Page 121 of Bittersweet

I need to know she’s safe.

Because as much as the woman drives me fuckin’ insane, as much as she is the total opposite of everything I ever thought I’d want or need in my life, I am drawn to her.

And I’m claiming her as mine.

I try not to think about how much shit Hat’s gonna shovel my way when she figures out what’s going on.

I sigh, shaking my head as I move to the next part of the tattoo, a back piece for a returning client. I like him. He’s quiet and doesn’t expect hours of small talk.

My favorite kind of client.

Perfect time to overthink everything in my life, though. And soon, Lola will be in my booth with me, throwin’ her sunshine around and giving me attitude.

Some part of me fucking loves that idea.

Except, the next time I look up at the clock, it’s 6:30.

Still no Lola.

Where the fuck is she?

My gut starts to twist with worry and anxiety.

This feeling is new and terrible, and I can’t help but wonder why the fuck my friends get into relationships if this is a regular occurrence. I can’t help but think of the time Vic told me he thought that Gabi had gone on a date without her phone once and lost his mind, pacing her apartment hallway for hours. Or the time that Tanner fucked up and Jordan ran off, and he spent all night searching for her.

Is this what my future holds? A lifetime of stressing about a woman who never does what she’s told or takes steps to keep herself safe?

Fuck, why is my mind going there?We’ve had sex twice, not signed a marriage certificate.

I sigh, staring at the clock, which now reads 6:40. I still have about twenty minutes left on this piece or I’d be going over to check on her myself.

“Hat!” I call, summoning my best friend. No reply. “Hattie! Come in here!” I know she’s not with a client, just ignoring me because it brings her immense joy.

What will my life be if Hattie is my best friend and I keep Lola as mine?

“You know, I know you think you’re some badass who can just boss people around, but a please would be nice,” she says, standing in the doorway, arms crossed, an annoyed look plastered to her face.

“Can you call Lola? She was supposed to come over after she closed, and she closed at 6:00.” Hat lifts an eyebrow, humorous questioning on her face.

“Oh?”

“Shut it. She’s in some sticky shit, and I want to make sure she’s okay.” She smiles, and I know. I know where she’s gonna go with this.

It’s where my mind would go if I were in her shoes.

“Sure.” The cat smile grows. “So, is the sticky shit—”

“Hattie! I’m with a fuckin’ client!” I say, tipping my head to my regular, a big burly guy who eye fucks Hat every time he’s in.

“Nah, I love hearing about chicks’ sticky shit.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ. Stop that or I’ll fuck your piece up,” I say to him, and fuck if I’m not even joking. Rage is running through me at the thought of another man eventhinkingof Lola that way.

What in the actual fuck?

“Ooh, Benny’s getting angry!” Hattie says in a sing-song voice, and if she weren’t one of my best friends and the only one who I trust with my books, I’d fire her on the spot.

“You,” I say, tipping my head to Hattie. “Call Lola.” An angry dark eyebrow raises in my direction. “Please.”

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