Page 59 of The Opposite Effect

I was ecstatic… until he advised the stipulation his offer came with. I had to tattoo him. I’m not talking a small tat hidden away from view. He requested a highly complex tattoo to be placed on a prime chunk of real estate on his left shoulder. If he liked my tattoo, I’d become a member of his crew. If he hated it, I was out on my ass.

I’m not going to lie, I was fucking petrified. I guess I don’t need to share the rest of my story with you. The fact I’m still working at Inked ten years later is a pretty clear indication of how that story panned out. Ryder loved his tattoo.

Ryder will never admit it, but he saved me. If someone haddone the same for Chris, I doubt he would have overdosed in his bathtub four years ago.

“You couldn’t save Chris, Ryan, but you saved his brother from following in his footsteps,” I say, breaking the silence between us.

An uneasy grin etches on Ryan’s mouth before he briefly nods. The things Ryan has done for Noah over the past four years should by far outweigh any blame he harbors for what happened to Chris. Besides, if anyone should feel guilty, it should be me, not Ryan. With Ryder’s help, I pulled myself out of the lifestyle that was going to kill me. Nobody helped Chris. Not even me.

“Clara will probably give me hell about it, but I’ll keep her here with me until things calm down,” I mutter, saying anything to move us away from our somber conversation. Nothing we can say will ever bring back Chris, so why dig up buried guilt?

Ryan cocks his brow and stares into my eyes. “If this is the Petretti crew, it could be weeks, possibly months, before this blows over. Are you willing to keep an eye on her that long?”

I try to hold in my smile. My efforts are fruitless.

All heaviness of our previous conversation vanishes when Ryan breaks into a childish song about Clara and me sitting in a tree. His hearty chuckle rumbles through my ears when I open the door of my apartment and shove him into the hallway.

I’m in the process of slamming my front door in his face when he mutters, “Think quick.”

Before I have the chance to respond, the white paper bag he’s been gripping the past twenty minutes sails across the corridor and smacks me in the chest. I only just grab ahold of it before it tumbles to the floor.

I shift my eyes between Ryan’s snickering face and the bag as I pry it open. My cock twitches when I discover what is inside—a twelve-pack of magnum condoms. My eyes rocket back to Ryan. IfI weren’t sporting major wood, I’d plant a massive sloppy kiss smack bang on his grinning mouth.

“Figured you might need them since you never bring girls back to your apartment.”

With a cheeky wink, he strides down the corridor. “Call me if you need me,” are the final words I hear before slamming the door shut and bolting to the staircase of my loft.

My steps are hurried as anticipation scorches through my veins. My cock braces against the zipper of my jeans as I take the steps two at a time. I don’t care if a hurricane roars down the main street of Ravenshoe, nothing will stop me from claiming the ultimate prize. It is time for theBeauty and the Beastfairy tale to turn into reality.

“Well, nothing except that,” I mutter to myself when I land on the top step of the staircase, and my eyes roam over Clara lying in my bed wearing nothing but one of my T-shirts. She’s rolled on her side with her hands tucked under her cheek. Her eyes are snapped shut, and the soft pants of her breath clearly indicate she’s asleep.

She looks like a real princess when she’s sleeping.

My princess.

Quietly striding to the edge of the bed, I secure a grip on the duvet and pull it up to cover her. She stirs when I tuck the covers in tight but stays fast asleep. After brushing a few strands of her hair off her face, I press a kiss to her temple and walk out of the room. My cock screams in protest with every step I take.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Hey,” Clara greets me, her voice groggy from just waking up.

Just like this morning, she glides through my apartment wearing nothing but my short-sleeve tee she fell asleep in. Even without a speck of makeup, her face is fresh and vibrant. That might have something to do with the fact she just napped for two hours straight. I’ve been wondering the past week if she was getting enough sleep in her new apartment. It wasn’t just the dark circles plaguing her eyes that had me guessing. It was the fact she couldn’t stop yawning.

Anyone will tell you there’s nothing more contagious than a vigorous yawn. I bet you’re yawning right now, aren’t you? Well, that’s what it’s been like at Inked the past week. Every time Clara yawned, it spread through the entire crew like an out-of-control fire.

Her brisk strides to the kitchen slow to a snail’s pace when her eyes stray to a suitcase sitting at the entryway of my apartment. “Is that bag from my Tumi Alpha luggage set?” shequeries, swinging her eyes back to me, her voice high and ear-piercing.

“If you’re asking if that is your bag, yes, it is,” I reply, having no clue what Tumi Alpha is.

I stand straighter, bracing for impact when I spot the fighting spark igniting in her eyes.

“Why is my bag sitting in your foyer?”

The confusion on her face escalates when her eyes bounce around my kitchen, absorbing her fruit bowl, smoothie blender, and a handful of cosmetics Charity rustled up from her apartment scattered across the countertops.

“Two orgasms don’t equal a lifetime commitment,” Clara mumbles, her concern growing by the minute.

Her eyes rocket to mine when I ask, “What about three?”

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