Page 41 of The Opposite Effect

Shaking off the thoughts that will have my good mood sin-binned, I make my way to the coffee percolator in the corner of the room. Clara’s eyes track me as I step toward her.

“Did you enjoy my salmon, Brax?” Her tone is a unique mix of bitchy and playful. “Probably the first time a guy of your standards has sampled something so refined.”

I lift the coffee pot from the base and pour myself a generous helping before turning around to face Clara. “Salmon? What salmon?” I brace my back against the counter.

She arches one of her perfectly manicured brows high into her hairline. “I sawmyempty container onyourdesk.” Her eyes drop to a stain on the top left-hand corner of my white shirt. “Not only can I smell the garlic lemon sauce that was drizzled on my salmon leaching from your pores, but you also stained your shirt with it.”

I roll my eyes. “I didn’t eat your salmon, Princess. That’s a toothpaste stain.”

That’s a total lie. When I first saw a fancy takeaway container in the refrigerator with Clara’s name on it, I had planned on jabbing my finger into her food just to mess with her, but when the delicious aroma swamped my senses, my initial plan went to shit.

Although I’ve never eaten pink fish before, it was quite tasty.

Clara glares at me, not believing a single word seeping from my lips. I return her leering glare while taking a large gulp of my unsweetened coffee. Black liquid comes spraying out of my mouth, dousing the lunch table and my jeans when my taste buds recoil at the disgusting flavor besieging them.

I lift my shirt and run the cotton material over my tongue, doing anything to lessen the ghastly taste that has my stomach heaving. Although Clara is quick, I don’t miss her eyes dropping to absorb the exposed skin of my lower stomach.

Glad to see I’m not the only one having a hard time keeping my eyes above the belt.

While running my now thickened tongue under the tap water, I spot a nearly empty box of Epsom salt sitting next to the percolator.

No fucking way. Is she pranking me?

Although the crew and I have pranked Clara numerous times during the past four months, not once has she gotten us back. If she’s pranking me, this will expose a side of her I’ve never witnessed before.

Clutching the box in my hand, I shift on my feet to face her. Her amused eyes lock with mine as she takes a big bite out of the tip of her carrot. Even knowing it is only a carrot, my cock scampers away, frightened by the determined look in her eyes.

“Don’t touch my food, Brax,” she warns, glaring into my eyes. “Or things will get a lot more…complicated.”

After issuing me a knee-clattering stink eye, she saunters out of the room, her hips swinging even more provocatively than normal.Even though I won’t taste anything for a week, I have the biggest grin stretched across my face. Not only did Clara return my prank, she did it without a single drop of blood being shed.

Finally, after four long months, the real Clara is emerging from the shadows, and I can’t wait to share the experience with her.

My head lifts to the clock hanging on the wall on my right when the buzz of my cell phone clatters through my ears. Since my last client’s tattoo didn’t take as long as expected, I headed down to a fancy deli a few miles away from Inked to replace Clara’s salmon I ate. Call me pussy- whipped, but I hate the thought of her only eating a carrot for supper because I couldn’t calm my stomach’s cravings.

After wiping my sweat-slicked hand down my jeans, I yank my cell out of the front pocket. My lips quirk when I peer down at the screen and notice it is a call from Inked’s landline.

“Fucking hopeless,” I mutter under my breath.

I only left Inked twenty minutes ago, and they’re already interrupting me. Unfortunately, this is nothing new. It wouldn’t matter if I were gone for five minutes or fifty, I field calls from my crew the instant I step out of the premises.

God forbid I ever have a vacation day.

I swipe my finger across the screen and press the phone into my ear. “What’s up?” I try to keep my annoyance at the interruption out of my voice. My effort is fruitless.

“Hey, sorry to disturb you.” Johnny’s deep tone is more jittery than normal. “But some shit went down out back I thought you’d want to know about.”

I grit my teeth. Probably another bunch of gangbangers brawling in the side alley. Unfortunately, that’s a regularoccurrence at Inked, even more so since it is Saturday night. Standing from my seat in the waiting area of the deli, I head to the far corner of the room to ensure I can hear Johnny over the hum of patrons enjoying their overpriced meals.

My head cranks to the side when the restaurant hostess calls my name. Jennifer—the bunny who stuffed up my order of a cheesesteak months ago—jingles Clara’s order of salmon in her hand. I lift my chin in thanks before pointing to my ear, advising her I’ll be right there after my call. She nods before sauntering into the kitchen at the back of the deli. Her hips sway even faster than her words did when she thought I’d rocked up tonight for a replay of our rendezvous in the supply closet at Inked six months ago.

I swear I let her down as gently as possible, but I’ll still be checking Clara’s salmon for spit before I serve it to her. No girl likes being told they’ll never take the leap from cocksucker to sheet-warmer—no matter how polite you say it. Nothing against Jennifer, she’s a nice girl and gives great head, but the instant she lost the interest of my cock, she also lost me.

I shift my focus back to Johnny. “Has Diesel got it handled? Or do you need me to call in Ryan?”

“Ryan’s already on his way.” Johnny’s tone is still off-kilter. “Diesel said you’d usually want to keep this type of thing in-house, but considering Clara was involved, he told me you’d want the authorities called in…”

Although he continues speaking, I don’t hear a fucking word he’s saying. His deep voice is nothing but white noise as I sling open the restaurant door and barrel onto the sidewalk. “I’m on my way.”

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