Page 14 of Just Between Us

I looked at Luna with my hands raised, and she shrugged, popping her chewing gum.

Once Veda was through the door, we watched as she stomped down the sidewalk.

Luna whistled. “Man. She does not like you. Think she figured out the prank was you?”

“Hell if I know ...” I continued to track Veda as she thundered down the sidewalk, the storm cloud still lingering over her head.

That woman was a puzzle.

Why did I like it so much?

FIVE

VEDA

No,no, no, no, no.

It’s impossible.

It can’t be.

Random skull tattoos on the back of someone’s hand are totally common, right?

What about the dagger on the side of his finger?

It was too specific to be a coincidence, and I was too logical to deny it.

I paced in my apartment, sweat pooling at my lower back. My armpits felt sticky, and I jutted my elbows out to keep from sweating all over my blouse.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

My stomach churned as dread pooled in my gut. Had it not been for me wearing my favorite pair of high heels, I probably would have puked right there on the floor of his tattoo parlor. I couldn’t get enough air despite sucking in lungfuls of breath. The blood drained from my face as my mind raced and panic threatened to overtake me.

No one was supposed to know.

Memories from our conversations over the last few months came flooding back, and my cheeks flared. Pulse was supposedto be anonymous. A fun escape to momentarily forget about the utter lack of genuine human connection in my life.

Working with JP King was supposed to be the ultimate redemption in my career after I crashed and burned at Franklin & Mirth.

My dirty little secret was supposed to stay locked up behind a screen, not waltzing through town with big dick energy and playful brown eyes. The tattoos were a dead giveaway, but I should have recognized the broad expanse of his chest. I had never seen his face, but I’d memorized every slope and line of his muscular body. I knew there was a six-pack and trim waist covered in tattoos, hiding under that T-shirt.

I had lusted after his freaking Adam’s apple.

I groaned at how pathetic I was and raked a hand through my hair, not caring if I messed up the carefully placed waves. Reeling, I pulled my phone from my purse and logged in to the Pulse app.

The unread message from last night was blaring at me. I held my breath as I read.

Mr.Right.Now:I’d blame the video call on a pocket dial, but I’d like to think we can be honest with each other after all this time. I apologize if I overstepped. Won’t happen again.

The tiniest twinge pinched in my chest at his sincere apology. I hated myself for allowing some strange man on the internet—a man I barely knew—to have some kind of hold over me. Frantic, I pulled up the last private video message I had seen.

“Hey, Precious. I missed you today.” The gentle words whooshed between my ears as I slumped against the wall and slid to the ground.

His voice was clearer and brighter in person. At the tattoo parlor it had lacked the relaxed gravel I was used to hearing, but it washisall the same.

My eyes searched the video, cataloging every drawing inked across his veined hands and up his forearms.

Oh god. Mr.Right.Now’s name is Royal King.

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