Page 16 of Won't Let Go
Stifling a smile, I rub his prickly chin with a finger. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t. You’ll be back to cussing me out soon enough.”
Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.
Rolling my eyes, I grumble at him good-naturedly and nip his pec with my teeth.
“Down, kitty.” Josh hisses and shoves my head off him, onto my pillow.
“Rude!” I gasp in mock outrage.
Chuckling like a menace, Josh gets out of bed, and just like that, our… whatever this was, is over.
Well… I suppose it’s time I get my butt up and ready for the day. It’s gonna be a busy one with a half-sleeve of glitter skulls. This client has fun taste, and that beats the basic tattoos that everyone seems to want nowadays.
“Dippy or scrambled eggs?” Josh calls over his shoulder, on his way to the kitchen, as I pick up my phone off the floor and head to the bathroom.
“Dippy.”
“Two pieces of toast?”
“Yes.”
“Avocado?”
“Yes.”
“Wheat or sourdough?”
I step into the bathroom. “Surprise me,” I call before shutting the door to take care of business.
Tonight, I get to see my son.
8
JADE
Foot jiggling,I twiddle my thumbs as I sit on my tattoo bed and wait for Josh to arrive. My glitter tattoo ended an hour early. That happens sometimes, when a client’s pain tolerance wanes. It’s normal. I’ll finish the piece next month, when she comes back for her appointment. Aw. Look at me…planning ahead.
Pixie glances up from her client, meets my eye, smirks, then wipes her client’s leg. “You good?” she asks.
“Yep,” I lie and trace the outline of a cat tattoo on my arm.
“Um. Humm.”
I wave her off. “It’s fine.”
The rumble of a tailpipe rattles the front door as I watch, in horror, as Josh pulls up on his motorcycle.
Oh. Fuck.
I must make a sound because Pixie chuckles, and I shoot her a death glare that she doesn’t see, because she’s busy inking an American flag on some chick’s leg.
Like something out of one of those romance movies, Josh swings his leg off his bike, removes his helmet, sets it on hisseat, and saunters into the shop wearing a cut, dark-washed jeans that hug a set of nicely toned thighs, and shit kickers. He removes his sunglasses and tucks them into the collar of his crisp white t-shirt. Carding a hand through his hair, he throws a panty-melting smile my way. It’s so bright and sweet that I glance over my shoulder to make sure he’s not looking at someone else. When it’s confirmed that he is, indeed, giving me that smile, something akin to bubbles does this odd thing in my stomach as he approaches, stops at the foot of my bed, and brushes his fingers over my bare ankles. Goosebumps break out across every inch of my body as I suppress the urge to shiver.
“Hey, pretty lady,” he purrs, and I swear… I… almost melt.
What the hell is happening?
