Page 10 of The Confidant

Probably for the best, despite the sting to my heart. I was getting ideas about him, and I shouldn’t.

I doubt my One, my soulmate, would just casually walk through the door to my shop on a boring Saturday. Or be intently staring at another woman right in front of me, like the intimacy of a second ago was nothing to him.

I glance at Damon, who gives Poe a dirty glare for stealing the attention. I jerk my chin to the back room, and his expression drops to a wince.

I’m not wasting time on a fight for attention. That never goes well with a man, in my experience. Besides, he’s getting into the swing of being confident. I can’t be too mad about that. At least, I shouldn’t. I can pout in privacy.

I don’t shut the door all the way to keep an ear out for customers. I do relax back with a soda and prop my feet up on the chair opposite me. I play a game on my phone, so my mind is consumed with something other than him for five seconds.

I can hear the faint murmur of conversation and try to tune it out. The sound of Damon doing a tattoo starts to become the white noise that helps me focus on the game.

An hour later, the bell goes off once and then again quickly after. Damon rushes through the door with wide eyes.

“He is fucking pissed.”

My brows furrow as I drop my feet for him to sit down.

“Who?” I lean forward to see my empty shop.

“Your boyfriend, that’s who. He waited for you to come back, and you never did. She asked me to leave the partition open and took her shirt off like she was showing him the goods. He didn’t even look. He shot her moves down with no mercy.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I protest weakly as pleased surprise runs through me.

He had her in the bag from the first look, and he turned her down? Not my usual experience with a guy. Poe gets more interesting with every encounter. The relief that cascades through me is alarming. I fall into relationships fast, but this is a new record for me.

“Yeah,” Damon’s eyes widen as he gets into the gossip. “You walked, and she started up with him. He didn’t say anything at all. Then he turned, saw you bailed, and he got mad.”

“How do you mean?” I ask warily.

There are a lot of different types of mad. A lot of dangerous types, too.

“Like he stood there waiting with zero expression. It’s like we stopped existing. I was sure his laser eyes were going to burn the door down so he could see you. Then she put her hand on him to get his attention, and he gave her the coldest go fuck yourself look I’ve ever seen. Even Asher doesn’t have the balls for that. Does she back off? Hell no.”

The ones that Ash hands that card to are like that. Flirty and confident to a fault. Their emotional armor is thin, though. Thus, the card with the brush off. That way, they don’t leave totally empty-handed. The ones that stay for a tattoo complain about Ash nonstop until I want to smack them. Damon has gotten into the habit of doing their tattoos to keep them away from me. And scope out single chicks.

Damon interrupts my wandering thoughts.

“He stands there like a damn gargoyle, and she gets a tiny rose on her lower back, talking the whole time about how available she is,” Damon rolls his eyes with a smirk. Then he tosses down the card she gave him, and I see her number written down. “I’m second choice on this one.”

“Poor baby,” I laugh breathlessly, suddenly lighter as I contemplate. Does this mean what I hope it means? Is he into me and coming back to snatch me up? Do I want to struggle?

“Yeah, I’m not calling. He left, and she went right after him. They were on the sidewalk for a total of point two seconds before she walked away in a huff.”

I wonder what he said?

“I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed someone yell no like a woman was a barking dog before. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it. The man is a junkyard dog, and you’re his bone.”

No. His favorite word. It was rude, sure, but it has my stamp of approval.

“He’s gone now, so you’re safe to go up front,” he finishes and steals what’s left of my soda.

“Honest opinion?” I toss at him as we retake our seats at the counter.

“Hot. Damaged. Obsessed,” he puts a lot of emphasis on the last word with a knowing look. “Count your panties when you get home because I’m sure you’re going to be missing a few pairs soon.”

“That’s dark romance book stuff,” I scoff. I feel a trickle of guilty delight at the thought.

“He’s dark romance book stuff,” Damon gives me wide eyes. “He had me wondering if I’m batting for the wrong team. I want that kind of intensity, too, damn it.”

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