Page 211 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

Fuck.

Me.

She looks damn edible.

Sophie struts in wearing a short plaid pleated skirt and knee-high Dr. Martens that leave her gorgeous thighs bare and I’m sure that when she sits, it will ride up and expose the tattoo wrapped around her left thigh. A cropped T-shirt exposing her midriff completes her outfit, and when she reaches up, she’ll reveal the bottom of the tattoo I know to be there. I love that I know she has those tattoos—it’s both intimate and torturous.

I drop my head back on my shoulders with a pained groan.

Did I tell you Shortcake’s been torturing me non-stop?

She arrives every day looking sexier than the last. She’s everywhere I turn with her seductive smile, and I swear she finds any excuse to touch me. I have no idea how I’m supposed to keep resisting her. Especially today.

I’m tattooing one of her designs on a client tonight, which means she’s staying late again. And it’ll only be the two of us because Ken’s leaving early for his grandson’s birthday.

* * *

I roll away from the table and stretch out my neck. I really must work out a way to remind myself to stretch regularly. Ken’s been at me for years about my posture and taking breaks; maybe it’s time to listen to the old guy. He wanders around the room to say goodnight to his girls, swapping some pots around so they grow evenly; and my regular client and fight organizer, who’s familiar with Ken’s attachment to his plants, snickers.

“Man, I’ll never get used to a grown-ass man talking to plants the way Ken does,” Mike comments.

Ken comes to a stop at my station and points to me. “You need to stretch more often.” Then he turns to Mike. “The girls need love, too.” He smirks as he spins on his heel and waves over his shoulder. “Good night.”

“Night,” I call, then roll back to the table to continue my work.

Sophie wanders out from the back after her dinner break and heads straight to Ken’s station to clean up. Mike turns his head to follow her. “Your new girl’s hot as fuck.” His expression turns salacious. “What I wouldn’t give to ben—” Anger turns my vision red and I clench my fist, causing the needle to dig into his arm and he curses, “Fuck, man.” He looks down at his arm with narrowed eyes and then up at me accusingly. “What the fuck?”

I wince internally, but give him the same look I give my opponent in the ring. If Mike has any sense of self-preservation, he’ll pick up what I’m putting down. “Keep your eyes to yourself. She’s mine,” I snarl.

What the actual fuck?

I had to say something, or I’d hit him. Lay him flat, so he’d stop looking at her like he wanted to … fuck her. Jesus, is that how I look at her?

His eyes flick between the two of us, and he points at me. “You”—he points in her direction and I slap his hand down—“pulled that knockout?”

I nod. “Yeah, but she doesn’t want anyone to know, so keep it to yourself.”

“I’m not surprised. I’d be embarrassed if people knew I was dating you.”

“Fuck off,” I snap.

He chuckles. “Just kidding. Congrats.” When he finally stops laughing, he grows serious as his eyes study my torso like he can see beneath the fabric. “How’d you pull up after last week? You took some heavy hits.”

“A bit of bruising, but I’m okay.” I grunt and focus back on the feather I’m working on.

Sophie quietly sits to observe, but I ask her to take an inventory of the storeroom. Not that it needs to be done; I just don’t want Mike to look at her. When another hour passes and I’m finally finished, relief that he won’t be around Sophie any longer washes over me.

“Ah, Linc. That looks amazing. Thank you,” he says as he twists his arm back and forth in front of the mirror.

Some of my aches disappear with his awed expression. “You’re welcome. Make sure you follow the aftercare.”

“Yeah, I will,” he answers absently as he studies his new ink.

He heads to reception to pay and I tell Sophie I’m going to take a quick break before our next client arrives. I trust Mike to behave after my warning as she explains the aftercare procedures with him and then prep my station for my last client of the day.

When I step out of the bathroom, Sophie’s leaning against the doorjamb, blocking the entry to the hallway. “You told Mike I’m your girlfriend?”

So much for keeping his mouth shut. I knew I should have finalized his account instead of taking a piss. “He was looking at you and saying inappropriate things about what he wanted to do to you.” Her eyebrows shoot up and I lean into her space, lowering my voice. “I was protecting you.”

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