Page 60 of Covert
Maddox
Aweek later, and I couldn't be happier. The permanent scowl on my face is nowhere to be found. Regular sex with the girl you love and your friends will do that to a guy.
And yes, like turned into lust and lust turned into love. This woman is everything.
The frat kid in my chair won't shut up about how much he drank last weekend and how much pussy he got. By the way he's bragging, he must call his hand 'pussy', because there's no way any woman would touch him with a ten-foot pole.
But his two other frat-douches laugh and egg him on. I try to focus on the music and dumb tribal fire tattoo he wants around his entire calf. It's not exercising an amount of skill or creativity, but standard-issue tattoos pay the bills.
The bell above the door tingles, but it's only background noise over the hum of the machines and music on the speakers.
"Hey, Mad-dog?" Nikki calls out to me, walking into the back area with her tablet. "You have a Britney here to see you? She doesn't have an appointment but says y'all are friends?"
I don't catch the wariness in Nikki's voice because I'm concentrating and stupidly reply, "Yeah, send her back." I assume she's got a question about the tattoo I gave her a month ago, or wants to shoot the shit, so when two arms wrap around me from behind and two fake tits press into my back, I stiffen.
"Hey, baby, I've missed you," Britney coos in my ear.
My hands are full with a tattoo gun and rag, so I can't grab her and push her off me. But when I look up and see the hurt on Nikki's face, I see red. "Get the fuck off of me, Britney," I growl, but it's too late. Nikki's on the other side of the pony wall, and I can't see her.
Britney was always an easy lay, but I honestly haven't thought about her in months. And I know, having Britney hanging all over me is a direct betrayal of the trust Nikki gave us and the arrangement we have. I'm dying to push Britney off and grab Nikki and prove to her that nothing's happening between Britney at me. But I've got my hands full and three stupid frat kids watching the entire scenario.
Britney simply laughs it off and bites the lobe of my ear, putting on a show.
"Always so grumpy, this guy is," she says to the frat boys, whose eyes are blown wide with interest.
"I swear to God, Britney, if you don't take your hands off of me, I will rip them off myself and beat you with them," I growl, my voice laced with barely contained rage. She finally releases me, but it's with a high-pitched laugh.
Axel doesn't have a customer right now, so I nod to him, who's already watching this train wreck, and then nod to Nikki, asking him to go comfort her. He walks into the front, and I can hear low conversation under the music. She's not screaming. But I don't know if that's worse. Maybe she'll decide I'm not worth it and stay with the other three. Goddamnit, we were just starting something good.
Britney's hand runs through my hair in a way that is all too familiar, like she's staking a claim. I don't know who she's showing off for, the frat kids or Nikki, but I don't appreciate being part of her game. I kick off the motor to the gun and set it down, ripping my gloves off. I pushback from my stool, hearing it crash to the ground behind me, and grab her by the back of the neck. I don't want Nikki to see this, so I march Britney, half bent over, out of the back door.
Finally, in the alley, I get a good look at her. Bottle blonde hair, fake tits, dark red lipstick, too much eyeliner. When did I ever think she was attractive? Why did I ever waste my time with her when someone like Nikki existed? I regret a lot in life, and Britney is one of them.
"Don't fucking touch me again, Brit. Do you hear me? I'm not yours. We're not together. And I'm with someone else. Don't ever come around here again," my shouted tirade is interrupted by Britney running her hand up my chest.
"Come on, baby. We can have some fun together, like old times. Maybe your new girl can play with us, too."
I grab her hand from my chest, twist it behind her back, and slam her against the brick wall. I know I'm a bigger guy and hold all the power in this situation, but I think about if the roles were reversed. If I kept putting my hands on a woman and not taking no for an answer. I think of Beckett, and how uncomfortable he'd be right now if she kept insisting on touching him. I don't need people who don't respect boundaries anywhere near me and my family - and I do consider Nikki and the boys my family. Diesel, too, by association.
She whimpers at the pain in her shoulder. I should feel bad, but I don't. She didn't take 'no' for an answer the three times before this, how else am I going to drive home the point?
"Fuck around and find out, Britney. I've already told you twice now to fuck off. Don't make me tell you a third time."
I release her and give her enough of a shove to get her on her way.
I watch as she scurries away, cursing me under her breath.
I turn back to the door, sigh, and hang my head. I hope this hasn't set us back to the beginning. Or worse.
When I walk back inside, the frat boys are all giggling and tittering like schoolgirls, but I bypass them and head to the front. Axel has his arms around Nikki, whose blank expression worries me more than anything else. I take her from Axel and dip to look into her eyes.
"We good?" I grunt, my voice tighter and meaner than I mean it to be. Anxiety is a fist wrapped around my throat. My anxious thoughts wrestle in my brain, and I know I won't be able to explain or express what I want. I want to hold her, convince her Britney means nothing to me, and to give me another chance. I'll block every girl's number on my phone. We'll stop taking women as customers. I don't fucking care. Whatever it takes to be good with her again. I was such an asshole to her when she first showed up, judging her before I even knew her.
But as I've gotten to know her, I started to admire her, and then trust her, and now want her. No. I don't want her. I need her. She brightens my life for the first time since we lost my sister. I'm happy for the first time since I lost my sister. And while a part of me will always feel guilty for being happy, another part of me realizes that I can't live in grief forever.
But instead of fighting me, instead of telling me to go to hell, she gives an unaffected shrug.
"Yeah, we're fine," she says, but she's not looking me in the face. This isn't our Nikki. Our Nikki yelled at me for pushing her boyfriend. Our Nikki wrestles me in her spare time, using every ounce of power, anger, and force behind her to put me in submission chokeholds.
