Page 104 of Yours Truly

“Everly is pregnant. Oh God, what if something is wrong with the baby?” I breathe, panic coursing through me in waves. Deuce and Everly are family to me, and if anything happened to either of them?—

“Stop spinning out, Firecracker, okay? Don’t borrow trouble. Let’s just see what’s going on,” he soothes, using his thumb to stroke down my leg.

He puts his new car in park—the sports car was replaced with an SUV, a normal priced SUV that makes more sense in Bluebell than a fast car ever did. He unbuckles his seat belt and turns to face me. “So they asked us both to come, and it sounded serious, I’ll give you that. But… if something were really wrong, I don’t think they’d tell us at the shop, you know?”

“I guess,” I say, still nervous as I peer through the windshield at Ink Time.

“I mean, if you were gonna give someone shitty news, you’d, like, I don't know, ask them to your place and make scones and coffee and shit,” he offers, trying to soothe my worries. And in a way, it works. I arch an eyebrow.

“Are scones what you’d serve if you told someone you were dying?”

“C’mon,” he scoffs, giving my leg a pat. “Let’s go put your mind at ease.”

We get out and Trace leads us into the shop, holding the door open while his other hand stays linked with mine. Inside, Deuce and Everly stand behind reception, she’s in his arms, and he’s kissing her head.

“Oh god, he’s dying,” I whisper, my eyes threatening to water.

He squeezes my hand. “Hey,” he greets, and they snap to focus, Ev smiling as Deuce does the same.

“Is everything okay?” I blurt out, my eyes darting between the two of them. “Please tell me you’re both okay.”

Ev’s eyes widen as she processes. “Oh, honey, no, everything’s fine,” she says, taking me from Trace to pull me into a hug.

“I thought—I don’t know, I was worried,” I admit as she pulls us apart, smiling at me.

“Everything is actually really great. But… we wanted to talk to you two alone about something… pretty serious,” she says, making eyes to her husband. They agree on something without words, and I love how couples communicate that way. Trace and I do the same, and it feels so good to be part of that secret language. Right now, though, their secrecy has me nervous.

My mind careens back to Trace and I closing up last week. We were on each other’s nerves all day and by the time the front door was locked, I couldn’t wait to get his dick in my mouth in the back office.

Have they caught on to us using the office as our “we can’t make it home” place?

I roll my lips together as we sit in Connor’s station, Deuce and Trace taking the rolling stools, Ev and I sitting in the extra chairs. Between us is the tattooing chair where clients sit, and silence. So much silence that Trace begins tapping his foot.

Finally, Deuce speaks.

“Ev and I think it’s time to sell Ink Time. With a toddler and another one on the way, managing this location is just… too much. And quite frankly, I don’t really need the income. I don’t need any part of it.” He twists, his black-and-white flannel shirt bunching on his large torso as he does. Facing Trace he says, “But it would be roots for the both of you, and we wanted to give you two the opportunity first.”

My heart leaps, as happiness tingles through my cheeks. Holy shit. Me and Trace, owners of Ink Time? Juniper loves owning her own business, and Dolly is thrilled being her own boss. And as for Trace and I? We work so well together, even when we’re annoying the ever-living daylights out of one another.

“No,” Trace says, getting to his feet, “and can you excuse us for a second?” he says, yanking me to my feet by my hand.

“No?” You’re just gonna answer for us? I don’t have a voice? Fuck off, Trace, I want this place. And honestly, I want this place with you?—”

He shuts me up with his mouth pressed to mine, shoving my back against the closed office door. Grinding his erection against me, he pulls back. “Your mouth gets me so hard,” he groans, nipping at my bottom lip.

I smack his chest, pushing him back. “And your assumption that we don’t want Ink Time makes me mad,” I say, shoving him again as he moves to kiss me.

Finally, he steps back, pulling his hand down his new beard. Trace with a beard, by the way, is four orgasms a night levels of hot. Trust me.

“Ivy, I want to own Ink Time. I want to own it with you, too.” He studies me. “Badly.”

“Okay,” I draw out, confused as ever.

“But I want to own a business with my wife.”

“Yeah but, by the time that happens, someone else may want to buy or will already have bought it and?—”

His mouth curls into a smirk as he reaches behind me, twisting the knob, giving the office door a push open. “Turn around, Firecracker,” he rasps.

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