Chapter 12
12
NIKKO
I finished working on my last client of the night and quickly cleaned up. I thought it was funny I caught Hannah stalking me. Wiping down my equipment, I couldn’t help but let out a low chuckle. She had half an hour to show up. Or not.
Her response was gutsy. It made me more curious than ever about what kind of game she thought we were playing. I knew what we both wanted. It was no use pretending otherwise. I swept my area and organized my inks all in the name of killing time.
I glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes until the supposed meeting time. Despite her feisty reply, I had a gut feeling she would show up. There was an electric current that neither of us could deny, no matter how hard we tried. We were tethered together. It was not just one night.
Five minutes before eight o’clock, the door opened. I couldn’t stop the grin. Hannah walked in, head held high like she owned the place. There was a confidence in her step that hadn’t been there the last time I saw her. It intrigued me, this shift in her demeanor.
“Decided you weren’t too busy after all?” I asked.
She didn’t falter, coming to a stop a few feet away from me. “I figured it might be worth my while to see what you think ‘date number one’ entails,” Hannah retorted. “And date one should be enough to get this damn tattoo fixed.”
“We’ll see,” I said. “Let’s go.”
She rolled her eyes. “Where are we going?”
I didn’t answer her. I walked to the door and opened it, waiting for her. She sighed and walked out, then stood on the sidewalk and looked around.
“What now?”
I walked to my bike and tossed her a helmet. She caught it easily. The look on her face was priceless. Hannah stared at it like I’d just handed her a live grenade. Her perfectly manicured nails drummed nervously on the glossy black surface as she glanced at my bike, then back at me.
“What the hell is this?”
“It’s called a helmet,” I said dryly. “You put it on your head.”
If looks could have killed, I would be dead.
“I’m not getting on that thing with you,” she said, shaking her head like I’d suggested jumping out of an airplane without a parachute.
I leaned against the handlebars, letting my grin spread slow and lazy. “Yes, you are.”
“Nope.”
“Yep.”
“No.”
“Uh huh.”
She groaned, her free hand pressing to her temple like she was getting a headache just looking at me. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re stalling. Let’s go, princess.” I patted the seat behind me, watching her wrestle with whatever fancy internal decision tree she was consulting. I could practically see her weighing the pros and cons.
I was glad she changed out of the uptight corporate attire. She had put on jeans and knee-high boots with a heel that added a couple inches to her height. Her ass looked amazing. It was very tempting to reach out and grab a handful. The T-shirt she wore hugged her tits, reminding me of just how good they had felt in my hands.
The glare she shot me could’ve stripped paint, but there was a spark in her eyes that told a different story. Hannah hesitated, then stepped closer.
“Do you know how dangerous these things are?” she asked, clutching the helmet tighter.
“Do you know how uptight you sound right now?”
That did it. Her eyes narrowed in that way that made her look like a cat about to pounce. Without another word, she marched up to the bike and jerked the helmet on. Her fingers fumbled slightly as she adjusted the strap under her chin.
“Okay, I’m trusting you to not kill me,” she finally muttered.
I got on the bike and looked at her. “It’s going to be pretty hard for you to ride if you’re standing there.”
She climbed on behind me like she was preparing for battle.
“I hate you,” she said as she settled into place.
“You’re gonna love me by the end of the night.” I ran a hand up her leg, my fingers brushing over the smooth fabric of her jeans before giving her thigh a little pat. “Hold on tight.”
I started the engine and used the heel of my boot to put up the kickstand.
Her hands hovered uncertainly before she finally gave in, wrapping her arms around my waist. I grinned to myself as I revved the engine. Oh yeah, this was already shaping up to be a great night. Hell, I would drive all over the country if it meant her body was draped over mine. Her breasts were pushed against my back. Her thighs gripped my legs. I had to fight back the hard-on that was demanding attention.
The roar of the bike filled the air as we pulled out onto the street. Hannah’s grip tightened with every turn. Her body pressed closer to mine. It was intoxicating—the warmth of her against me and the cool night air whipping past us. I might have driven a little faster than necessary. I liked the way her thighs clenched tight around me when I took a corner a little too fast .
By the time we pulled up to the bar, she was clinging to me like a barnacle.
“I hate you so much right now,” she said as she stumbled off the bike, her legs wobbling like a newborn giraffe.
“You’ve mentioned that,” I replied, swinging off with practiced ease. “Don’t worry. I still like you .”
Hannah ripped off the helmet, her hair a wild mess that somehow still managed to look incredible. She glared at me. I carefully took the helmet to keep her from knocking my ass out with the damn thing.
“Where the hell are we?” She used her fingers to comb through her hair.
I grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the entrance.
The bar was my kind of place. Peeling vinyl booths, a jukebox older than I was, and a crowd that was equal parts roughneck locals and out-of-towners looking for cheap beer and good music. Diego was already at the bar, raising an eyebrow when he saw me walk in with Hannah.
“She’s with me,” I said, throwing an arm around her shoulders.
She threw my arm off. “I am not with you.”
Diego laughed. “This night just got a lot more interesting.”
Marcus walked out of the bathroom and froze when he saw me and Hannah. He raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised to see her actually with me.
“We’re going to get a table,” I said, making it clear I wasn’t hanging out with them. I wanted to give all my attention to her. Hannah wouldn’t be in town for long and I wanted to make the most of our limited time.
“I’m Diego. This asshole doesn’t understand basic social rules like introducing his friends.”
“Don’t I know it,” Hannah said. “I’m Hannah.”
“This is Marcus,” Diego said.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Hannah said politely.
I ordered us drinks—none of her frou-frou cosmopolitan nonsense. I handed her a whiskey sour. She took a cautious sip, her face scrunching up like I’d just handed her paint thinner .
“Not your thing?” I asked, leaning against the bar.
“It’s… strong,” she said, eyeing the glass like it might bite her.
“That’s the point.”
I spotted an empty booth and led her to it. She looked around, clearly unimpressed.
“It won’t bite,” I teased.
“The booth won’t but what about the fleas?” She inspected the seat before sliding into the booth. I watched her take another sip of her drink. This time, she didn’t make a face.
“Is this your typical hangout?” she asked.
“Yep. None of that pretentious club scene.”
“But that’s where you were,” she said. “And you looked right at home.”
I shrugged. “I don’t mind going out on occasion.”
“When you’re on the prowl?”
I offered a half smile. “Yeah, something like that.”
Hannah rolled her eyes at my response. She leaned back against the vinyl seat as she surveyed the dimly lit bar with more interest. “And why did you bring me here?”
“Because this place is real,” I said. “It’s not about putting on airs or spending a fortune just to be seen. It’s about good drinks, better company, and sometimes, the best stories. And on nights like tonight, we’ll get to hear a live band.”
Her gaze moved to the corner where the guys were setting up. “I see a lot of hair.”
“They are a rock band.”
“Oh joy. The eighties. My fave.”
“Hey! Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” I said, grinning.
She rolled her eyes again but they held humor in them, too.
Not long after, the band started to play. It was loud, filling every corner, vibrating through the soles of our shoes. I watched Hannah’s reaction closely. Her initial resistance seemed to melt a bit as the guitarist played a particularly impressive solo.
“You have to admit, they’re pretty good,” I said over the noise .
“I’ll admit nothing yet,” she shouted back, but there was a hint of a smile.
When they started playing a ballad, I didn’t give her the chance to argue. I grabbed her hand and dragged her onto the dance floor.
“Nikko, no, I don’t dance?—”
“Sure you do.”
I spun her around, pulling her close, and for a second, she looked like a deer caught in headlights. But then something shifted. Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the whiskey, maybe it was the fact that I wasn’t giving her a choice.
She started moving, tentatively at first, then with more confidence. Her hips swayed, her hands gripped my shoulders, and her laugh—God, her laugh—lit up the whole damn bar.
Watching her was like watching a wildfire. From a few sparks, she now burned bright and hot, and I couldn’t look away. Hannah was shedding her uptight skin and was becoming the woman who I’d taken home that night.
As the song wound down, the crowd applauded and shouted for more. It energized the band. They dove into another upbeat track. I held on to Hannah, not ready to retreat from the dance floor just yet. She didn’t pull away.
“How in the hell do you dance to this?” she shouted over the music.
“You just let yourself feel and your body will know what to do.”
We danced through several more songs, each one livelier than the last. The band’s enthusiasm never waned. It was hard not to move. It wasn’t club music. It wasn’t bumping and grinding, although there was some of that. Hannah’s initial reluctance had completely disappeared.
By the time we settled back into our booth, she was flushed and smiling, a faint sheen of sweat on her skin.
“Admit it,” I said, leaning back with a grin. “You’re having fun.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “It’s not the worst night of my life.”
“High praise. ”
We talked—about nothing and everything. She told me stories about her uptight office, and I told her about some of the crazier clients I’d had over the years.
“Wait, wait,” she said, laughing so hard she could barely get the words out. “You actually tattooed a guy’s girlfriend’s face on his?—”
“Bicep,” I finished, grinning. “Yeah. They broke up three weeks later. He came back for a cover-up.”
“What did you cover it up with?”
“We made it into a gargoyle’s face.” I shrugged. “It was a surprisingly easy change.”
She laughed, and for a moment, I forgot about the game we were playing. It was just us.
By the time the night was winding down, I could see the cracks in her polished facade. She was looser, freer, and every time she let her guard down, I felt like I’d won a little victory.
We walked outside, the air a little cool but not cold. She turned to look at me. There! That was the look I was waiting for. I leaned in, my eyes on hers. I had her.
But at the last second, she turned her head, and my lips landed on her cheek.
I pulled back, surprised but amused.
Hannah smirked at me, her eyes glittering with mischief. “Nice try.”
Game on.
She waved down a cab.
“What are you doing?” I asked. “I’ll take you to your hotel.”
“One death-defying experience per night is enough, thanks,” she said, climbing into the cab. “The Radisson,” I heard her tell the driver.
As it pulled away, I couldn’t help but grin. This wasn’t over—not by a long shot.
The Radisson. I knew how to find her, and lucky for me, I knew several people that worked there.
I was already planning date number two.