"She wants to fuck you."
"Look at me."
"Ryan will kill you."
"I can take him."
"He'll fire her."
That's a bigger concern. I do like Chloe. I'm not taking this from her.
"But fuck Ryan. We co-own the shop. I vote for her to stay. We can sway Brendon."
"Brendon doesn't give a fuck about us."
"Yeah. But he likes her." Walker runs a hand through his wavy hair. "You're really worried."
"No."
"Yeah." His eyes meet mine. "Shit. You're really into her."
"No idea what you're talking about."
"I can help."
"Horrifying."
"I will."
I shake my head. "You wouldn't know where to start."
"You admit it?"
"That I want to fuck her? Yeah. But that's it."
He smiles that's not it.
I shrug.
It's as close to an admission as I'll get.
But he knows it.
It's as good as saying yeah, I'm fucking crazy about her.
Chapter Seventeen
Dean
All night, my phone buzzes with picture messages from Chloe. They slow, but they don't stop until she wishes me good night.
The next day—now that she's on my schedule, we're both off—it's the same thing.
When she isn't tattooing, she sends an explanation in image form. Tea and breakfast. The lap pool at the gym. A grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup. A takeout iced tea. A sitcom rerun on TV. A pot of pasta. A selfie in her pajamas.
They're tiny things—shorts and a tank top that barely cover her.
The image sticks in my head all day at work. When she sits next to me, wraps her fingers around my forearm, peers over my shoulder to study a mock-up.
When she leans close to watch my technique.
When I send her to the office to do another dozen bananas.
When I watch the way her hips sway as she walks away.
All fucking week, my head is flush with thoughts of Chloe. Every time she's close, my body begs me to break. To touch her. To kiss her. To throw her against the wall and order her to scream my name.
Somehow, I don't.
I push it aside. Tease her about her lopsided hearts. About how seriously she's taking everything. About how much she needs to relax.
Then I go home and I think about exactly how I want to help her relax.
For the indefinite future, Chloe's Saturdays belong to me. I finalize plans for this one. Insist on picking her up.
Five minutes to eleven, I park on a sunny street in the Valley. Chloe's place—her dad's place, I guess—is nice. The taupe two bedroom is classic Southern California suburbs. Wide green lawn. White trim. Rose bushes lining the walkway.
I make my way to the coffee brown door.
The second I knock, Chloe pulls the door open.
She looks up at me with frantic eyes. "Let's go."
She takes my hand as she dashes outside. Yelps as her bare feet hit the hot concrete.
She's halfway to the car when a hearty voice stops her.
"You won't get away that easy, baby girl," an older man calls. He pulls the door open wider. Steps onto the patio. He's on the short side with black hair and dark eyes. He looks just like Chloe. "I'm Brian." He offers his hand.
"Nice to meet you." I shake.
He looks to Chloe. "I see what Gia was talking about."
Chloe turns bright red. She drops my hand. Hugs her combat boots to her chest. "She wasn't…" She clears her throat. "Dad. We have to go." She turns to me. "We're in a rush. Right?" Her eyes plead go along with it.
If I was a merciful guy, I would. But I'm not. "No. We have all the time in the world."
She groans like a teenager.
Which I get. I feel like a teenager around my parents.
"Well, you might have all day. But I have a hundred oranges to tattoo." She takes another step down the walkway. "So…"
"I didn't show you oranges."
"I saw it on YouTube. It's the same, isn't it?"
"Grapefruits are better."
"Oh." She looks back to her dad with a wave. "We do have to go."
He smiles, good humored. "All this rushing just because you don't want me to say Gia thought Dean was cute."
"Oh my God, Dad!" Chloe turns. Surveys the scene. Refuses to accept defeat. She taps her combat boots together. "I'm sure you're teaching me something important today. So, we should get to it."
She's so full of shit.
But then so am I. I tried to think up some way to explain this as a lesson, but it's not. I want to hang out with her. Period.
"Thank you," I respond to her dad's compliment.
Chloe takes my hand. She looks up at me please, for the love of God go along with this.
I shrug, playing coy.
She just barely stifles a groan. "I'll be home late, Dad. Okay?" She waves goodbye.
He nods sure thing.
"What happened to your work?" I ask.
Her cheeks flush. Her brow knits with frustration. "Love you, Dad." She ignores my taunting and drags me to the car.
I open the door for her.
She slides inside then slams it hard.
She's pulling socks from her combat boots when I get into the driver's seat.
She slides a sock on. Slips her foot into the boot. Laces it tightly.
"You do own sandals," I say.
"I like these." She slides the other sock on. Foot in boot. Laces. Done. "Perfect."
"Aren't you hot?"
"Nice of you to finally notice."
"That's bad. Even by my standards."
Her eyes go to the ignition. "Are we ever leaving or are we sitting here?"
"Kinda fun watching you stare at your dad like he's evil for standing on the porch."
She hides behind her hands. "How were you so polite to him?"
I slide my key into the ignition and turn it. "Told you. Parents love me."
She peeks out from behind her hands to look at the house. Her dad is still standing on the porch with a knowing smile. "Can we go?"
"Yeah. Sure." I put the car into drive. Wave goodbye to Mr. Lee.
He waves back.
Chloe drops her hands as I pull onto the street. "I love my dad. But…"
"I already knew you thought I was cute."
She ignores my joke. "I'm twenty-four and my dad is screening my dates."
"Is this a date?"
"Oh. No." She bites her lip. "But he thinks it is."
I turn onto the main road. "And you?"
She looks around curiously, like she's trying to figure out where we're going. "We can't, right? So, what's it matter?"
"Yeah." I stop at a red light.
She taps her black fingernails against the dash. "Where are we going?"
"You challenged me the other day."
Her brow scrunches with confusion. "I did?" She sinks into the fabric. Plays with her seat belt. "I figured you'd have a nicer car."
"What's the point?"
"Image? Status? Coolness?"
"I don't need a car to be cool."
"Of course."
"But?" The light turns green. I hit the gas. Focus on the road.
"I'm surprised you know that."
"Teasing me isn't gonna get you any clues."
"Not even one?"
I shake my head.
"I challenge you all the time. You should give me something."
"Sorry. It's against my policy."
"You're the worst."
"That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."
"I mean it. You're intolerable."
"Stop." I feign modesty. "You're going to make me blush."
"Do you blush?"
"Yeah." I turn right at the next intersection. There. This street will take us most of the way. "I don't think you need any hints on making that happen."
"Oh." Her cheeks flame red. She gives me a long, slow once over. Her dark eyes fill with desire. Then caution. She considers her options. Settles back into her seat.
I give her a minute to take the bait, but she doesn't.
Better change the subject before my thoughts are too far gone to come back. "How long have you lived at home?"
"Always. It's kinda—"
"It's sweet."
"Really?" Her nose scrunches. "The last time I tried dating, guys seemed to think it was pathetic."
"They were just worried about where you'd fuck."
Her laugh is soft. "God. You're probably right. I never thought about it like that."
"We're all the same."
"You really are."
"Where did you fuck?"
"Alex had his own place."
"After that?"
"Where do you have sex?"
"I usually go to a woman's place."
"Why?"
I stop at a red light. "Easier to leave than to ask someone to leave."
"That's really—"
"Cold?"
"Smart. For you."