Playing, p.34
Playing, page 34
"My what?" I arch a brow.
"You used to date a lot. Not as much lately."
Not for the last few months, give or take. Not since she found her way into my brain.
"I wouldn't want you to feel... deprived."
"Deprived?"
"You know what I mean." There's this tone to her voice. One I can't place. "You're a young guy. Prime of your life. I'm sure you want to be having fun."
"You saying Ikea isn't fun?"
"I don't know. We aren't there yet." She leans back in her seat. "Do you still date?"
"Why?"
"Don't friends talk about this kind of thing?"
Yeah, technically. Dean and Walker brag about their conquests. Ryan... well, everyone knows where Ryan stands. "Do you date?"
"Sometimes. You know Em and her double dates. You?"
I can't tell her it's been awhile. That will encourage her. But I've got to say something. "There's a lot going on right now."
"Like?"
"This."
"This just happened."
"Manning is selling the shop."
"Oh." She runs her fingertips up my arm. "Brendon, I'm sorry. Will you have to go somewhere else?"
"Maybe. He's offering it to us first. Any of us."
"Hmm."
"Hmm?"
"You only have a few years left on the mortgage. What's a few more to be the proud owner of Inked Hearts?"
"It's Emma's house too."
"You know she'd say yes."
She would. She's always wanted to run her own business. This would be perfect training wheels.
Which is why she can't know.
I protect Emma from this kinda thing.
I'm not sacrificing her stability.
There's got to be another way.
"I'll think about it," I say.
"Lies, lies, lies." Kaylee laughs. "You've already decided."
She knows me too well.
"Someone at the shop will tell Emma. You really want her finding out from Dean?"
She has a point. But I will find a way to do this without sacrificing Emma's future. Period.
"How much cash do you have on hand?"
"Why? You pitching a business."
She folds her arms. "Could you buy a quarter of the company?"
I nod.
"You could buy it together."
I've thought about it. A lot, actually. I could stretch to cover half the company. But if anything happened, shit would be hard.
A quarter is safer.
Half of me is over the moon at the idea of owning Inked Hearts with the three guys who are essentially family. The other half is screaming hell no, I don't want to be legally tied to those annoying assholes.
Either way, I don't want her worrying. "I've got it under control."
"You always do."
Huh.
There's something in her voice.
Like she knows about my penchant for handcuffs and riding crops.
Dean has a big mouth.
She might know.
It's not like I hide my tastes.
But there's something in Kaylee's eyes.
Something more than Dean told me this rumor.
I shake it off.
It doesn't matter.
This trip is staying clean. Period. "How is your grandma?"
"I'm not sure, really. My parents aren't giving me all the details. She seems okay. She texted me yesterday asking when I was going to write her another... never mind."
"Another what?"
She shakes her head. "Nothing."
"Something."
"No... Nothing."
"Tell me."
"It's embarrassing." She leans in to turn the stereo on. It's on the alternative station and it's playing some pop-rock song. "Oh, I love this one." She settles into her seat. Her eyes go to me. "Let me guess. Too polished for you?"
"It's a crime, enjoying punk music?"
"It's a little 1980s."
"Arrest me."
Her laugh dissolves the tension in the car. "Sure. But, really, Brendon, you seem more like the type to cuff someone."
Fuck.
She knows something.
But my brain is skipping right over that.
It's skipping right to handcuffs slapped over Kaylee's wrists.
This car is way too small for how badly I want to bind her to my bed.
New topic.
"What is it that's embarrassing?" I ask.
"How much you secretly love pop music."
"In your dreams."
She smiles. "Sounds like a waste of a dream." There's a gleam in her eyes.
I know women.
And I know Kay.
She's flirting.
What the hell?
I take a deep breath. Turn to the road. Attempt to get my thoughts in order.
Nothing has changed.
I'm the guy who's supposed to protect Kay.
Even from herself.
That means we need a new subject.
"Is this that band Emma is in love with?" I ask.
"The one band?"
"One of the bands."
"Yeah. But it's more the lead singer and that sexy, breathy voice of his." Kaylee motions to the radio. "He sounds like he's in the middle of... you know."
"I know?"
"Sex."
He does. Which means it is the band. And even though the singer does sound like he's in the middle of a fuck, this is a much safer topic than handcuffs. "You know two of the guys get their work done at Inked Hearts."
"They do not."
I nod then attempt to turn my attention back to the road as I take the 10 to the 405. It's a straight shot for another fifteen miles. Luckily, we're late enough into morning to skip traffic. Mostly.
Kaylee turns toward me, her smile brightening her light eyes. "Brendon Kane, I can't believe it."
"Yeah?"
"You're a name dropper."
"Didn't say a name."
"Brendon Kane, the celebrity name dropper. Who else do you work with, oh great tattoo artist?"
"A lot of musicians."
"Yeah?" Her voice perks. She clears her throat, trying to play down her interest. Kaylee and Emma were obsessed with a few bands for a while. And I mean know the guys' birthdays, tattoos, and favorite foods obsessed.
Only all those bands sound the same to me.
"Not that you care," I tease back.
"Yeah. Of course not." She smooths her dress. "Who was it?" When I don't respond, she motions to the stereo.
"Artist client confidentiality."
"Tease."
Fuck yeah. "And that's a bad thing?"
That gets her chest flushing red. She still manages to hold my gaze. "Don't make me beg."
So much for a safe topic. There's no way I can handle her begging. Not right now.
I turn back to the road. "What's his name?" I don't forget my regular clients' names, but I don't recall their professions either. Rock star, secretary, bartender, CEO—it's all the same to me. Skin is skin. Ink is ink. "Joel Young. He's a regular."
Her eyes go wide, but she nods like this is no big deal.
"And Ethan Strong. And his girlfriend."
"A couple's tattoo?" She lets out a long sigh. "That's sweet."
No, but it is sweet. "I could introduce you next time he comes in."
"No way," she squeals. It's a rarity for her.
Fuck, the things that excitement in her eyes does to me...
I'm not going to survive the drive at this rate.
"I'm sure he'd offer tickets," I say.
Her eyes go wide. "Really?"
"Backstage passes even."
"No fucking way." Her voice rises to a squeal. She claps her hands together. "You wouldn't tease me?"
Fuck yes. Lose the panties if you want to see how badly. "Not about this."
"Em would kill me if I went without her."
"So go with her."
"But..." Kaylee turns to me. Her green eyes fix on mine. They fill with earnest affection. "You'd have to come. Or it would be too much fun. Really, Brendon. Who would complain the music is too generic?"
"Anyone with taste."
"Anyone who's a judgmental jerk?"
"And your comments on Die Hard?"
"I like Die Hard. It's that third one where it gets iffy."
"Not that you get judgmental."
She laughs. "Never." Kaylee leans down to place her purse on the floor. There's no frustration in her eyes. She's just happy. "What was the couple's tattoo?"
"It wasn't. It was something for her. An in memoriam for her brother."
She makes that aww sound. "That's sweet."
"It was."
"You do a lot of couple's tattoos?"
"A handful. Would you get one?"
"I don't know. That's a lot of commitment. One person, on your skin, forever. Would you?"
"If it was someone I couldn't get out of my head. Someone I needed under my skin." Someone like Kay. "Yeah. I don't see how I could avoid it."
Chapter Nine
Brendon
Kaylee steps off the escalator and surveys the expansive room. "This is huge."
Her smile spreads a little wider. She turns back to the warehouse packed with fake rooms and apartments and takes another step down the glossy white-grey path.
Usually, I find this place depressing. Manufactured. Fake.
But the way Kay is trotting to the faux studio apartment on our left, running her fingers over the light wood bookshelf, crouching down to pick up the thick dictionaries on the bottom shelf...
Fuck, her joy does something to me.
Something I'm not used to.
She puts the dictionary away, pushes herself to her feet, and moves into the room.
The faux apartment suits her.
There's a tiny silver and white kitchen against the "wall." A white cloth futon next to the bookshelf. A TV nestled into a tiny stand—one adorned with vases flush with silk flowers.
Kaylee plops onto the couch. Smooths her floral print dress. Takes my hand and looks up at me with those doe eyes.
It's like she's screaming please.
Fuck, the thoughts going through my head...
We're not here as foreplay.
We're not here so I can order her to strip for my viewing pleasure.
We're here because everything in her life is changing.
I'm here to be her friend.
Not to think about her hands on my zipper and her lips around my cock.
I need to get a hold of myself.
Her fingers skim my outer thigh. "The embarrassing thing... I'll tell you if you agree to help me with it."
She's sitting there waiting. Exactly where I want her.
I channel every other thought I can. Baseball. Dodgers blue. Dad whining about trades and salary caps. Explaining that if I want to waste my time playing video games, I should play one that actually teaches me something. Like his baseball management simulator.
My cock cools it.
I manage to sit next to Kaylee. "I'm not agreeing until I have more information."
Her chest spills over her dress as she leans closer. The top of her bra peeks out from the neckline. It's beige. Nearly the color of her skin.
I force myself to stare into her eyes. "That's your invitation to offer more."
"Would you rather own the shop outright or share that with Dean, Walker, and Ryan?"
"Don't worry about it, Kay."
"I'm not worried."
I've been thinking about that too. I'm a control freak. There's no denying that. But there's another part of me. One that wants teammates. That wants to let people in.
That wants someone to lean on.
"You need help with something. It's not my finances," I say.
She shakes her head. "I have this idea. We could take thirty minutes, try to find the best collection of stuff to decorate Inked Hearts properly."
"And your room?"
"That after."
"You gonna tell me?"
"If you agree to help."
I shake my head.
"Then let's go." She pushes herself to her feet. Offers her hand to shake. "Thirty minutes. We'll meet downstairs. See who gets the best stuff."
Fuck, the brightness in her eyes.
There's no way I can deny that.
This is a good idea.
Something fun.
To fill both our heads.
I nod. "You're on."
We shake. Set our timers. Go for it.
I give her a head start.
All right, I watch the way her dress falls over her ass as she walks away.
Same difference.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, I'm downstairs with a cart full of cheap decorations. White Christmas lights. Simple black frames. Rectangular black pillows. Planters full of cacti.
Eighteen-year-old Brendon would fucking kill me.
I'm yuppie scum.
And there's Kaylee with a full cart. Pink string lights. Heart pillows. Same planters full of cacti. One of those mass-produced paintings of the ocean.
She holds it up. "I just wanted to see your face."
"And?"
"Perfection." She sets it aside. "The corporations have us, huh?"
"Pretty sure I'm doomed."
"If you buy stuff at Ikea to decorate your small business, is that corporate or not?"
"Don't look at me. I didn't go to college."
"Me either. Not yet."
I never thought about those kinds of technicalities. I was an angry kid without responsibilities. One who'd never ever wanted for anything. Who'd never worried about anything.
Easy to decry three-dollar meatballs and cheap decorations when you have the time and money to make your own dinner, sew together your own jeans.
You get older. Start making compromises. Realize some of your ideals were naïve.
But owning my own business—even one adorned in Ikea decorations—that warms me like nothing else does.
She smiles. "You're going to do it."
"I was always going to do it."
"No... you weren't. I know you. I know every single one of your facial expressions."
"I have expressions?"
"Barely. But you do."
"You have a room to furnish."
"You saying you can't handle it?"
"You baiting me?"
She shakes her head.
But she is.
She has no idea how much she's baiting me.
* * *
We pick out a bed, a bookshelf, a chair, a handful of decorations. It's not a lot. Just enough for the room to scream Kaylee. Just enough for the room to feel like home.
Her eyes go to the sign next to the elevator. The ones that label the cafe on the third floor. "I guess I can give the three-dollar meatballs a chance."
"Generous."
"I think so too."
The elevator dings as its doors slide open. I motion after you.
She steps inside and presses her back against the metal wall.
I pull out my phone. Check my texts from Ryan. Manning has been an absent owner for years. Ryan and I more or less manage the place.
We try to check with each other about any changes—schedules, pricing, difficult clients, even what brand of coffee we keep on hand—but it's a formality.
Neither of us listens.
Brendon: I want to do it. Me and you. Or the four of us.
Ryan: You know I'm off relationships.
Brendon: And I?
Ryan: Only have eyes for Kaylee. You sure about this?
Brendon: Yeah.
Ryan: You call Anna?
Brendon: You call anyone?
Ryan: Fair enough. I'll let Dean and Walker know. Can you meet with a lawyer Friday?
Brendon: I'm booked all day. But I'll make it work.
"Ryan?" Kaylee asks.
"Yeah." I slip my phone into my pocket. Try to wipe my smile off my face.
She notices. Bites her lip. "You told him."
I nod.
"It's really happening?"
"There's a lot of legal shit first, but—"
She throws her arms around me and buries her head in my chest. "Congrats."
"Thanks." I press my palm between her shoulder blades, over her cardigan.
It's not like with other women.
I feel Kaylee in my bones.
She doesn't hide her sigh when she pulls back.
There's something up with her. Something she isn't saying.
Her eyes find mine. "How is he?"
"Same as always."
"Pining and moody?"
I chuckle. "Don't let him hear you say that."
"He knows."
He does. Again, I motion after you.
Kaylee nods a thank you and steps into the lobby. The cafe is around the corner. It's set up cafeteria style, with food in fridges, steam trays, baskets of fruit everywhere.
She grabs a teal tray and places it on the metal railing in front of a sneeze guard. Her gaze flits to the picture menu board. "Veggie meatballs too. This is gourmet."
I grab a tray and place it next to hers. My body begs me to move closer. To wrap my arms around her. To throw her on that table, roll her skirt up her thighs, and rub her over those cotton panties.
I'm imagining her panties.
That blue pair with Paradise written on the crotch in black.
Fuck, has there ever been an article of clothing that accurate?
I force myself to stay in place. So there's room between us.
She orders the veggie meatballs.
I get the regular meatballs. And two fountain drinks. Kay fills them. I pay.
We find a table by the window.
Yeah, it looks out on a parking lot then on the 405, but it's still a nice view. The sky is a beautiful blue. And the light from the sun is casting highlights and shadows all over the room.
Kaylee slides into the seat across from mine and hands over my iced tea. She wraps her lips around her straw and takes a long sip. "Not bad."
I motion to our plates. "All for under ten dollars."
"And..."
"Food tastes better when it's cheap."
"I get half off everything at The Pizza Kitchen. I never want to eat cheap restaurant food again." She picks up her fork, stabs a veggie meatball, holds it up and examines it. "No offense."
"If you don't like it, I'll make you something when we get home."
Her lips purse. "Or I could have an almond butter and jelly sandwich." She offers me her fork. "You want one?"
