Page 56 of Inked Obsession

“Well, do a shot or four for me. I am working. I love you. Just not like that.”

“I would say ‘thank God,’ but that would be weird.”

“No, let’s go with that,” Brenna said. “We’ll make this work. Somehow. And I’ll stop being weird.”

“Then how would you be the Brenna I know?” I asked, teasing.

“You can’t see me, but I’m totally rolling my eyes. And now, I need to go.”

“Same here. I’m going to fix this.”

“I don’t think you really have anything to fix,” she whispered. “We just need to make sure we remember who we are and who we have.”

“Sounds good.” We said our goodbyes, and I looked down at my phone, even as the guys banged on the door some more. That was one step. At least, I hoped.

Now, I needed to make amends with everybody else and figure out exactly what to do about Eliza. And that was far too much for me just then. Good thing tequila fixed everything.

At least, that’s what I told myself. For tonight.

Chapter 17

Eliza

Had I agreed to a date with Beckett Montgomery? I think I had. Maybe I was still on vacation fervor and had agreed because I wasn’t thinking clearly. I didn’t think so. I was going on a date with Beckett. Eventually. Once we figured things out.

First, I was apparently going to Mrs. Montgomery’s birthday party.

Why had I agreed to that?

Oh, yes. Because I liked Beckett’s mother. Usually. I hadn’t liked how she treated her kids when it came to the business, but things had changed. Their mother had stopped placating their father when it came to running the business, and the family feud with the Montgomerys seemed to have downshifted into a truce…or faded away altogether.

I didn’t know the other Montgomerys as well. I knew Brenna knew some of the Denver Montgomerys at least decently well because of her tattoos, but they weren’t close friends of mine—I hadn’t gotten a Montgomery tattoo yet.

I knew I was the only one in our group that didn’t have one, and the few small pieces of ink that I had weren’t anywhere near the caliber of the rest of the family’s. Maybe I would change that. I could go down with Annabelle or Beckett and get a tattoo.

Now I was thinking about getting tattoos. With the Montgomerys. Next thing you knew, I would be jumping on a Harley and driving off into the wind. Not that any of the Montgomerys I knew actually owned motorcycles, but it could happen.

And if I kept letting my mind go down all of these different thought paths, perhaps I wouldn’t worry about the fact that I had to make a decision when it came to Marshall’s child.

Not mine.

I would never hold his child.

Did Natasha want the money? Because she hadn’t asked me outright. No. Marshall’s parents had. They had left a couple of messages, mostly to ask how I was doing. They hadn’t called on the anniversary of Marshall’s death. And they hadn’t asked about money again. They didn’t seem to be pursuing it hard yet. And I didn’t know when or if they would. What would I say if they did?

Why did I feel like I was running out of time? As if in every moment, I was forced to look at the choices others had made and how they affected my future. The stress felt as if it were catapulting me into making bad decisions. Not that sleeping with Beckett was a bad decision. It was a decision that I had made, knowing it might be a mistake. But I couldn’t just pretend it hadn’t happened. I couldn’t hide from the ramifications.

And I needed to tell the girls. I needed to tell everybody. We had said no secrets. And now that I was in a new day in a new time zone, I figured maybe secrets were a good thing. Was I supposed to pretend that I had made a rational choice when it came to speaking with Beckett?

It had been perfect. It had been exactly what I needed, and I wanted to do it again.

That thought made me pause. Well, I hadn’t expected that. Again? Yes. I wanted to. I wanted to remember how he made me feel. The way he had touched me and made me the center of his universe for those moments. I wanted to sit across from him at dinner as he made me laugh and we talked about important things and things that weren’t so important. I loved hearing him laugh. I loved that smile of his when he finally let it free. He’d been hiding himself over the past few months to the point I had noticed but hadn’t known why. I could see the weight sliding off his shoulders inch by inch. As he took the reins more in the business, and his father backed off.

And as he told more people about what had happened, about who had been hurt, he looked more relaxed. And I had been a part of that. At least I thought so.

I shook my head and reminded myself that I needed to get ready to go see the Montgomerys. And Beckett. Did everybody know about us yet? I didn’t think so. So, that would be a secret. Wouldn’t it? And maybe I needed to stop twisting myself into circles. It wasn’t helping anyone.

The doorbell rang, and I jolted.

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