Did you really think about me that much?
Are you still thinking about me?
Do you want me as badly as I want you?
I swallow hard. "Let's just talk about work."
He nods, accepting my answer.
But it lingers in the air.
He wishes he called.
He wishes things were different.
He wishes we had a chance.
Chapter Twenty
Chloe
We make it through the rest of the seven-mile hike without another mention of the night we spent together.
But my thoughts never turn to the Malibu canyons or the Pacific Ocean or the million-dollar houses on the cliffs.
They stay on Dean.
He's sorry he hurt me.
He still regrets it.
Still thinks about me.
But is that enough?
He's still my boss.
This is still a terrible idea.
And my heart…
It's still committed to his.
Chapter Twenty-One
Chloe
"Do your best with my banana." Dean slaps the piece of fruit on the desk.
It's Wednesday. The night before the test. Four days since he apologized. Since I fell asleep thinking about all the ways he could make it up to me.
Okay, that's bullshit.
I've fallen asleep thinking about him every night for a month straight.
I pick up my gun. Stare at the yellow flesh. I'm at work and I'm paying attention, dammit. "A star?"
"Whatever inspires you."
"Sure." My fingers curl around the metal. At this point, the weight and feel of the gun are familiar. It belongs in my hands. It makes sense there.
Dean goes into a trance when he's working.
Maybe I can do the same.
I turn the gun on. Focus on bringing it to the fruit's flesh.
There. I draw a curved line. Round it. Finish the other half.
The room quiets as the tattoo gun's hum ceases.
It's October now. Even in Venice Beach, even five blocks from the beach, the weather is cooler. Which means the air-conditioning is at brisk rather than ice box.
At the moment, it's silent.
Our breath is the only sound in the room.
My inhale is sharp. My exhale is heavy.
Dean moves closer. Until he's right behind me. Inches away.
Then pressed against me.
His hard chest against my back. His crotch against my ass. His arms around my shoulders.
My heartbeat picks up.
My stomach flutters.
My body buzzes with desire.
His touch feels so good.
Right now, I need good. This might be my last chance to kiss and make up with my body.
But can I trust him?
Can I muster up the guts to turn around and kiss him?
His fingers trail down my arm. My wrist. The back of my hand. He picks up the banana and studies it. "Good."
"Yeah?"
"This is it."
"It how?"
"You're graduating." He sets the fruit on the desk. Steps backward enough to release me. "Do a more complicated design this time."
"You have a banana?"
"Not one you can ink."
"In your dreams."
"Pretty sure needles on my dick falls into nightmare."
"Then how did you get the piercing—"
"Raw willpower."
"Bullshit." I need to tease him. I need to feel like today is a normal day and not the one before I meet my fate. "It was narcissism, plain and simple."
"Damn, sunshine. Slow down. I don't know those SAT words."
I turn and stare up at him. "It was all your ego."
"It is massive." His smile lights up his bright eyes.
"But that wasn't enough. You needed jewelry."
"And this." He takes my right hand between his. Traces the lines of each ring with his thumb.
"What about it?"
"Why is it you're adorning your right hand?"
I wiggle my left hand. I'm wearing rings on every finger there too.
"So, you use both?"
I can't help but laugh. "That's where you're going with that?"
"Unless you've got nipple piercings I don't know about."
So much for keeping my mind off my boobs. I bite my lip. Fail to force a smile. This is silly. I can't kiss Dean and keep my thoughts off my chest. If I kiss him, I'm tearing off his clothes. And he's tearing off mine. And his hands are going right to my chest.
And, fuck, I want that.
I want that so badly.
"You okay, sunshine?" His voice pulls me back to the room.
"Yeah. Just tired."
"You forget your London Fog?"
"Haha." I flip him off with my left hand.
He releases my right. "Do the design. Then you can head out."
"That's all for today?"
His gaze shifts to the clock. "You've been here for ten hours."
"But I…"
"I know I'm irresistible, but I'm taking my tired ass home."
"Don't you have a gym date with Walker?"
He arches a brow. "Didn't realize you had my schedule memorized."
"I notice things."
"Notice tattoo designs."
"I do."
"Pick one." He nods to the banana. "For the other side."
"Oh."
"A Latin quote."
I stick my tongue out.
"Who doesn't love carpe diem?"
My nose scrunches.
"You don't want to seize the day?"
I do. That's why it's awful. Because it's cheesy and pointless and cliché and completely true.
"Not sure how you say seize the dick. I can call Kaylee. Ask her."
"Don't berate the poor girl on my account."
"Guess you're stuck with carpe diem."
I barely manage to muster up a laugh.
His brow furrows. He stares at me like I'm crazy. "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah."
"You've been spacey all day."
"I'm distracted."
"By?"
"Your body. Did your jeans get tighter?"
He laughs, disarmed. "They're new." He moves into the main room.
I follow him. "They look good."
"Yeah."
"Why is it you try to dress like an emo musician?"
"'Cause you like it."
"I do not."
"How about this. I borrow Emma's eyeliner. Put some on. Come back into the room. Check if your panties are drenched."
Desire flames below my belly. Yes. Let's skip all those pretenses and get right to taking our clothes off.
I swallow hard. My body screams for his touch. My head screams bad idea. My heart… it's a confused mess.
He looks down at me, his eyes heavy with desire.
This is an invitation.
I can take it.
I should take it.
But I still can't muster up the courage to say yes.
Or maybe I'm being sensible. Protecting my job. And my heart. And my ego.
I don't know anymore.
I try to find the right response. Something flirty. Something that says yes, I want you.
But it's too late.
The door is opening.
Someone is stepping inside.
A tall guy with gorgeous blue eyes.
Like Dean’s, only deeper. Stiller.
He’s familiar. And serious. It’s all over his strong posture, his furrowed brow, his half-hearted attempt at a smile.
There’s something weighing on this guy.
Something big.
Maybe he’s also finding out his fate tomorrow.
Maybe he’s as fucked as I am.
Dean turns to the guy. “About time you showed up.” He greets the guy with a high-five.
The broody guy nods a hello to Dean. Then to me.
That’s familiar too.
But different somehow.
Dean introduces us. “Chloe, you know Hunter.”
Oh. Hunter. He went to our high school. Hung out with Dean. Slept with all the pretty cheerleaders. And the band geeks. And the nerds.
He had a reputation for sneaking Jim Beam into parties and spiking the punch at Prom.
And, well, for being… casual with his body.
He was never as easy, breezy as Dean, but he wasn’t all quiet and tortured either.
This is… different.
He looks older. Not wrinkled or worn. More battle-scared.
Like he’s wiser.
Like his last seven years were as brutal as mine.
And, hey, maybe they were.
Tattooed manwhores go through shit too.
There’s something about the hurt in his eyes.
Or maybe that’s more his broad shoulders and strong arms.
If things were different, if I was a normal girl with a normal body, if my only concern was getting over my boss…
I wish this was as simple as finding a hot rebound fuck.
Why can’t it be that simple?
Dean moves to the desk. Crouches to rifle through a drawer. “Hunter is filling in for Brendon while he’s away.”