14. Tobias
Chapter 14
Tobias
" D oes that feel okay?" I ask, catching the faintest whimper from the girl sitting in front of me.
"Yeah, I think so…"
"You're doing really well, especially considering it's your first time."
I wipe away excess ink, revealing the clean lines taking shape beneath.
"You think?" Her voice wavers as I get back to tattooing the floral design winding around her calf. A lily and a rose bloom side by side, surrounded by delicate bluebells—an unlikely mix of flowers somehow working perfectly together, each petal adding its own beauty to the piece.
"Trust me, I've had people crying in this chair more times than I'd like to admit." I grin, keeping my hands steady as I work. "And that includes guys."
"I can believe it." She inhales sharply as I hit a more sensitive spot, quickly trying to mask it with a smile. "You probably don't mind the pain, though, considering…" Her eyes drift to the ink peeking from under my sleeves.
"I don't mind the pain so much now, but I was addicted after my first one."
"What was it?"
"A butterfly on my ribs. It hurt like hell, but I love it. Still my favorite, even now." I shift my focus back to her calf, leaning in to bring the last lines to life. "Ribs are brutal for a first piece though. I don't recommend it unless you've got a thing for feeling like someone's taking a hot knife to your bones."
Twenty minutes later, I grab the roll of wrap, moving carefully as I wind it around Chloe's leg, making sure it's snug but not too tight.
"All done."
"Thank you. Seriously, this is amazing." She's still caught in that first-tattoo trance, where the pain fades and all that's left is the artwork claiming space on your body.
"Happy to hear it." I peel off my gloves, the snap of latex marking the end of another session, and watch her drift toward the counter where Lola's waiting.
As I'm cleaning up my station, tidying up stray ink bottles and wiping down surfaces, I feel someone hovering nearby.
"Tobias?" I glance up to find Chloe standing there, clutching her phone in her hand.
"You good?" I ask, tossing the last ink-stained paper towel into the trash and turning toward her.
"Yeah, I was just… wondering." She hesitates, her cheeks pinkening slightly. "And you can totally say no if you want to—I don't usually do this kind of thing." She tries to laugh it off, but I hear the nerves in her voice. "But I thought… maybe you'd like to exchange numbers?"
My eyes drift past her shoulder, catching Lola's death glare from behind the counter. The "no-dating-clients" rule she laid down my first day here comes rushing back. Hell, she practically stamped it onto my balls.
It's Lola's one nonnegotiable, and the look she's giving me from across the room says it all.
Let's just say it's not a look that screams, " You do you. " No, it's more like, " Go ahead, I dare you—and wave goodbye to any future kids while you're at it. "
I'm as straightforward as they come, but I've learned a different kind of honesty when it comes to turning women down. If I want you, you'll know it—no games, no guessing. But if I don't, or if I can't have you, I'm not the kind of guy who's gonna make you feel shitty about it. There's a way to say no without leaving someone crushed, and there's nothing worse than watching someone's confidence shatter just because you're not feeling it, or in this case, because your boss would literally murder you in your sleep.
"You're beautiful, and I'm flattered, honestly, but I'm not in a position to date right now."
"Not a problem at all. Thanks again. The tattoo is everything I wanted it to be."
"You're welcome," I reply, watching as she slips out.
I turn back to finish cleaning up, but I can feel Lola's eyes on me even before she opens her mouth. She saunters over, arms crossed, a smirk already tugging at her lips.
"Well, you didn't even look sad about it that time. What's the matter? Long legs and a killer rack suddenly not doing it for you?"
Amelia's face flashes in my mind, and I shut that shit down fast.
Not going there. Not today.
"Just respecting your rules, boss."
"Please. Normally, you look like you're one rejection away from crying when you give them the 'I'm not in a position to date' lie."
"Fucking cry?" I raise a brow, laughing as I toss my gloves in the trash.
"Yes, cry. I've seen it."
"She was a nice girl, but I'm just not feeling it at the moment."
"Are you okay?" she asks, voice pitched like I'm about to drop dead. Before I can answer, she starts fanning me with her other hand, like she's trying to revive me from some tragic state.
I stare at her flatly. "I'm fine. Just… in a rut."
"A sex rut?" Only Lola would ask that with zero shame.
"Something like that."
"You should check out the Devil's Lair with Levi. You know, pay someone to give you a little spark; maybe throw in a match or two if you need a bigger fire."
"Yeah, I'm not quite that desperate yet, but thanks for the suggestion."
She laughs, and I gather my things, needing to head out to meet Gerry, an old friend of mine who buys beat-up cars, works his magic, and sells them for a living.
"She was my last for today," I say, slinging my bag over my shoulder and reaching for my keys. "You good if I take off? I've got to pick up a car for Amelia."
I saw Amelia's message earlier, and within ten minutes of me putting it out there on my socials, my DMs were flooded—friends, friends of friends, and a fair share of strangers, all offering up cars they were trying to unload.
I got everything from "lightly used" hatchbacks to rust buckets that looked like they'd roll into dust if I so much as sneezed near them. But in the end, it was Gerry who came through. He said he'd cut me a deal and make it worth my while.
Mills transferred the money her mom sent over, and I told her I'd swing by to pick it up on my way home, and we could grab my car later. I figured I'd save her the hassle of navigating Gerry's charm, which is basically one part used-car salesman, one part stand-up comic who thinks he's funnier than he is.
Her message this morning was the first I'd heard from her since I made things weird between us last night.
I let myself feel things I have absolutely no right to feel and don't even remotely understand.
I've been trying to bury it, shoving it into the furthest, darkest corners of my mind where other weird shit lives. Like that time I let a teacher blow me after class, or the night I got kicked out of a threesome because the girls decided they didn't need a cock getting in the way.
But the way Amelia's dark eyes held mine—so fucking steady as if she was searching for something I really didn't want to show her—threw me off.
She's either brushing it off entirely this morning or deliberately pretending it never happened. I can't tell which, and I'm not sure if that makes it better or worse.
It's easier this way, though.
Mills and I don't mess with boundaries, and we sure as shit don't do weird energy.
So yeah, I'll treat it like nothing. Because that's all it can ever be. A momentary slip, an almost, a what if that dies before it has a chance to live.
A hour and a half later, after dropping my car at home, I'm in the passenger seat next to Amelia as she drives us around, her playlist blasting from the speakers loud enough to drown out everything else. Then Blink-182's "All the Small Things" kicks in—our song since forever. Her whole face lights up as soon as the beat hits, like someone just turned the lights on inside her, and she's headbanging along, hair flying like she's at her own personal concert. I join in, whipping out my air guitar, and we sing out every word—off-key, probably painful for anyone else within earshot, but we couldn't care less.
It's us. Chaotic. Loud. Messy. Perfect.
For those two minutes and forty-eight seconds, the world narrows down to this car, this song, and this moment.
This is home. This is everything.
But music fades. And feelings don't.
It's the same feeling from last night, creeping in like it's been lying in wait somewhere deep, just waiting for the right moment to jump me. It's this silent urge tugging at me, and for a split second, I forget who we are to each other and why this should feel wrong.
I watch her, maybe a second too long, taking in the way her lips curve with the last traces of laughter and the way her eyes shine with pure happiness. She senses me looking, and when her eyes finally meet mine, her laughter dies.
"What?" Her voice breaks through the quiet, searching for an answer I've got no intention of giving.
"Do you ever think it's time for us to get a new song?" I say, grasping for anything to change the subject.
"Never!" she exclaims, her jaw dropping and eyes widening.
I raise my hands in surrender, and her laugh fills the car—bright, unrestrained, beautiful. Dangerous .
But even as I laugh alongside her, I can feel the tension coiling low in my chest.
We make it back to the apartment, and I follow her inside, watching as she heads straight for the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. She unscrews the cap and takes a long sip, her throat moving in a way that pulls my attention, before she settles onto one of the stools at the kitchen island.
"You got plans tonight?" I ask her.
"Thinking about getting an hour of dance in, maybe a bath, then an early night."
I find myself grinning. "Rock 'n' roll, Firefly."
She rolls her eyes, and a playful smile dances across her lips. "What are you doing tonight?"
"I was going to see if Harry wanted to grab a beer."
"Are we still going out tomorrow night?"
"Yeah. I think everyone's in."
"Okay." She stands and screws the cap back on her bottle. "I'll see you tomorrow."
And with that, she's gone, strolling down the hall and out of sight. I run a hand through my hair, the frustration hitting hard as I let out the breath I've purposely been holding.
I'm so far beyond fucked-up right now, it's not even funny.
Pushing that down, I pull out my phone and fire off a message to Harry.
TOBIAS
Beers tonight? I can get there by 8.
HARRY
Sure. Where?
TOBIAS
Frank's?
HARRY
I'll see you there.