Page 116 of Brittle Heart

I nearly spit all over him while Clay throws his head back, laughing.

CHAPTERFORTY-FIVE

Xander

Saturdays are now a day I look forward to. Not only am I more productive, but I enjoy spending time with Carolina too.

“Nice phone,” I tell Carolina as I approach the register, my first client of the day leaving.

She’s so engrossed in whatever text she’s typing that it takes her a minute to reply. “Don’t even start,” she mutters, placing the phone on the counter.

Clay had already filled me in on the situation with Josh and Carolina’s reaction. “Josh can be such a fucking idiot sometimes.”

She gives me a knowing look and smiles. “Well, you’re the one saying it, not me.”

I chuckle lightly. “You can be an idiot too.”

“Hey,” she exclaims, shooting me a glare.

I step closer and lift her chin with my thumb and forefinger. “You deserve to be treated right and like a treasure. Let him spoil you and just say thank you.”

I watch as she gulps, and her eyes lock on my lips. I take a deep breath and let go, the door chiming before my next customer walks in.

Shit, maybe spending more time with her is not the best idea, after all.

* * *

Two hours later, I’m sitting at my desk in the shop, trying to pass the time during a half-hour break between customers by watching videos on my phone. I can’t bear being out there with Carolina, making small talk or anything, while constantly fighting the thoughts of how much I want her—her beautiful face and curves.

It’s driving me crazy.

And the worst part is, I genuinely like her. She’s kind and funny, and I feel like she understands me in a way others don’t. We come from the same darkness. I can’t even explain it.

It’s already teetering on the edge of obsession, and I can’t allow myself to go there. It’s complicated enough that Clay is so infatuated with her.

She’s Josh’s girlfriend, for fuck’s sake. He’s our closest friend, part of our family.

A knock on the door interrupts my thoughts, and Carolina peeks in.

“Come in,” I holler, and she enters, standing before my desk.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but your next client just called and said he’ll be fifteen minutes late,” she says.

“Thanks,” I say, looking back down at my phone.

“Okay, I’ll let you know when he’s here,” she says, turning to leave. But as she does, her beautiful round ass accidentally knocks my sketchbook from the desk, and papers go flying everywhere.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” she apologizes, quickly kneeling to gather the scattered papers.

“It’s okay,” I reassure her, standing and rounding the desk. “I’ll do it.”

Carolina picks up one of the papers and looks at it. She freezes. And I watch as she looks up at me, holding a sketch of her eyes. It’s capturing her golden-as-daylight almond-shaped eyes with a hint of tears, tears that are drawn in red, like blood.

Her face scrunches up, and she takes the next paper from the fallen stash. It’s a sketch of her lips. She takes another, finding a pencil drawing of her face in profile, lost in thought.

“Xander…” she starts, clearly confused.

I quickly take the sketches from her hand and gently pull her to her feet. “Could you please sanitize the tattoo area again? I need to transfer some more stencils,” I say.

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