Page 9 of Can We Try?

“Oh, they’ll be fine,” Briar assures me. “They’re old enough now we don’t have to worry about that.”

“Thanks for that,” Forrest says, nuzzling his wife’s neck. All the wives are on their husband’s laps, and I’m thankful for River and Rayne, whose big little hearts rescued me. I’m happy for my friends, but sometimes being the ninth wheel can be awkward. I guess at least it’s not just me, since Lachlan is still single.

Lachlan grabs a couple of bottles of water, and hands me one before taking the empty chair next to me. We join the easy conversation with our friends, as if our night together never happened. I’m sure there will be a day when I’ll look at Lachlan and not think about his hands and his mouth on my body, but I doubt it will be anytime soon.

Chapter

Two

Lachlan

* * *

“You’re all set.” I place my tattoo gun on the small rolling tray, and wipe off the excess ink before standing and offering my client a handheld mirror to assist her in seeing her new back tattoo, in addition to the mirror hanging on the wall.

“I love it!” She smiles widely, and I nod.

Another satisfied customer. It’s hard to believe this is how I get to make my living. Sometimes it feels like I’m living in a dream, but I guess in a way, I am. I’m living my dream, doing what I love, and it never feels like work.

“I’ll walk you out. Lyra’s working the front desk. She can get you all cashed out.” The girl gives me a smile, one that says she’s interested. I’ve been on the receiving end of those types of looks many times in my life, and normally, I’d flash her a grin or give her a wink, but not today.

She does nothing for me.

In fact, it’s been almost two months since I’ve done either of those things. Not since the night I spent wrapped up in Maggie. It was supposed to be a one-off, and it was, but here I am, still thinking about my time with her.

Her high heels clack along the tile floor as I lead her back to reception. Who wears high heels, Daisy Duke cutoff jean shorts, and a tight-ass tank top to get a tattoo? Am I getting old and changing my mind about what I find sexy? Is it watching my best friends’ wives and how they carry themselves that’s changing my thoughts? Sure, high heels and booty shorts are sexy, but there is a time and place for that, and apparently, my old ass thinks this isn’t the place.

I’m thirty-three, not seventy-three, but it still irks me all the same.

“Lyra, this is—” Fuck, I can’t remember her name. I turn back to my client and she bats her eyelashes. Her very fake, very long, spider-leg-looking eyelashes.

“Sasha,” she purrs.

I barely contain my eye roll when I turn back to Lyra. “Sasha.” I hand Lyra the checkout receipt, and turn to leave, but squealing stops me in my tracks. Four other ladies join us one by one, each of the guys trailing either in front or behind them. It takes seeing all of them to remember they’re all friends and booked the same appointment time, one with each of us. On a rare day, we’re all five here at the same time. They all five got the same exact design in the same exact place.

The ladies smile and laugh and look at each other’s tattoos, while Lyra rushes to cash them out. Legend gives me a look that says he’s not impressed, which means his client must have hit on him. One way to piss him off—hell, piss off any of them—is to hit on them when they’re all four wearing wedding bands.

“I struck out.” I hear one of them say, and sigh. What is it about women and men who have no care that the other person is in a committed relationship, married or not? I mean, if they’ll cheat on the person with you, then they’ll cheat on you. At least that’s my theory.

“Me too,” the other three say, and I can actually hear the disappointment in their voices.

“Not me. I’m going for it,” my client, Sara, no wait, Sasha says.

I kid you not. This woman lifts up her boobs, licks her lips, and saunters over to me in her high heels. I think it’s supposed to look sexy, but I promise you, it’s not. It’s more like a newborn baby deer trying to find its footing. “Thanks again, Lachlan,” she purrs.

Side note: the purr is meant to sound sexy, I’m sure, but instead, she’s coming off sounding like a two-pack-a-day smoker. “Why don’t we go celebrate with a drink, and then—” She shrugs. “—whatever else we can get ourselves into.” She licks her lips and bats her spider legs at me.

“I’m working,” I reply, deadpan. I’m happy to report that the eye roll is swiftly contained, but internally, I’m rolling my eyes hard at this chick. I mean, come on. Read the room, Sally.

“I can wait.” She licks her lips again.

“I work until late.” I’m showing no emotion. I’m not even really being nice to her, and she’s not taking the hint.

“You have to eat, right?” she asks.

I blow out a heavy breath. I’m going to have to dumb this down for her, and I hate being a dick, but I’m just not interested.

“Lachlan, you’re still coming to the house tonight for dinner, right?” Forrest asks. “You know the kids will be disappointed if Uncle Lachlan doesn’t show up.”

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