"You already thinking about round two?"
"No. I…" My cheeks flame. "I meant—"
"I know what you meant, sunshine. Round two will be just as good. But nothing is as special as your first time."
"Yours?"
He shrugs, effortless. "Wasn't lucky enough to have someone like me showing me the ropes."
"You're going to show me the ropes?"
He nods. "Yeah." His fingers trace circles over my skin. "If that's what you want."
"Judy offered to fuck you."
"And?"
"Why me over her?"
"I told you, sunshine. I like you. It's that simple."
"You're about to graduate."
"You will next year."
"But you're… you're leaving."
He shakes his head. "Not going anywhere."
"Where will you be?"
"Ryan is gonna get me a gig as an apprentice."
"Yeah?" I bite back my enthusiasm. Dean's older brother is a tattoo artist. It's the coolest thing ever.
"Yeah." He nods. "Just got this one." He pulls his shirt up his torso, showing off inches of taut abs.
He pulls it higher.
All the way to his side.
He turns to show off a tattoo on his ribs—the state of California, adorned with grey and red roses.
"How much did that hurt?" I ask.
"Like a bitch."
"Guys usually say it doesn't hurt."
"Liars."
"Can I?"
"Of course."
My fingers go to his skin. It's soft, but he's bone and muscle beneath it.
God, the feel of him against my fingertips…
My knees knock together.
"Didn't think you were the ink type," he says.
Words dissolve on my tongue. He's so close. And so undressed. And so hot.
My hand knows what it wants.
It traces his ink again and again.
I look up at him. He's so tall. I'm short, yeah, but he's on some other plane of height.
"Can you keep a secret?" I ask.
He pulls an imaginary zipper over his lips in a my lips are sealed gesture.
"I got one last month." I roll my jeans over my right hip to show off my new tattoo. A star. It's a little lopsided, but it's mine.
"Badass." He flashes me that million-dollar smile. "I have another one to show you." He offers his hand. "Upstairs."
There's weight in the word.
Upstairs isn't for conversation. It's for what I've been dreaming about for the last three years.
"Okay." I down half my drink. Pray for the liquid courage I hear so much about. "Upstairs."
I take his hand and follow him to the bedroom.
Dean presses his lips to mine.
He strips me out of my clothes.
He lays me on the bed and warms me up.
Pulls a condom from his jeans. Tears it open. Slides it on.
Then he's on top of me, easing into me, whispering dirty promises in my ear.
It hurts, but not as badly as Gia told me it would.
The pain fades to discomfort.
To pleasure.
To the thrill of knowing that Dean and I are one.
He takes care of me. Makes sure I come.
It feels like we go forever.
We finish. He helps me dress. Promises to stay in touch.
Never does.
He doesn't text, or call, or email, or IM.
The next week, he graduates.
And I spend seven years without hearing a peep from Dean Maddox.
Chapter Two
Chloe
The bell rings as I push the door open.
Morning light floods the cozy shop. For a moment, the September heat competes with the air-conditioning. Then the door falls closed, and the air-conditioning wins.
It's freezing in here. December in Big Bear freezing.
It doesn't fit the cozy vibe. This place is awfully cute for a tattoo shop. Red and pink string lights, tattoo mock-ups in heart-shaped frames, black counter, white walls, shiny hardwood floor.
Two of the suites—there are three of them, oak half-walls on two sides, mirrored wall on one, lobby on the other—are empty.
The one in the middle…
That's his shaggy blond hair.
His broad shoulders.
His strong back.
His bright blue t-shirt.
I wrap my arms around my chest.
Suck a breath between my teeth.
Seven years, and Dean Maddox still fills my stomach with butterflies.
He still sends every bit of my sense packing.
No amount of reasoning—he taunted you, fucked you, then threw you away—helps.
I force myself to adopt a casual stance. Hand in pocket, hip tilted to one side, smile replacing my resting bitch face.
"Hey," I call to no one in particular.
Steps move closer. Not from Dean's suite. From the back.
Light surrounds Ryan in an angelic glow as he steps in the cozy main room.
He holds his hand over his eyes, blocking the glare.
Half-smiles as he nods hello.
Ryan's black-on-black Converse squeak against the hardwood floor. He extends his hand. "You're early."
I take it. Shake. "Always."
His chuckle is soft. "Not this early." He runs a hand through his wavy coffee brown hair. "Leighton won't be in for a while, but I can take you through her routine."
"Sure."
"Have to finish some shit in the office first. I'll be a minute." He motions to the black counter. "Feel free to set up."
He's a man of few words. It's one of the things I like best about him.
Ryan and I are the same kind of weird—too serious, closed off, always in black.
We spar with anyone but refuse hugs from strangers.
I was surprised when he offered me a job at Inked Hearts. Without an interview. All he knew about me was that I was as serious about aikido as he was. And as desperate to find a place to apprentice as anyone has ever been.
I lay my black backpack on the counter. Pull out my thermos. Find it empty. I drank my London Fog on the way here.
There's a Keurig in the lobby, right above one of the teal benches, but there's no sign of a kettle or a fridge.
Damn. I need that easy hit of comfort. Tea from a pod… no thank you.
Strong, steady footsteps pad the floor. "You miss me?"
Dean.
Anger and lust fill my veins.
That voice…
I can still hear him mocking me. Sunshine, you never have any fun.
I can still hear him groaning my name. Fuck, Chloe. You're so wet.
"You ever turn it off?" Ryan calls from the back room. He moves into the lobby. Shoots his brother a really look.
Dean makes that who me? gesture. He shrugs like he can't be bothered to think about anything he does.
Ryan ignores him. "Chloe, this is my brother. Dean. You guys went to school together."
This is a small space. We're close.
Dean is right there. Three feet away maybe. Close enough to kiss. To hug. To slap.
"I remember." My eyes refuse to obey my command. They focus on his narrow waist. His broad chest. His strong shoulders.
Those same bright blue eyes.
That same million-dollar smile.
He offers his hand. "Nice to see you again."
Ryan raises a brow. He shoots his brother a cutting look.
Dean shrugs, effortlessly aloof.
I dig my heel into the hardwood. I'm new and I'm nobody. He's a co-owner. And a blood relative.
Whatever problems I have with Dean Maddox, I'm going to have to get over them if I want this.
Ryan shoots me a look. You okay?
I nod.
He nods back. "If he gives you shit, let me know. I'll kick his ass." There's a hint of humor in Ryan's usually serious voice. He's teasing.
He must be.
Because Dean is wearing his amusement like it's his finest suit.
He waits for Ryan to leave then moves closer. "It's been a while."
God, I was such a stupid kid. I really believed that I meant something to him. "Yeah."
"Your hair looks good short."
"Thanks." I brush a dark strand behind my ear reflexively. At first, this style was a necessity, not a choice. But I grew to love it.
"You look even more like you can kill me."
"I can. I do aikido now."
"Ryan told me."
"Oh." I bite my lip. It doesn't mean anything, Ryan and Dean talking about me. He's the same carefree playboy. I may not be the same, but I'm still the artsy loner.
I'm nothing to him. Another notch on a bedpost covered with them.
"Ryan said you almost kicked his ass," Dean says.
"It's sparring. Not ass kicking."
"You beat him or not?"
Not. "I came close." Ish.
He offers his hand. "Show me something."
The thought of touching him sets me on fire.