Page 43 of Unspoken Rules

“Tattooing can be rewarding in more ways than just putting your artwork out there for people to wear proudly.”

“I see that.”

“Just think about it,” he says, closing the book. “For now, you can choose whether you wanna be here early in the morning to paint, or at night after closing.”

“Not really a morning person, so I’ll go with option B.”

“We’re closed on Tuesdays but meet me here at eight on Wednesday. We can chat and go from there.”

I nod, taking another glance at the photo book. “Okay, yeah. I guess that sounds good.”

He holds out his hand, and I shake it. “Thank you. This is the last thing I was expecting to come of my day.”

“Takes just one person to make a difference,” he says.

So I keep hearing.

Chapter Seventeen

Bryson

It’s a good thing Cole gave me his number because it was around 4:30, when it was time for me to leave to pick him up, that I realized I didn’t know where I was going. Am I getting him at the office? A job site? I never asked.

He texts me back with an address that’s about twenty minutes away. It’s a residential area that I end up in, which isn’t surprising. Cole can build anything, but most of his income is from homes. Building new ones. Updating old ones. Additions. All that stuff.

I park on the street about a block down, since I can’t get a spot directly by the site because of all the construction trucks. I send him a text to let him know I’m here. Fiddling with the radio, I settle on a classic rock station I remember from when I was younger. This neighborhood is just outside of Lynncastor and seems really nice. The houses are all big and well taken care of. Their lawns are manicured, and there’s a Lamborghini in the driveway a few houses down.

Cole pops up a few minutes after five. He smirks at me through the rolled-down window.

“Find a job?” My smile must say it all. He taps on the door, grinning. “I’m taking you out to dinner. My treat.”

“Why are you—what? No. You’re not buying me dinner after everything else.”

Cole smirks, pulling the door open. My gaze runs up and down his body, taking in his dirty shirt and pants, and something about it just—

“Out of my truck, Bryson. I’m buying you dinner.”

With a loud groan, I take off my seatbelt and hop out of the truck to go around and sit in the passenger seat.

“Put what you want on the radio,” he says once he pulls off.

I want to tell him I chose this station, but decide a smart remark is better.

“What am I, your passenger princess?” I ask.

He frowns, but it quickly turns into a smile. “You wanna be?”

I bark out a laugh. “Do you even know what that means?”

“Nope.” He grins, glancing at me from the corner of his eye.

I shake my head and reach for the buttons to mess with the stations since there’s an ad right now. I settle on one when I hear “45” by Shinedown.

“Do you want to?” I’m still internally laughing about the passenger princess thing and don’t want to let it go just yet.

“Your tone is telling me to say no.”

I chuckle, and glance out the window.

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