Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 92841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
As Taylor Swift sings about having her heart broken, Shane glances at me with a smirk.
“What?” I huff, too curious for my own good.
“Just didn’t take you for a Swiftie,” he says. “Although I guess it makes sense since you got that whole broody-chick thing going for you.”
Without responding, I grab his arm, turn the gun on, and get to work on his tattoo. At first, he tenses, but after a few minutes, his body relaxes.
“It doesn’t hurt like I thought it would,” he says, watching as I work.
“People who’ve never been tattooed think getting one hurts. But in reality, for most, it’s more annoying than anything. For me, because I’m so used to it, it’s therapeutic.”
“What’s the last tattoo you got?” he asks, his question forcing me to stop tattooing him.
The last time I was tattooed was …
Shit!
I turn the gun off and wipe his arm, then stand, peeling my gloves off and tossing them into the trash.
“I’m sorry. I need to use the bathroom,” I rush out. “I’ll be right back.”
Before he can say anything, I storm out of the room, heading straight for the back office. Only before I get there, I run into my dad.
“Whoa,” he says, looking at me with concern. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just need to go to—”
“Stop,” Dad says, refusing to let me lie. “I thought you were in with a client. Did something happen?”
“No,” I whisper. “Well …” I swallow thickly. “He asked what the last tattoo I got was.”
Dad nods knowingly.
“I just need a minute.”
“Do you need me to—” He nods toward my room.
“No, I’m just going to splash some water on my face. But thank you.”
When I return to the room, Shane glances at me, his eyes zeroing in on my splotchy face. Thanks to my fair skin, I can’t hide when I’ve been crying.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asks, his features etched with worry.
“No. I’m just a mess,” I admit with a self-deprecating laugh. “Hence me not being emotionally available.”
Shane nods in understanding, and then he says something that completely shocks the hell out of me. “As much as I would love to take you out on a date—and I still want to—it’s clear you’re not ready for that, so why don’t we take a step back?”
“Okay,” I say cautiously.
“My name is Shane Evans.” He extends his hand. “And I would love it if we could be friends.”
I stare at his hand for several seconds, and then, against my better judgment, I take it. It’s warm to the touch and a bit rough. But for some reason, it’s also comforting.
“I’m Kinsley Bryson,” I tell him. “And you’re going to find out that I’m a really shitty friend.”
At my words, a sexy, boyish grin lights up his too-damn-handsome-for-his-own-good face. “Somehow, I doubt that,” he says with a laugh.
And as he shakes my hand, his eyes boring into mine and his smile lighting up the damn room, I ignore the warmth that spreads through my body, particularly my lady parts, forcing my own smile on my face.
Friends, I tell myself.
Great.
We’re friends.
That’s perfect.
Then, why is it that I suddenly really freaking hate that word?
“Holy shit,” Shane breathes, looking at his new tattoo in the mirror. “It looks so good.” He snaps a photo of it in the mirror and then pockets his phone.
“I’m glad you like it. Did your daughter know you were getting it?”
“No. I figured I would show her after it was done. She was giving me shit about getting a tattoo at my age, saying I was going through a midlife crisis.”
He laughs, and I join him. I don’t know his daughter, but the one time I met her, she seemed cool. I could tell she wasn’t at all on board with her friend’s tattoo idea, and that makes me like her even more.
“They grow up too fast,” he says, shaking me from my thoughts. “One minute, I was holding her in my arms and vowing to be the best dad I could be, scared to death that I’d somehow fuck it all up. And the next, she’s driving and working and giving me shit about my tattoo of choice.”
Emotion fills my chest, and before I can think about what I’m saying, I blurt out, “My last tattoo was my daughter’s heartbeat.”
Shane’s eyes widen in shock. “You have a daughter?”
“Had,” I correct. “I mean, she’s still my daughter, but she’s not alive.”
Tears fill my eyes as I lift my shirt to show him the tattoo that’s inked along my left rib cage. And as he kneels in front of me to check it out, memories from the day I got it come back to me …
“I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere in here.” I open and close each drawer, trying to find the drawing I drew for my dad but somehow misplaced.