Page 11 of Ink & Desire

“Don’t mind her,” Cass says. “She’s just modest.”

I grit my teeth and resist the urge to roll my eyes.

“Modesty isn’t a bad thing,” he says. “But you’re allowed to be proud of yourself, too. I don’t know from personal experience, but I’ve heard the bar is a big deal.”

I nod. “Yeah, it wasn’t easy. But I’m just glad it’s behind me.”

I take another long drink from my glass to stall.

“So, if I ever get into trouble, can I call you as my lawyer?”

I bite my lip to keep from bursting into laughter.

“What kind of trouble are you thinking about?” Cass asks, pouring on the charm.

I watch as he seems to weigh out his options. I can see the exact moment when he decides to switch his focus from me to Cass. He grins down at her, a dimple flashing in his cheek. I’m amused and relieved. Maybe I won’t have to make small talk all night after all.

“I could tell you, but that would be an admission of guilt,” he says.

I’m no lawyer, but I did recently pass an imaginary bar exam, so I’m pretty sure that only counts if you’re talking to the police. But I could be wrong. Either way, I don’t correct him. Instead, I inch slowly back from the two of them, trying not to draw attention to the fact that I’m trying to sneak off.

“What’s your name?” Cass asks him.

“Damon,” he says.

“I’m Cassidy,” she says, holding out a hand.

“Nice to meet you, Cassidy,” he says, taking her hand in his.

He’s not even trying to hide his obvious interest in Cass. I almost laugh at the lack of subtlety. There’s no way he could know that he doesn’t have a shot with meor her. The truth is, neither of us are the type to hook up with a random man from a bar. Not that we haven’t done it in the past. But our wilder days are mostly behind us. Mostly.

It doesn’t take long for Damon to offer to buy us another round. We accept because, hey, we’re not going to turn down free drinks. I sip this one more slowly than I had the first. I’m starting to feel the effects of the alcohol and, despite Cass’s earlier proclamation, I don’t want to get fucked up tonight. I just want to hover somewhere between buzzed and drunk until I fall into my bed later. When Damon asks Cass to dance, she tries to turn him down, citing her need to stay with me to celebrate. I wave her off with assurances that I don’t need a babysitter. After insisting a few times, Cass relents and lets Damon lead her out onto the dance floor.

I spot an empty table in the corner and start walking toward it, carrying my drink. As I weave through the crowd, I realize I’m more buzzed than I originally thought. My heels aren’t doing anything to help matters. I should have asked for water before I left the bar. I consider going back to get some, but I’m closer to the table than the bar at this point and I just want to sit down until my head stops floating away.

Chapter 7

Corbin

I don’t know why I let Henley talk me into going out with her tonight. I hate clubs almost as much as I hate crowds. So, going to a crowded club on a Friday night is as close to my idea of hell as I can possibly get right now. But she’s my sister. Jessie had been right earlier. Henley is one of the few people I actually like, and one of even fewer people who actually like me. So, when she’d called to tell me about her big promotion and askedme to come out to celebrate with her, I couldn’t say no. Even if I’d secretly wanted to.

I’m happy for her. I really am. She’s worked damned hard to get to where she is now. Considering where we both started out in life, it’s a wonder either of us found any kind of success. It’s not like we had any help getting here. We hadn’t had the most wholesome upbringing. Starting life out at the bottom, with no one to offer us a hand up hadn’t been easy. But you’d never know it from looking at Henley tonight. She’s wearing a green, silky dress that I know is designer couture. It probably costs more than my monthly rent. Her blonde hair is impeccable. I know, for a fact that she pays an insane amount of money to her stylist to keep those highlights looking fresh and natural. She fits right in with the richest snobs in the city. You can’t tell from looking at her that we grew up poor and hungry, relying on free school lunches and food banks so we wouldn’t starve. From the outside, she looks like exactly what she wants to portray; a rich, beautiful woman without a care in the world.

As for me, I look closer to the degenerate I’d been growing up. Tattoos covering my body, permanent scowl fixed in place under my beard. My hair is just a touch longer than it should be, and I don’t even try to dress like one of these rich socialites. My dark jeans and button-down are good enough for me, so they’ll have to be good enough for this crowd. I decided a long time ago not to hide from who I used to be. I may own my own business now and be one of the most sought-after tattooartists on the east coast, but I know deep-down that I can’t change where I came from. So, I stopped trying. Unlike Henley, who feels she needs to prove to the world every chance she gets that she’s nothing like our junkie mother or our piece of shit father who abandoned us. No matter how many accolades she earns or how many expensive dresses she buys, she still feels like she’s not good enough. Which is bullshit. She’s better than all these rich assholes put together. I just hope one day she realizes it and stops trying so hard to fit into a place that doesn’t even deserve her.

But it still wouldn’t have gotten me out of coming here tonight. The truth is my sister loves dancing. She loves seeing people and being seen. So, even when she does let go of some of her need to impress people, she still loves coming to places like this to cut loose. I don’t understand it, but no way was I going to let her come celebrate alone. Not that she’s ever alone for very long. She’s always had the kind of beauty that draws people to her, like a magnet. Which means that it hadn’t taken long for her to be drawn out onto the dance floor into a group comprised of men and women all writhing against each other. I know I could just leave. But much as I hate the club scene, I love seeing my sister carefree and happy. So instead of leaving, I seek out a table in the corner and make my way toward it.

As I weave my way through the crowd, I spot a flash of red from the corner of my eye. I can tell without turning to look that it’s a woman in a red dress. And she seems tobe making a beeline for my table. A quick glance around tells me that it’s the only empty table in this area. I know I could be a gentleman and let her have it, but I’ve never been accused of being a gentleman. And I want that table. I don’t think the woman realizes we have the same goal in mind because she’s not speeding up her pace. It may have something to do with the high heels she’s wearing. She doesn’t seem entirely steady on her feet. Not that it matters to me. It’s to my advantage, so I’ll gladly take it.

When I reach the table, I quickly take a seat in one of the chairs and set my drink down before giving the woman a cocky grin. My smile vanishes immediately when I get my first decent look at the woman.

Mother. Fucker.

It would have to be her, wouldn’t it? She looks so different from when I’d seen her earlier today, but there’s no mistaking those surprised hazel eyes or those full, pouty lips. There’s also no mistaking my body’s immediate reaction to the sight of her in that red dress. The dress hugs her curves, showing off a lithe body that has me itching to reach out and touch. It also shows off a whole lot of leg below the short hem. She’s completely covered and there’s nothing indecent about the dress, but it’s setting my imagination on fire.

I’m glad I’m sitting, with the table hiding the evidence of my hard-on. How the hell can just the sight of this woman turn me into a horny teenager in seconds? It’s got to be the dress, I think. There’s no other explanation.She’s attractive, sure. But there’s nothing about her that should warrant this type of instant reaction from my dick. All this runs through my head in the seconds it takes for her to realize who just stole her table.

“You.” Her voice is accusatory. “What the hell are you doing here?”

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