Page 12 of Sins and Secrets

“Welcome to the wedding!” Angie pushes past me. She doesn't even give me a chance to invite her in.

Waverly stands in the hallway, her head tilted to the side, I guess waiting for her invitation. I tower over her. In heels, she comes up to my shoulders, but she's in sneakers. She calls herself travel-sized for convenience. Her hair falls past her shoulders in soft, strawberry blonde waves. And her lips. God, they’re hypnotic and smooth. She leans in and she smells like vanilla, but it could be the cookies.

Pointing to Angie, Waverly says, “It was her idea.”

I step to the side and my eyes betray my brain to glance at her perky ass as she scurries past me to catch up with her best friend.

Angie tears through my home, dropping her purse on my couch. “I like what you did with the place.”

“Uh huh.” Waverly walks around the apartment, clutching the plate of cookies, a tote hanging from her wrist. “Nice paint color.”

She finally puts the cookies on the kitchen counter and opens the freezer. I don't know if she's comfortable because she was already ass-out in my tattoo studio, or if her increasing confidence is a result of being with Angie. She slides a plastic container inside the freezer. “It's cookie dough”—she points to the door—“in case you want more.”

“What flavor is it?”

She takes one off the top of the plate and offers it to me. “Brown butter salted caramel chocolate chip.” She waggles her eyebrows as if I need even more tempting. “And I used fancy, European chocolate instead of the American crap.”

There's probably about a dozen cookies there. No way I can eat all of them. Jade will be thrilled if I bring them to work tomorrow.

She holds the cookie out for me as she bites into another one. It's gooey and there's chocolate on her bottom lip. I wonder if the chocolate tastes different on her lip than it does in the snack. Of course, it does. It’s sweeter. She notices me staring at her lips and licks away the rogue chocolate, and my heart sinks a little. A blush crawls across her face as she wipes the rest away with her fingers.

I finally shift my attention from those tempting lips and distract myself with the cookies. I take a bite and there's a flavor bomb in my mouth. Yeah, this could be dangerous, and Jade won't be getting any of them.

“Thanks,” I say, spraying crumbs everywhere.

Angie bounces on the couch, completely breaking the moment. “Ok, I've got a billion things I need to catch you up on.” While she rattles off every piece of drama and side-eye she's given to her guests, Waverly can't sit still. She keeps walking around, scrutinizing the artwork on the walls. She even takes a picture of a cherry blossom tree watercolor hanging on the wall.

“It's one of my dad’s,” I say, while Angie takes a breath.

Waverly's face changes, softens. “Oh.” Her eyes drift toward the bookshelf. “Are any of these yours?” Her hand reaches for a sketchbook. “Can I see?”

I nod as Angie pokes my leg and continues to rattle off the drama between her and Mom over the centerpieces. Every time I’m about to peer behind me to watch what Waverly’s doing, Angie distracts me with some inane comment about color choices or guest gift bags. I'm detail oriented, but planning a wedding requires the precision of a military invasion.

There's a squeak from the bookshelf. Waverly's holding a black, leather-bound journal, and her face is bright as a cherry lollipop.

I yelp. “Um, those are rough drafts for commissions.” I race to slide it on the shelf, but it's too late. She's already seen the sketches and line work for the BDSM commission I did a few years ago. The model is bound by her ankles and wrists behind her back, gagged and blindfolded. There's reference photos taped to the next page. I'm flooded with embarrassment—not because of the subject of the piece, but because I've improved dramatically since then. I don’t want her seeing it. Normally I’m not ashamed of work from years ago, however, everything's different when she’s around.

I put the book back and hand her a light green art journal instead. It's a bunch of studies of flowers and cartoon animals. Much more work appropriate. Which reminds me. “How’s your tat healing?”

“It's fine. I haven't checked, just making sure it stays clean and moist.” She spins on her heels and says, “As per Jade’s instructions.” She shrugs. “I don't want to see it until it's done.”

“Wait, you haven't seen it yet?”

She shakes her head.

“Why not?”

“Art's a process, and I trust you.”

I trust you.

Those three little words wreck me, and she casually did it, without even noticing.

She shrugs again and dances off. Her eyes drift toward the bookshelf before snapping back in my direction, like she's waiting for me to say something.

“Well, I've got to head out. Ready, Waverly?” Angie says while getting off the couch. “I still need to finish packing and my flight leaves at six. You know what it’s like flying to India.”

“Wait, you’re leaving this close to the wedding?” I understand her job requires her to travel, but isn’t this crunch time?

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