Holden (Ink and Ember #1)

Chapter 1

Holden

Holden Walker enjoyed almost everything about his life.

He had a studio apartment in Hollywood he’d been locked into for almost ten years, he knew how to cook more than spaghetti and stir fry, and most importantly of all, he was single.

He also scored the gig of a lifetime working at Ink and Ember, a small tattoo shop on the outskirts of a residential neighborhood in Silverlake.

All in all, it was a good life, if not a sometimes lonely one.

But if he ever found himself wanting for conversation or company, the only thing he had to do was go into the shop.

The tattooer who worked in the booth right beside him, Merrick Shannon, hadn’t stopped talking since the day he was born and had no problem carrying a conversation for the both of them.

At first, it had made Holden feel like he was losing his mind.

The constant chatter had him on edge, and he’d come home many days in the first months of his employment wondering if he’d made a mistake.

He’d gone to bed knowing he hadn’t, that working for Riggs Ember was a great gig, and as far as coworkers went, he could have done worse.

Merrick might have talked a lot, but he was polite and he kept his space clean, and he was a great tattooer.

That was what Holden kept reminding himself as he cleaned and bandaged his second-to-last client for the day, the incessant rattle of Merrick’s voice an ever-present hum in the back of his mind.

“Leave it on overnight if you can. At least until bedtime,” Holden told his client, tearing off the last bit of tape and pressing it onto her skin. “Then it’s unscented antibacterial soap and nothing else. Simple white lotion after two days whenever it gets dry or tight or itchy.”

The buzz of Merrick’s tattoo machine died down and his voice filtered over to Holden’s booth.

“I don’t get why you haven’t switched to Saniderm,” Merrick said.

Holden clenched his jaw. “It’s not how I was taught.”

“Not how I was taught either.”

“Plastic wrap has worked fine for years.” He held his tattooed arm out as proof. “I think it will keep working for a few more.”

“I’m allergic to it anyway,” Holden’s client, Ashley, piped up. “So this is good.”

Holden scratched the tip of his nose, hoping his hand obscured enough of his face to hide his smile.

He wasn’t trying to be smug about being right, but he did appreciate having his methods validated.

He finished up with Ashley, thanked her for the generous tip, then returned to his station to get cleaned up.

Merrick had started chittering away again, such an unrelenting flow of words Holden didn’t hear the bells on the door jingle to alert them a new customer arrived.

It wasn’t until said customer knocked on the counter with tattooed knuckles that Holden looked up.

Merrick cut his machine at the same time, a frustratingly bright smile splitting his face when he saw the customer.

“Bryce.” Merrick snapped off his gloves and glanced at his client. “I’ll be right back. My brother just got here.”

When Merrick made it around the counter, the family resemblance was impossible to miss.

Merrick and Bryce were practically the same height, just on the right side of six foot, same build, slender without being scrawny, strong without being overtly muscular.

They both had the same shade of dark hair, though Bryce’s was styled in a taper cut, compared to Merrick’s floppy brown waves that looked like they would have been more in place in the late nineties than any other time.

The only real difference was Bryce looked how Holden would have imagined Merrick did ten years earlier.

Obviously the younger brother between the two of them, his appearance something Holden found himself all too focused on.

Holden bit his lips together between his teeth and narrowed his eyes, wondering what was wrong with him. He’d never looked at Merrick with any sort of interest at all, but his brother…that was another story entirely.

He turned his attention to wiping down his chair, ear turned toward the counter in a way that would let him eavesdrop without looking like it. His older sister would be proud of him.

“When did you get into town?” Merrick asked.

“Just now,” Bryce answered.

“I told you I’d pick you up from the airport.”

“I wanted to surprise you. Caught an earlier flight.”

“Well, I’m surprised,” Merrick said, glancing over his shoulder at his client, the massive thigh tattoo still hours away from being finished. “But I’m also stuck here for the foreseeable future.”

“You’re fine,” Bryce assured Merrick. “I just wanted to come by and say hello. I can take a car back to your place and we can get together for dinner just like we planned.”

“I don’t want you to have to pay for another ride.”

“I really don’t mind,” Bryce said. “But I am starving. Is there anywhere around here I can grab a bite to eat? Can I maybe leave my bag?”

“Yes to both,” Merrick answered, his stare finally shifting far enough across the room to land on me. “Holden.”

Holden looked at him, brow raised.

“When’s your next client?” he asked.

“Not for an hour.”

“Can you walk my brother down to the deli on the corner?” Merrick reached into his pocket and pulled out forty bucks, shoving it at Bryce before he could protest. “Make sure he eats.”

“I’m twenty-two,” Bryce argued, tossing the money on the counter. “I don’t need a babysitter, I just need directions.” His stare flickered to Holden, eyes darkening.

“Need to finish cleaning,” Holden said, and Merrick scoffed at him.

“You’re clean. I gave him enough for both of you. Please? I know he can do it alone.” Merrick looked at his brother. “I know you can do it alone, but it’s your first time in LA—”

“If I can make it out of LAX, which I did, I think I can manage a walk down to a deli on the corner.”

“Not this corner,” Holden interrupted, clenching his jaw and immediately regretting getting involved.

Two matching brown stares drifted toward him, and he took a deep breath. “It’s…”

He gave up explaining and gestured weakly toward the neighborhood behind the shop.

“I can take directions,” Bryce said.

Holden had to turn away at that point, not wanting either man to see his face.

“Please, Holden?” Merrick asked.

“Sure.” He tossed the paper towel he’d been cleaning with into the trash and put some sanitizer on his hands.

“I don’t need an escort,” Bryce said again.

“What if he’s hungry too?” Merrick countered, knocking into Holden with his elbow as he headed toward the counter. “Are you hungry, Holden?”

“Holden,” Bryce murmured the name, and when Holden looked at the other man, Bryce pursed his lips like he hadn’t meant to be heard.

“I could eat,” he finally said.

Merrick grinned, and Holden couldn’t get a read on Bryce’s expression. For as similar as they were, he was quickly spotting the differences between them.

“Holden isn’t big on conversation,” Merrick said over his shoulder. “Don’t take it personally.”

“We can’t all be as chatty as you are, brother.”

Holden snatched the forty dollars off the counter and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Let me get your bag,” Merrick said.

Bryce passed his bag to his brother, they talked some more, and it gave Holden more than enough time to second-guess whether agreeing to walk Bryce to the deli was a good idea or not.

Tired of waiting, he pushed open the door to the shop and stepped outside.

The mid-afternoon air was warm, and he leaned against the brick wall of the building to wait for Bryce to finish talking with Merrick—which likely would never happen.

Five minutes later, Bryce did appear, though, a curious smile on his face and a subtle tilt to his head that Holden thought looked like trouble.

“Ready?” Holden asked.

“Wherever you lead, I’ll follow.”

A swell of heat rolled through Holden, and he ignored the comment entirely, pushing off the wall and heading down the block.

Behind him, Bryce chuckled and jogged to catch up.

Once they fell into step together, Bryce immediately started talking and Holden wondered if it would literally kill the Shannon brothers to ever be quiet.

“Do you ever stop talking?” he asked, turning the corner, grateful the deli was finally in sight.

“If someone puts something in my mouth, sure.”

He shot Bryce a sidelong glance.

“I can show you, if you want,” Bryce added.

Holden’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara desert.

He didn’t have a single decent thing to say, so he said nothing at all.

But, damn, how long had it been since he’d fucked?

How long since he’d even messed around with someone?

Months, probably. He wasn’t in the habit of counting or keeping track, but he knew it had been a pretty thorough dry spell.

And not for lack of interest, maybe just a lack of motivation.

After a long day at work, he appreciated the quiet of his apartment.

The last thing Holden wanted to do was go out and make more superficial conversation with someone, all under the guise of getting off at the end of the night.

“Excuse me?”

They came to a stop in front of the deli on the corner. The sliding window that faced the street was slid open, the small handwritten menu taped onto the glass.

“I don’t talk with my mouth full,” Bryce said, eyes twinkling as he leaned in to presumably read the menu. “And we’re about to get lunch, so…”

“Hardly lunchtime,” Holden said.

“Definitely not dinner.”

“A weird in-between thing, then.”

Bryce straightened up and grinned at him like whatever Holden had just said was the sweetest or funniest thing he had ever heard in his life. Holden ignored the way the look made him feel and shoved his hands into his pockets.

“What do you like, Holden?” Bryce asked, pausing before tilting his head toward the building. “To eat, I mean.”

Words were never his strong suit, but being around Bryce made them ten times harder to make sense of. “The Italian.”

“We’re Greek,” Bryce said. “And Irish. If you wanted to know.”

The younger man turned toward the window and leaned down to order. “Two Italians please.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Drink?”

Holden opened his mouth to speak but words again failed him.

Not because he didn’t want to have the conversation but because Bryce was giving him whiplash.

Holden couldn’t decide whether he liked the man or hated him, but his body was giving very clear signals about where he stood physically on the matter.

Back at the shop, Holden had certainly had some impure thoughts about getting Bryce onto his knees, but there was something so appealing about the casual way Bryce steered a conversation in his favor that had Holden feeling some other sort of way entirely.

He cleared his throat and answered, “Coke is fine.”

“Two Cokes,” Bryce ordered, reaching behind him and making a gimme motion with his hand.

Holden pulled the money out of his pocket and pressed it into Bryce’s waiting palm, doing his best to ignore the burning heat of Bryce’s skin and the way it set Holden’s entire body aflame.