Page 10 of The Opposite Effect

Without hesitation, she shakes her head.

I crouch down so my eyes are level with hers. “I appreciate your effort, but my love life is fine as it is. Especially since I can take my dates to my place now that my grandmother isn’t sleeping in the room next door.”

My grandma tries to hold in her laughter, but the littlest giggle topples from her lips. She may be seventy-eight, but she has the dirty mind of a twenty-year-old male.

CHAPTER THREE

“Do you want me to head out or stay and see what card she’s going to play?”

I shift my gaze from the blonde princess I tattooed three months ago, pacing the cracked sidewalk at the front of Inked to Diesel standing at my side. “Nah, man, you head out. I’ve got this,” I assure him, my tone as unconvincing as my facial expression. “I’m locking up and heading out myself in a few, anyway.”

Diesel snags his jacket from the counter and slings it over his shoulders. “She signed a contract, Brax. There’s no coming back from that. No matter what her fancy lawyer told her,” he reminds me after reading my concerned expression.

“Yeah, I know,” I reply with a chin jerk. “But I’m still curious as to why she’s been pacing out front for the past two hours.”

Diesel bows his brow. “Maybe she’s hoping to get you alone?” He waggles his brows. “Your tattoo might have convinced her she needs to sample your other gun. The more magic one.”

I pick up a cash register roll at the side of the register and peg itat his head. A grin curves on my mouth when my fluke shot has perfect aim, hitting Diesel just above his left brow.

With a cheeky grin and while rubbing his brow, Diesel lifts his chin in farewell before striding to the door. Clara jumps in fright when the deep rumble of his Harley kicking over booms through her ears. Her eyes track Diesel as he executes a U-turn and rides past her.

Once he’s no longer in eyesight, she runs her hand down the front of her jeans then saunters toward the entrance door of Inked. After dropping my eyes to her stilettos, I rake them up her body. Although she still screams of wealth and superiority, her outfit and jewelry selection aren’t as elaborate as they were three months ago. Her fitted jeans cuddle the slender curves of her swinging hips, and her body-hugging jacket doesn’t have a chance in hell of hiding assets most men would happily ignore her poor attitude to sample.

As the bells above the door ring into the front entrance, I stand from my slouched position and cross my arms over my chest, prepping for round three in our vicious battle. Clara’s brisk pace falters when her eyes stop scanning the premises and connect with mine. A grin curls on my lips when she mumbles “Shit” under her breath before she continues her journey, acting like she isn’t shocked to see me standing behind the counter.

When I tattooed her three months ago, I had long wavy brown hair that sat an inch below my shoulders, but after Ryan’s little jab about my pretty-boy status, I had my hair clipped two weeks ago.

If I’m being totally forthright, it wasn’t just Ryan’s taunt that had me visiting the barber. It’s the fact I’ve had the same haircut since I was a senior in high school. I was also hoping an update might inspire the same thing to happen between my bedsheets.

I’ll do anything if it will fix my broken cock.

Did my plan work? No, not really. Unless youcount Clara’s sudden arrival? She’s only standing before me because the glare on the shop windows hides my new haircut. When she saw Diesel leave, I have no doubt she thought she was clear from running into anyone who’d remember her long-winded tirade the last time she visited the shop.

How fucking wrong was she?

“Did your lawyer stand you up?” I ask, believing that is the only reason she’s been pacing out front for the past two hours this late at night.

She freezes like a statue before cranking her neck back. Upon failing to locate anyone behind her, she returns her eyes front and center. “Lawyer?”

I nod. “Yeah, to sue me for your tat. If I recall correctly, you were planning to take every penny I had,” I say, quoting part of the rant she evoked the last time she was on these premises. “You signed an agreement, Princess. It is a binding contract?—”

“I’m not here about my tattoo,” she interrupts, her voice surprisingly strong. “I’m here about that.” She points to a display in the shop window.

“You need to be a little more specific,” I say when the direction of her finger points to numerous tattoo displays. “There are hundreds of tattoo designs in that window.” Suddenly, I freeze, and my brows scrunch. “If you want another tattoo, I suggest you find another tattoo artist.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t want another tattoo.” Locking her icy-blue eyes with mine, she mutters, “The one I have ismorethan enough.”

I smirk, loving her edge of feistiness.

I’ve always appreciated a woman who calls it as she sees it.

After expelling a deep breath, Clara paces to the shop window. “I’m here about this.” She pulls down the ‘Help Wanted’ sign that’s been displayed in the window for the past six months. Itis so old, the thick black ink has faded to a murky gray color. While spinning the sign around to face me, she says, “I’m here to apply for the position you have advertised.”

I throw back my head and laugh. I’m not talking a slight chuckle. I’m talking a full belly-clenching, I-won’t-need-to-do-a-sit-up-for-a-month laugh. Tears spring into my eyes, and my body slicks with sweat.

The only thing that dampens the intensity of my laughter is catching sight of Clara’s furious glare. Her gaze is scorching, and her strong stance is even hotter than that.

I stop laughing and take a step backward.

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