Page 6 of Full Tilt
I slide behind the desk, flick on the playlist—something mellow but not sleepy—and check the time.
Camden Crawford should be walking in any minute now. And hey, if he turns out to be the intimidating, scowly, tighthead of doom everyone says? Well, I’ve got charm, tattoos, and a well-honed ability to wear people down with friendship.
Let’s see how long he lasts.
The bell above the door gives a soft jingle. It’s nothing dramatic, but it still hits me like a cymbal crash in a yoga class. I glance up, and my gut does this weird little flip.
Holy shit.The man who steps in is big. Not just tall, though he’s definitely got a couple of inches on me. No, he’s built—broad across the shoulders, chest like a battering ram, thighs that look like they’ve won arguments with steel beams. There’s a quiet power to how he moves. Controlled. Deliberate. Like he could level the whole block if he wanted to, but he’s choosing not to, for now.
And then I catch it—the peek of black and red ink curling just beneath the sleeve of his right arm. Sharp lines, heavy shading. Something floral maybe? I can’t quite see, but it’s enough to tell me he doesn’t do his tattoos on a whim. They mean something. They’re his.
I’m still cataloguing all that when my gaze skims up past the beard—which, by the way, is excellent—and I hit his eyes.
Jesus.Tank wasn’t exaggerating.They’re dark and sharp, narrowed just enough to make me feel like I’m on trial. Not cold exactly, but watchful, like he’s measuring me, assessing, maybe even deciding whether I’m worth his time, his trust, possibly even his breath.
It hits me right in the chest. Not fear. Not even nerves, really. Just this overwhelming urge to wrap him in a hug. Which is ridiculous, because he looks like the kind of guy who’d throw a punch at anyone who tried. And also because there’s every chance he outweighs me by a good thirty pounds, and I’m not a small guy.
But still, there’s something in him. Something hurt and guarded, stitched into the line of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the way his mouth doesn’t quite settle. He looks like someone who’s been cracked open before and decidedneveragain.
Yeah. He calls to something in me. That soft spot I try to hide behind the piercings and ink and my “whatever, man” vibe.
Tank stands and gives me a quick nod. “Cam, this is Brent Parks. Brent, this is Camden Crawford.”
Camden looks at me like I’m a puzzle he didn’t ask for.
“Hey,” I say, stepping forwards, smile easy. “Nice to meet you, man.”
He eyes the hand I offer like it might bite him, but after a second, he takes it. His grip’s solid, warm, a little slow to let go.
“Thanks for staying open,” he says, voice low and gravelly. “I know it’s late.”
I shrug. “You kidding? I live for late-night introductions with quietly intimidating blokes.”
Tank snorts quietly behind me. Camden just grunts. It’s not exactly a laugh, but I’ll take it.
He steps further in, eyes scanning the shop. There’s a tension to the way he holds himself, like he’s keeping everything tucked tight under the surface. I can’t tell if he’s uncomfortable or just built like a human fortress. Maybe both.
“I heard you’ve got opinions about ink,” I say lightly. “I respect that. You’ve got great work from what I can see.”
His brow lifts, just slightly. Not quite a thank-you. More likenoted.
“I didn’t pick you,” he says. “Tank did.”
I nod. “Right. No pressure.” I hold back from raking my gaze over him again, confident he wouldn’t like that. Instead, I aim for a relaxed smile despite his short words.
“I’m particular.”
My lips lift a little, and I try to figure out the best way to handle this guy, because fuck me, I really think he could do with some kind of handling. I wrestle those thoughts away, settling on “So am I.”
That earns me another long look, and I swear I see the corners of his mouth twitch. Barely, to the point it’s almost nothing. But it’s there.
Tank gives Camden a nudge. “I’ll leave you two to chat. Just talk tonight, yeah? If you want to book, Brent’s got the schedule.”
Camden grunts again. I think that means yes.
Tank claps me on the shoulder as he heads for the exit. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” I murmur. “I think I’m gonna need it.”
