Page 243 of Breaking the Rules
He's right.
I'm not the guy who was blackmailed into rehab.
I'm a better version of myself.
Maybe I'm not at a hundred percent yet.
But I'm getting there.
Bit by bit, I'm getting there.
* * *
With my thoughts on Emma,the day is a crawl.
I want to be done.
To be alone with her.
To figure out what the fuck we're doing.
She leaves a little after five.
I finish touching up a short dude's back piece. Walk him to the counter. Print his receipt.
Except for the moan of some miserable musician, the shop is quiet.
It's just me and Ryan.
I guess this is his music.
How am I surrounded by people who like this whiny shit?
Don't get me wrong.
It's not all bad.
And I certainly understand torment in the soul.
Hell, this is actually a pretty fucking great band. Catchy melodies. Awesome riffs. Epic solos.
But hearing music Emma loves to play isn't doing shit to speed time.
When I close my eyes, I see her singing along. Blushing. Smiling to deflect the attention. Digging her nails into her skirt.
Fuck, I need to be there.
This is it. Our last day alone.
I need to make the most of it.
"Fuck, man. This is nice." My client finishes checking out his freshly blackened back piece. He holds up his hand.
I high-five him. "Thanks."
"I barely groaned too."
I can't help but chuckle. He grunted though every stroke. Classic tough guy. Insisting it doesn't hurt despite his frequent grunts. "Gotta save that for your girl."
