band around it, and plugging my clip cord in. I grab a few paper towels, a rinse cup, and some gloves while I wait for my client.
I don’t meet anyone’s eyes, tapping my foot restlessly. Everyone here knows me well enough to know that now is not the time. When I’m wound up like this, I need to get inked or fuck to get the anger out of my system. Right now, the closest option is tattooing.
Lo walks out from the back room, surprising me. I figured she’d go home, but here she is, heading to the front desk, looking calm and collected, the only signs of the earlier drama evident by her glassy eyes and red-tipped nose. Cord walks up to her, saying something quietly, and she nods her answer, giving him that bright smile. The fake one, I’m starting to realize. It makes me wonder how often she’s had to hide her pain to become a master at faking it.
She’s so fucking beautiful and complicated. Feral and distrustful. She’s beautiful when she’s smiling, when she’s crying, when she’s fighting, and when she’s writhing beneath me. We gave in to temptation last night, and I was being honest when I said it was a mistake. A complete and utter fucking mistake. Because I didn’t stop thinking about it once all day. At least, not until Eric showed up.
What kind of piece of shit touches a woman like that? For as long as I can remember, I’ve battled my anger, but even at my worst, I had my limits. I’ve never come close to hurting a female. The look on her face when he squeezed her arm flashes through my mind, causing my fist to clench around my machine. I knew something was off the second I saw them. I hung back observing, telling myself to stay the fuck out of it until she pushed him. When he violently jerked her arm, all bets were off. I didn’t plan to hit him. I wanted to fucking end him, but I’ve learned my lesson—at least, I thought I had. I let Lo get under my skin, and I lost control.
My next client interrupts my mental self-flagellation when he ambles through the door. His name is Lopez. One of my regulars. He’s inked from his feet to his shaved scalp, including a face tattoo—done by yours truly—that curves along the line of his jaw. The guy is so covered that I’m running out of room for ink.
“Hi.” Lo smiles warmly, not seeming even slightly put off by his appearance. I like that about her. She doesn’t judge anyone and treats everyone equally. “I think Dare’s ready for you,” she says without sparing me a glance. Lopez lifts his chin at me in greeting, and I wave him over.
“Who’s the dime piece up front?” Lopez asks once he’s in my chair. Lo pretends not to hear, but I see her back straighten.
“New girl,” I answer shortly. I snap my gloves on my hands and get to work on the piece. He wants “hopeless” in script above his left eyebrow. I will myself to relax—to let shit go—so I don’t unintentionally dig my needle too deep. Not that Lopez would mind. He’s in it for the pain, but he wouldn’t be too thrilled if my heavy hand caused scarring or an infection.
The session is quick, and after Lopez pays Lo, he walks backwards, looking her up and down, doing nothing to hide the fact that he’s checking her out before sending a wink in her direction.
This motherfucker.
I toss my gloves and wash my hands, and when I return, Lo’s cleaning my station. Her long, brown hair falls into her face as she bends over to wordlessly pick up an empty water bottle Lopez left behind. She puts on a good front, but I can tell she’s upset. Withdrawn. And suddenly, my shit takes the back seat. I have the urge to fix her problems. To get the fiery Lo back, that smile back—the real one.
Without thinking twice, I reach forward and swipe my thumb under her eye, rubbing away a streak of black. Hazel eyes flash up to mine, her lashes still wet and stuck together from crying.
“I’m sorry,” I say, not giving a fuck who hears me, letting my thumb linger on her cheek. Lo averts her eyes, severing the contact.
“Me, too. He shouldn’t have shown up like that. I don’t even know how he found me.” Her tone is deceptively casual, trying to minimize the situation.
“Cord, watch the door and listen for the phone for me?”
“Sure thing.”
I offer my palm to Lo, and this time she slips her hand into mine without hesitation. It’s small and warm against my skin. I lead her to the drawing room, hoping to convey with my eyes that I’m not going to freak out on her again while simultaneously hoping I can keep the unspoken promise.
Once inside, Lo leans her back against the door, closing it with a quiet snick. I take a seat on the couch, patting the space next to me. Lo angles her body toward me, one leg bent on the couch, one foot on the floor. I scrub both hands through my hair, not knowing where to begin.
“You don’t know how he found you?” She mentioned that he had ways of finding things out, and the fact that this guy not only got ahold of her number but her whereabouts doesn’t sit well with me.
“I have no idea. I haven’t told anyone where we are—” Lo stops short, eyes widening in realization. “My mom,” she says, shaking her head. “My fucking mother. Jess slipped up. Let her know where we were staying. It’s the only thing that makes sense. She’s the reason he has my phone number, too, I’m sure.”
“Stay with me tonight,” I say, surprising us both.
“What?” She’s taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation, but it makes perfect sense in my mind. Her ex is a threat. My house is safe. Simple.
“Stay with me,” I say more firmly this time. “We don’t know if he’s going to show up at your house or your job again tomorrow.” This guy doesn’t seem like he has any intention of giving up.
“I told you, he’s not dangerous. Besides, I can’t just leave Jess…”
“Goddammit, Lo. The guy manhandled you. Don’t tell me he’s not dangerous. He stalked you. He’s not going after your fucking brother.”
Lo sucks in a breath, her eyes rolling toward the ceiling, clearly losing patience. She pulls out her phone and taps at the screen for a minute before addressing me.
“Oh,” she says, a shocked expression on her face.
“What?”
“Jess is out to dinner…with Henry.”
“That’s good, right?” I ask, unable to read her reaction.
“It’s really good.” She taps out another text. “He also has no idea Eric’s in town. He would’ve been blowing my phone up.” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, thinking, before continuing, “I’m not going to bother him with this tonight. Jess hates him. He’d just worry if he knew, and he has enough on his plate.”
“So, you’ll come home with me tonight.”
“What did you tell Eric? How did you guys get him to leave?” Lo ignores my statement.
“Nothing.” I shrug. “He realized it was a fight he couldn’t win.” With a few friendly words and a not-so-friendly send-off from Matty, but I leave that part out.
“I don’t have a ride home,” Lo admits, as if suddenly remembering. “Jess has the car.”
“So it’s settled. You’re staying at my place. Friends, remember?”
The second half of my shift seemed to drag on longer than the goddamn Cold War. I don’t know what I was thinking…insisting she stay over when I can’t touch her. Just friends. Just this once, we’d said.
Now she’s here, on my couch, in my space. It’s completely foreign, having her here, yet something about it just fits.
“Do you want me to wash your clothes?” I ask, gesturing to her work shirt. She never ended up changing like she usually does after her shift at Blackbear.
“God, yes. I smell like grease.”
She doesn’t, but I don’t argue. Instead, I tell her to wait there while I change into a pair of gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt before grabbing extras for her.
She stands when I approach, holding out the clothes for her to take. “Bathroom’s—” I start, but Lo strips off her shirt, letting it fall the floor. Next is her bra. It’s simple and white, and I can see the outline of her pink nipples through the thin material.
“What are you doing?” I ask, swall
owing hard as she turns her back to me, then reaches behind to unclasp the band.
“Getting dressed,” she says simply, holding her hand out in my direction. I toss her the shirt, and she pulls it over her head. She turns back around, my shirt hitting mid-thigh, then pulls down her pants and underwear together in one move. I hand her the sweatpants and she unfolds them, holding them in front of her hips before tossing them at my chest.
“Too big,” she explains, and my mind is instantly in the gutter. Lo scoops up her discarded clothes. “Where’s your washer?”
“I’ll take them.” Lo hesitates but hands them over and sits down on my couch cross-legged, her shirt riding up to her thighs but still managing to cover her bare pussy. I clench my teeth together and turn for the laundry room to keep myself from spreading those thighs open and burying my face between them. I look down at the pile of clothes in my hands, a scrap of white material sticking out of her jeans, and I mutter a curse under my breath before tossing them into the washer.
“You don’t have a TV?” Lo asks when I return. It’s always everyone’s first question.
“Nope. You hungry?” I open the fridge, looking for something to offer her, even though I basically only have beer, water, and eggs.
“Not really. I’ll take a beer, though, after this day.”
Relieved that I don’t have to try to throw something together, I grab two and hand her one as I sit next to her.
“Move in recently?” Lo asks after taking a swig, scanning the bare interior.
“Nah. I’ve lived here for years, actually. I just haven’t made it home yet.” I used to have a pool table to take up some of the open space, but I took it to the shop for the waiting room. I spent years renovating the place, making it my own…but when it was finished, it still didn’t feel like mine. If I bothered to psychoanalyze it, I’m sure it would boil down to constantly jumping from foster family to foster family, never really having a place to call home.
Lo yawns, stretching her arms over her head. Her nipples strain against the fabric of the shirt that inches farther up her thighs with the movement, so close to showing what’s between them. She’s taunting me, again. She knows exactly what she’s doing.
Bad Intentions (Bad Love) Page 13