Page 125 of Breaking the Rules

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I ignore my texts from Kay, dress in the first clean thing I find, grab the cup of coffee that's sitting on the counter, curse Hunter's considerateness, and run the five blocks to work.

All right, I don't run—I don't do running—but I hustle.

The shop is clean, bright, quiet. Ryan's tattoo gun buzzes.

Dean and Chloe are actually working. As in, he's concentrating on a piece and she's staring with awe, and their client is mumbling something about classic rock.

I fix a cup of medium roast in the Keurig, turn the music on, find ways to stay busy.

For an hour, I restock drinks, check schedules, scour social media for tattoo posts to like and share.

My headache fades to a dull throb.

My nausea subsides.

My stomach stays twisted.

It's Hunter.

I want to believe it's just Hunter.

I want to keep telling myself this story about how nothing has changed.

But I'm not really buying it anymore.

I switch the music to something that fits my mood, then I pull out my cell and face my best friend.

Kaylee: OMG Em. How could you not tell me about Hunter?

Emma: It's not a big deal.

Kaylee: Brendon showed me his Instagram.

Emma: And?

Kaylee: And? Like you didn't see that smoking hot pic of his new rib tattoo?

I may have seen it.

I may have stared.

I may have actually considered fucking myself to the incredibly hot picture of Hunter's torso.

Kaylee: Brendon says he's staying at the house.

Emma: He is.

Kaylee: Am I supposed to buy this blasé attitude?

Emma: Yes.

Kaylee: I'm not.

Emma: You're on vacation. Go have fun.

Kaylee: I'm worn out.

Emma: Gross.

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