Page 38 of Sass

His lip curled and he shook his head. “Didn’t think so.” Then he spun on his heels and left me standing.

And okay, ouch.That certainly told me, right?

I scooped my ego up off the floor, where Chris had walked all over it, and headed out to the service desk, ignoring the questioning look Drew sent from where he was restocking the sale table and clearly keeping out of Chris’s way. I gave him a shrug, collected the empty toastie plate from the service desk, and stole a glance into the office, only to catch Chris quickly look away.

I briefly entertained the idea of simply marching in and telling him what I thought of his rude and heavy-handed attempt to shut me up, but Chris was right. We’d barely dropped our walls to each other, and pushing things would likely get me nothing except an end to our shiny new friendship, because whatever was going on, it had to be big.

This was way out of character for Chris. He was rarely short with Drew—always encouraging, always going the extra mile. And although I’d had that pissiness directed my way more times than I could count, in all those exchanges, Chris had teased and sassed and snarked, but he’d never deliberately aimed to hurt.

I stared through the glass a moment longer, wanting him to know I was there and that I wasn’t going to be scared away by his little tantrum. He steadfastly ignored me, keeping his eyes on his computer screen, but he knew I was there. I could tell by his tense shoulders and the stubborn set to his jaw. When I figured I’d rattled him enough, I tapped on the glass and waited for him to look up.

“Don’t stay too late,” I said. “You need to get some rest.”

He frowned and then opened his mouth to fire back some undoubtedly snarky reply, but I turned away before he had the chance, heading upstairs with a smile on my face and two balls of fire drilling into my back.

I made myself a coffee, threw on my favourite John Hiatt playlist, and curled up with my sketchbook on Alec and Hunter’s massive couch to work some designs for a new client. The man was a television newsreader who’d recently lost his wife to breast cancer. It would be his first tattoo and I was keen to get it right. After losing Caitlyn and inking a reminder of her on my own body, I got how important it was. But I also wanted to provide him with some options that wouldn’t hang a pall over any future relationship he might have.

An hour and a half later and I had three possibilities that I was reasonably happy with. And, unsurprisingly, my phone had remained silent. And since the back door had slammed about forty minutes beforehand, I figured Chris was home primping for hisbignight. Well, good for him. I swallowed the sour taste in my mouth, stretched the kinks from my back, and grabbed my jacket and helmet. Time to blow the cobwebs—and Chris—from my mind.

The store was lit only by the light in the stairwell, the office empty, its furniture stacked neatly behind the service desk, and the tarp covered the office floor. The room was ready for painting, so I guessed Chris was coming back the next day.After his bed partner leaves.The thought niggled me until I kicked it to the kerb.

I was about to head out back when I noticed a phone lying atop the tarpaulin. I picked it up, then ran my fingers over the sizeable depression in the plasterboard above it. “Well, shit.” I frowned at the black screen. “Guess we’re both on his majesty’s shit list.”

I set the phone on the service desk, reset the alarm, and headed out back to my bike. There was zero point worrying about Chris when he’d made it obvious my concern wasn’t welcome. He was going cruising for his next hook-up while I was cruising for a heartache over a guy who’d been perfectly clear what he did and didn’t want from me. Maybe Ishouldjust fuck him or have him fuck me. Put an end to this ridiculous shit going on in my head.

I dispatched the locked bike cover and turned my face up to the sky, deciding on a route while watching a few scattered clouds race across with a fresh northerly up their butts. Settling on a slow cruise along the eastern bays, with maybe a coffee at the beach, I could circle back toward the city past my newly purchased house, and maybe even pick up a nice steak for dinner.

I felt better just thinking about it. With a lift in my heart, I straddled the Harley and let the rumbling throaty growl of its engine ripple up my inner thighs. And no, that didn’t make me think about Chris at all.

CHAPTERNINE

Leon

The previous ownersof my new house were working outside in the garden as I rode up the street. When I pulled over to say hello, they invited me in for another look around. There were boxes everywhere, but it was great to refresh my memory of the three-bedroom 1920s villa that was my brand-new home.

And refresh my memory, it unfortunately did. The place had good bones, but it needed work. Alotof work. In its favour, it had maintained its original oversized and subdividable section—no small miracle—and which was the reason for my eye-watering mortgage. But it also allowed room to extend the kitchen and living space, as well as put in a fourth bedroom and a second bathroom, because... family, maybe. And no, it hadn’t escaped me that I was in fact nesting, dammit.

The garden, although pretty and jammed full of perennials, wasn’t really my style, but a landscaper friend assured me he could modernise it without losing too much of its charm. I trusted he was right, because the covered veranda out front and large double bay windows flanking the leadlight entrance door, screamed cutesy in a way most people wouldn’t have dreamed a six foot six tatted-up guy would go for.

Neither had I.

But the first time I’d seen the place, I’d immediately pictured myself sitting out front, playing my guitar, with a beer at my feet. That there was also a second chair, a second pair of feet entangled in mine, a second beer, and a second every damn thing wasn’t something I shared. But more worrying than that, was the image of the person to whom that list of seconds belonged. Increasingly of late, that image resembled a tart-mouthed, auburn-haired, prickly young beauty who’d probably throw up in his mouth at the very idea.

I stayed for a drink with the older couple, and we chatted about the history of the house, how they’d raised their entire brood of four children in it, and how pleased they were to sell it to someone who intended to do the same.

Have I mentioned nesting?

By the time I left them at the front door, the sun had set on a crisp spring day, leaving just a sliver of orange teetering on the horizon, and I had a standing invitation to call again any time.

Traffic was light and I had a smooth ride back into the city, stopping to pick up a couple of steaks on the way, before finally pulling into the alley alongside The Tattoo House at around seven. I squeezed the Harley into its usual spot close to the wall, blinking at the sight of Chris’s red Mini back in its space.Myspace.Huh.I stared at the car, and after covering and securing my bike, I put a hand on the cool bonnet and frowned. He’d been back a while.

I glanced at Flare’s kitchen window and caught the soft glow of light from within, along with the loud chorus line of a song that sounded a lot like one of... Christina Aguilera’s? I shook my head. Plans had clearly changed. Maybe Chris had decided to paint instead. Not that I expected to be any more welcome. And not wanting to pop the bubble on my good mood, I took a deep breath and headed for the back door. I’d avoid the man and slip upstairs, unseen.

Yeah, about that.

A blast of “Candyman” at ear-detonating volume split my head open the minute I stepped inside the kitchen.Jesus fucking Christ.It took a second to restart my brain, and a good few more to locate the source on the sound system under the service desk before I could turn that fucker down.

In the ensuing blissful calm, I heaved a sigh of relief and took a look around, but the place appeared... empty. The smell of fresh paint hung in the air and the store lights blazed bright enough to land most of the New Zealand Air Force. The office lights were off, but there was enough light thrown through the glass for me to see it was empty. Where was he? My gaze swept the store.

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