Page 9 of Yours Truly

It ain’t that single drink from last night, either.

I did have one drink—whiskey. I just so happened to finish the bottle.

“Yeah,” I groan, catching my head in my hands as nausea bullies me, causing me to go fetal for a moment in the passenger seat of her Dodge Charger. She flicks her blinker on and the slow tick, tick, tick of the turn signal has me ready to tear my face off and jump out of this car, I swear. Everything is on my nerves this morning.

Mostly me.

“Okay, hun,” she sings, popping her bubble gum. “We’re here.”

“How can you chew fucking Dubble Bubble at nine in the morning?” I crow, collecting my wet hair from my shoulders to tie it behind me in a messy bun.

“I don’t drink coffee. It’s my morning sugar,” she says, reaching across me to pop open the door. “Call me?” she asks while also eyeing the sidewalk, hinting for me to get the fuck out.

I lift my shoulders. “I probably won’t.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

The effort to get out of the car feels risky, as last night’s booze churns in my gut. I attempt to shake my head, but the hangover renders me almost motionless. “Close the door so I can get to work,” she says, tapping her long fingernail against the gold-plated name tag on her chest.

Corey. Fuck, did I call her Corinne or just think it? I bring my hands to my throat, where I close the last button on my long-sleeved black shirt. “Sorry,” I mutter, pushing the door shut lightly so I don’t turn the sidewalk into artwork with my brains splattered everywhere.

Hangovers aren’t as easy as they were seven years ago.

Somehow it doesn’t stop me.

Corey pulls away, and I turn, blinking up at Ink Time. The lights are on, Deuce’s pickup is here, and the other artist I met a month or so ago is here, too. I see him crouched over his desk with a small lamp illuminating his private workspace. Slowly, I enter through the back and find myself in a small, dark hallway, face to face with my best friend.

He drops a hand to my shoulder softly, as if he knows I can’t stand a jarring movement. Something in my toes tingles, snaking a hot line up my calves and thighs, scorching my gut.

Fuck… I grab the back of my neck and pull at it as I look into Deuce’s eyes. “I’m sorry,” I admit, the words quiet as the feeling in my stomach registers.

Guilt.

I feel guilty.

Deuce’s lips twitch. “It’s fine.” He looks over his shoulder to the place where the wall curves, and the hall opens into the studio. “Ivy’s pissed, though.”

Just hearing her name with the word “pissed” has a smirk curling my lips, and I don’t know why. Something about that Firecracker always being angry—maybe I’m a masochist but it’s some kind of fucked-up turn-on. I like it. Then it dawns on me. When Deuce drops his hand from my shoulder, I cup mine on his. “She came to my place last night, told me I’d get fired if I didn’t show up.”

“She cares, and she takes her craft seriously,” Deuce replies just as the front shop door chimes with a new customer. “Make it up to her today by being a good mentor.” I follow behind him to the front counter, where he hands me a stack of papers. “The tentative schedule for you and her. Follow it or don’t, just make sure at the end of the twelve weeks, you’ve worked with her on all the main things here.”

I don’t get a chance to look at the book of shit he’s placed in my hands because a woman is clearing her throat in an “I need your attention” type of way.

I get that a lot.

Only I’m startled to see it’s—“Corey?” I look at her name tag for good measure, and she catches me, rolling her eyes.

“Did you really need to read my name tag, asshole?” She steps toward me, lowering her voice to a scathing hiss. “We had unprotected sex last night and now you need a name tag to know who I am?”

From behind me, Deuce clears his throat. “I’ll give you a minute,” he announces, but Corey likes an audience.

I’m not into voyeurism.

“This won’t take long.” She brings her gaze back to me, still chewing that awful pink gum. “I just realized I need the morning-after pill.”

I blink at her. “So get it.”

Deuce clears his throat, and Corey’s return makes sense. I dig into my pocket and fish out my wallet where I pinch a twenty and pass it to her.

---