Page 31 of Bad Boy in Her Bed

“Oh my god,” she said with a laugh, as she shoved the phone back at her friend.“He’s half your age.”

“He’s exactly three-quarters my age,” Rheyna corrected, giving the picture one final look before sliding her cell into her purse.“But Winter was always more my style.”

Elise choked on her tea, laughing through her sputtering.“Convicted murderer Winter Baker is your style?So marrying Harrison with all his hot, detailed lesson plans were the next best thing?”

“A girl has to grow up some day,” Rheyna giggled.“What about you, Elise?We already know which Baker drops Jocelyn’s panties.Which one does it for you?”

Glancing around the quiet restaurant, Elise shrugged.“Hardly a fair question since two of them are borderline cradle-robbing.”

“It must be Birch.”Jocelyn grinned.“Come on.Spill.Am I going to introduce you two and have it get all awkward and weird because you once crossed the tracks and took him for a spin before you settled down and went all domestic?”

Her friend looked suitably appalled.“Of course not.”Licking her lips, she side-eyed Rheyna.“It was Winter I took for a spin in senior year.And it was worth every damn second of my walk of shame the next morning.”Rheyna let out a howl of laughter and Elise swatted at her to shush her.“I’m just looking out for you, Joce.Hang out with Birch, if that’s what you want to call it, but remember who he is, okay?Those of us who stayed close to home know better about what the Bakers are like because we were here watching every time things went to hell.”

*

Birch tied offthe last of the trash bags as the door chimes announced Jocelyn’s arrival.

“I’m in the back,” he called out to her, propping the back door open with his foot and slinging the garbage into the large metal bin.“I’m afraid we’re stuck hanging out here until Ryder comes in.”

She set her purse on the filing cabinet and sat in his chair, spinning around to face him.“I’m in no rush.How did the day go?”

“If I said I was feeling artistically frustrated, would that sound weird?”he asked, rolling his stool over to her.“Most days I’m good with doing the standards, but sometimes it’s a little tedious.”

Leaning back, she stretched one long leg onto his desk.“Grab a pen and go hard.”

He smirked.“Seriously?Ryder could be here any minute.”

“Then that should be a good incentive for you to stay focused,” she smiled, closing her eyes.

Lifting her leg enough to open the top drawer of his desk, he pulled out a fresh package of colored body art pens.“Any requests?”

“Wherever your creative mind takes you.”

His creative mind went straight to the gutter, and he cleared his throat, taking a moment to refocus his attention on her ankle.“How high up can I go?”

“As far as you can reach.”

He eased the hem of her trousers up past her knee and moved in closer as he uncapped the black pen.“I ordered a bunch of these in two weeks ago,” he said, drawing the first lines on her skin.“I’d been thinking of maybe seeing if I can get in on a booth at the July Fourth celebration.You know, set up a custom temporary tattoo station or something.”

“That would be a fantastic way to bring in more business,” she said, tucking her hands behind her head and lounging further back into the chair.“Is Ryder on board?”

Scoffing, he glanced at the door, hoping his partner was running on the later side of his anticipated arrival.“I don’t think so.I mentioned it to him when he called, and he didn’t sound too enthusiastic.But Grey said he’d step in to do any kids who come by.He’s got a steady hand and can work off a visual.”

The idea had come to him during one of his daydreams of inking Jocelyn’s skin, the memory of the work he did down her spine taking a surprisingly chaste turn.The thought had wormed through his head on and off until that day on Trevor Drayson’s veranda.Three years into Serpent’s Tongue Ink becoming the go-to tattoo and piercing shop in town, it now kept some potential clients from traveling to one of the biggest cities.And he wanted to up that toallpotential clients.

But then everything went to hell.

When the temporary tattoo pens were delivered, he shoved them into his desk alongside any thought of voluntarily stepping into Epson’s public eye in a way that didn’t involve cops, lawyers, and evidence.It seemed pointless to attempt to garner any positive attention for the business while it was under scrutiny.

Under scrutiny by the woman whose ankle he was currently holding.

But she was also the woman who brought the idea back to life with the tiny sparks of hope she kept tossing his way.The one fueling his dreams at night and soothing the nightmare he was living.

“Can I look?”she asked, breaking his concentration and drawing his eyes to her closed ones.

Capping the black pen, he opened the others to have at the ready.“Nope.No peeking.”

The design in his mind was one he’d talked through with a few clients, but none were willing to allow him free range to ink it as it came to him.His attempts to sketch rough drafts never turned out, the finer details escaping him as he worked on the impersonal paper canvases.

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