Page 99 of Unlocked Dive
What am I saying?
This is exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid—muscling my way into his life in Tilburg before he’s ready. Filthy midnight video sex is not part of my plan.Make a new plan, my body begs. Heaving a sigh, I release my poor erection and scrub a hand through my hair. Unfortunately, it’s the one currently coated in lube. I guess I’m finishing this in the shower.
“Who the hell is PB?” I thought I knew the names of all his friends.
“He’s—I’ll be right there—It’s what Gia and Shepard call Lyot. They won’t tell me what it stands for, but they all think it’s hilarious when I use it, so…”
The manic image on my screen goes still as he sucks in a steadying breath. One side of his loose tank top is twisted, clinging to his muscled shoulder, and I want to bury my face in the naked slope of his neck and suck my claim to the surface of the pale skin.
Soon. I can be patient a while longer.
“Coen.” The ache in his voice tugs on all of my carefully packed dreams. “That was…we can do it again, right? I mean, now that we’ve started, we don’t need to…Fuck.” A rueful smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “It’s the middle of the night for you. Go back to sleep.”
“You know I’m going to finish jacking off first.” The thought of letting him go with that uncertain look on his face has my chest burning.
He breaks into a breathtaking grin. “Will you film it and send it to me later?” He darts a glance over his shoulder. “In, like, three hours?”
My time is up.
“I’ll even turn the light on first. Go have fun with your friends.”
40
Byrd
“Holy shit. It’s you.” The young woman with spiky orange hair and a riot of color on her amber skin gawks at me as the door of the tattoo parlor swings shut to the chime of bells.
“Um, hi?” I take in the vivid mural on one wall and the clutter of images crowding the others. It feels clean, at least, the faint odor of sanitizer wafting from a curtain at the back.
“You’re Echo’s Byrd.” Her elbows hit the display counter with a thud, and a crooked smile tugs at the piercings in her purple-painted lower lip.
Echo’s Byrd. Every time he called himselfmy Echo,it turns out he had it backward, and it takes a girl I’ve never met to call it out.
“He wasn’t kidding about the hair.”
I drag a self-conscious hand through the waves I’ve left loose today. “You must be Audrey.”
“Yep.” Her smile fades at the edges. “You know he’s not here, right? He left for that school in Europe a month ago.”
“I know. I’m here to see you.”
“You want ink? And you couldn’t find anyone to do it in the Bay? I know a shit-ton of sick artists up there. You could’ve saved yourself a long-ass drive.”
“How do you know I drove?”
She jerks her head toward the glass door behind me where the 4-Runner shimmers in the Southern California sun. “That’s not an airport rental.”
“I like driving the coast,” I admit, crossing the room to rest my elbows on the counter.
“Everyone likes PCH until they’re stuck behind some geezer tourist in an RV. Or are you one of those pseudo-locals who still goes apeshit over the scenery?”
“I had a lot of thinking to do.”
“About a tattoo?” Her grin is infectious, and I find myself returning it. I can see why Echo likes her. He’d still win in the sass department, though.
“Well, c’mon, then,” she says, snagging a sketchbook from the counter and vacating her stool. “You must have some good ideas after, what, nine hours on the road? Let’s go make them better.”
“More like twelve. There were a lot of RVs.” And I follow her laughter through the curtain to place my heart in her hands.
