"I'll introduce you tomorrow. See if that changes your mind."
She stares into my eyes, picking me apart. Finally, she nods. "That's it. You convinced me. Should we all go to the backroom now?"
"Yeah." I laugh. "You first."
"No. You first."
"Uh-uh. I have a strict policy. Ladies first."
"Is that right?"
I nod.
She catches herself smiling. Shakes it off.
The woman still despises me.
And I still love it.
I shift back to discussing work. "Ryan paying you?"
"You're a co-owner."
"And?"
"You don't keep track of that?"
I shake my head. I trust Ryan. Why take on extra work when he's got it covered?
"Yeah," she says. "Not much, but enough."
"You have a second job?"
She shakes her head. "I have a cheap place to stay."
"Nearby?"
"You're not invited."
"I wasn't asking."
"Not yet."
I can't help but smile.
Even after all this time, she knows me too fucking well.
Chapter Four
Dean
"What's with the fuck me eyes?" Ryan asks.
I feign ignorance. Ryan can chew me out if he wants, but I'm not going to make it easy for him.
"She's a good kid."
"Are you her dad?"
"You scare her off, I make you hurt."
"You won't hurt me."
"Try me."
I mime pushing my sleeves up my arms. Make fists. "Let's go. I'll snap you like a twig."
"You want pain, say it again." His voice perks to that tone he used when we were kids. It's a challenge, not a threat.
It's tempting. I've always wanted to fight Ryan. Must be some primal thing, needing to prove I can take my older brother. I've always been bigger. Stronger.
Still am.
But he's a karate expert now.
This is an actual challenge now.
Even so, I motion come at me.
He shakes his head you're ridiculous.
"You're right." I drop my fists. "Can't stand to see you lose in front of your girl."
"Please. She'll get off on watching."
"I'm gonna tell her you said that."
"Fuck off." He chuckles. His gaze shifts to Leighton.
She's sitting behind the counter, half her attention on her laptop, the other half on us.
Her tongue slides over her lips. Her chest heaves. Anticipation fills her blue-green eyes.
She wants a show.
I'm game to let Ryan win.
But he's past my bullshit.
He leans in close enough to whisper. "You didn't tell me you knew her in high school."
"You didn't ask my permission to hire her."
"Guess we're fair."
"You fall in love with the hot bartender I hire and I get guess we're fair?"
"Yeah."
How the hell can I explain this to my brother? He's not gonna take any of my bullshit reasons. The truth isn't an option. But there must be something. "Chloe—"
"Fuck. Really, Dean?"
"Really, what?"
"You fucked her?"
Not a subject he needs to know about. "She's not a good fit."
"She's the female version of me."
I can't exactly deny that.
"If she doesn't belong here, I don't belong here."
"Been meaning to tell you—"
"If you have a real reason why you don't want her here, I'm all ears."
That's the thing. I do want her here. I want her glaring at my antics. I want her fighting her smile. Laughing despite herself.
I want her on the counter.
Her jeans at her ankles.
Her tits in my hands.
Her cunt pulsing around me.
"You there?" he asks.
"No. Thinking about your girlfriend naked."
He rolls his eyes. He's having none of my shit.
"She—"
"Hates you."
"She hates what I represent."
His blue eyes stay serious. He studies my expression like his life depends on it. "She hates you."
I shrug. Maybe she did, once. But it's been forever. It's all water under the bridge.
"After seven years?" I ask.
"Apparently." He runs a hand through his wavy hair. He inherited Dad's wild hair. I've got Mom's straight dirty blond locks. Though hers come from a bottle these days. "You gonna tell me why she hates you?"
"There are so many reasons. Could be any of them."
He laughs. "True." He turns back to Leighton. "You have any insight into why Chloe hates Dean, baby?"
"Does she need one reason?" Leighton offers.
Ryan chuckles.
"I can see why you love her," I say.
His cheeks flame red, but he shakes it off. "She's gonna shadow you tomorrow."
Uh-uh. Chloe isn't following me around. Not in that tight black outfit she wears. Not with that short hair brushed behind her ears. Not if I have to keep it in my pants.
"Yeah," he says. "She is. You agreed. She's yours for the day."
"When did I agree?"
"You said I could hire anyone. I did."
"An apprentice?"
"You have an issue with her skills?"
"No." If she's half the artist she was in high school, she's better than any of us.
"Her attitude?"
That's a trap. "No."
"Her work ethic?"
"No."
"Then what's your issue?"
Fuck. He's right.
I can't take this from her. Even if it will make my life easier.
It's been an eternity.
This isn't high school I'm not hung up on the girl who hates my guts.
I'm a grown adult.
I can work with Chloe without letting her get under my skin.
Better convince Ryan I don't actually care. "Will she really be mine?" I raise a brow.
"Don't."
"What if she's into it?"
"She's not. There's no fucking way Chloe wants anywhere near your dick."
I don't bother correcting him.
He takes a step backward. "Can I trust you with this?"
"Can you trust me with anything?"
He shakes his head fuck if I know. "I'll see you Wednesday."
"Until then." I nod my goodbye.
Watch him join Leighton at the counter.
He whispers something in her ear. She blushes.
He wraps his arm around her and whisks her to the door.
She waves on her way out.
It's just me and the machines.
I love the feel of Inked Hearts. The smell of rubbing alcohol. The red and pink string lights lining the walls. The framed art in the lobby.
It's a fucking thrill, knowing the place is mine.
But it doesn't fill me as deeply as it used to.
The bartender shoots me a sweet smile. A you free after my shift smile.
But I know better than to shit where I eat.
She runs her fingers through her long black hair. "Usual?"
I nod. Move to the electronic jukebox. Trade a dollar for a grunge song. Even Flow. Pearl Jam is an obvious choice, but it's not like this thing has any b-sides.
Eddie Vedder's mumbling vocals pour from the speakers. I'm still not sure what he's saying. Only that his pain is spilling into his performance.
He's laying his heart bare, for anyone to see.
It's hard to imagine doing the same.
Earnest expression isn't my forte.
It suits this place and its utilitarian vibe. Concrete floor. Silver furniture. Plain white walls. Dim lighting.
Couples and friends crowd into the booths in the corner.
Singles line the bar. Stare at drinks or phones.
It's quiet tonight. Not empty—there are plenty of people here—but quiet. The grunge jam drowns out every hint of conversation.
That bartender sets a Jack and Coke on the bar. Squeezes her arms against her chest, pushing her tits together. "Long day?"
"Same old, same old." I fish my card from my wallet and hand it over.
"Keep it open?"
"Yeah." The words are a reflex. It's part of my routine. A few drinks. A flirting partner. An offer to go back to her place.
I nod a thanks. Scan the bar.
There's a cute woman on the other side of some tech bro. She's staring at her phone. Tapping a text to her friend.
She takes a long sip. Sighs.
Looks around.
Her eyes catch mine.
Her red lips curl into a smile.
It's an invitation. Usually, that's all I need to get my blood flowing south.
But tonight…
Nothing is happening.
My body is apathetic.
She's hot—red hair, big tits, long legs. I can recognize it, objectively.
But that's it.
I approach her anyway.
Her long fingers curl around her pink cocktail. She looks up at me, her brown eyes wide with surprise. They get fuzzy as she stares.
I slide onto the stool next to hers. "I'm buying your next drink."
"You are?"
"Yeah."
"You're telling, not asking."
Yeah. It works like a charm. I lean in closer. Until I can smell her shampoo. Strawberries. Like Chloe's.