Page 4 of Tattoo My Heart
I don’t say anything, just smile and stare at her. I can tell she is uncomfortable with all the attention I’m giving her, which seems to be a weird turn on for me.
“So,” I finally say when it is obvious she’s not up for small chat.
“Yeah, I was just leaving,” she says at the same time.
I completely ignore her statement. “Are you going to be at the house for the Fourth?”
My question seems to put her on the defensive.
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“It just seems like you’re never there when I’m there,” I shrug. “Do you even go there? Ever?”
I know she visits her mother a couple of times a month. They usually have lunch at one of the posh restaurants out there. Sometimes, Liz comes into the city though. That always seems to happen when I have plans to be at their house at the same time as Evie. I am suspecting that she is doing it on purpose.
“How is that any of your business?” She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me. “I don’t care what you do in your spare time. Spending money I presume.”
If I was a lesser man, I’d be offended by the obvious insult. She has the wrong idea about me, and I know I am directly responsible for it.
“I spend it as fast as I make it,” I shrug and push the sleeves of my knitted shirt up to my elbows.
Evelyn’s eyes drop to my forearms, almost as if in wonder. I have a few more tattoos than she remembers. And the only reason she’s not aware of them is because she’s been avoiding me like the plague.
I have a smartass remark on the tip of my tongue, but I contain myself. I love having her eyes on me like this. It is obvious that she likes what she sees.
“So, Evie,” I grab her attention while pretending I don’t notice that she is checking me out. “Who are you bringing to the party? One of your blowjob recipients, I trust.”
Trying not to laugh at the way her jaw about hits the floor is literally painful. She looks so damn adorable, I want to grab her and kiss her. But it would be wrong. For one, it’s clear that she hates herself for being attracted to me, and I am not that big of an asshole to take advantage of it. And for two, she is my stepsister after all. The forbidden fruit. Me owning a successful chain of tattoo shops is enough to get the Hampton high society talking. Adding a hookup with my stepsister to my resume would only add more fuel to the fire. It would also guarantee her hating me for the rest of our lives.
“That’s none of your business, Cal. I can bring whoever I want to the party. And jealousy doesn’t suit you.”
She sounds so snotty now, like the princess our parents think of her as. Because that is all I hear when I visit. Evie is perfect in all the ways. It doesn’t bother me listening to any of it. In fact, I love hearing about her.
“Aww, Evie,” I press a hand to my chest in fake distress. “That hurt. But you’re right.”
“About what?” I almost bust out laughing at the suspicion evident in the tone of her voice.
“About me being jealous,” I shrug in self deprecation. “I’d love one of those blowjobs you’re advertising.”
“You… you… you…” Her chest rises and falls with her distress, face all red and full of anger. “You’re a prick,” she finally spits out right before forcing herself to go around me.
The front wheel of the shopping cart gets stuck somehow underneath my cart. She pulls and pushes, trying to dislodge it, but no luck.
“You need help?” I finally ask, amusement clear in my voice.
“You know what?” She gives it another hard yank. “I don’t need it.”
She lifts her hands off the handle and puts them up defensively. She turns on her heels, but changes her mind at the last minute and almost face plants inside the cart.
“Gosh damnit,” she mumbles under her breath.
She snatches a package of sugar cookies from inside and straightens herself in a very dignified standing position.
“I deserve these,” she points at me, daring me to laugh.
“All yours, babe,” I grin at her.
Looking a lot more confident than I think she feels, she attempts once again to leave. I remain in the middle of the entrance to the aisle we managed to block with both of our carts, still leaning forward on the handle of mine, and refusing to look away.
