Chapter Fourteen
B irch glanced up as the door chimes rang through the shop and Jocelyn strode in, her aviator sunglasses hiding her eyes from the late morning sun. Her blond hair was hanging long and straight over her black fitted blouse held together by hooks from her cleavage to her waist. Her black pants looked like men’s trousers, except they fit her hips like a glove, flaring out down to her sky-high green stilettos.
As it was every time he set eyes on her, his heart rate skyrocketed, his vision zeroing in on her with a sniper’s precision and blurring out everything and everyone else in the room. It was like a self-inflicted game of chicken whenever he saw her, his mind warring with itself between what he wanted and what he needed.
Logically, he needed to not screw around with the one person who might be able to keep him from bearing the brunt of whatever Ryder was up to at Serpent’s Tongue.
But damn, if he didn’t want her bad.
Bad enough it was bordering on need.
His client lay on his stomach on the chair, his back exposed for the grim reaper tattoo being outlined upon it.
“Hot damn,” the guy breathed, lifting his head to admire Jocelyn as she approached the desk. “I’d love to take a bite out of that.”
Birch set his tattoo gun down and snapped his gloves off, making sure he blocked his client’s view of her as he strode over. “You upped the class factor of this place exponentially just by walking in.”
“I’m meeting up with a couple of old friends for lunch across the street,” she smiled. “Did I catch you at a bad time or could you grab me those bank statements now?”
Hefting the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet open, he tugged a file folder out and passed it to her. “They should all be in here.” Glancing over his shoulder to see his client giving him a wide grin, he rolled his eyes and looked back to her. “Text me if you find anything?”
“You bet. But I probably won’t get to it until tomorrow.” Hesitating a moment, she tucked the paperwork under her arm and bit her lip. “I should run or I’ll be late.”
She was almost to the exit when his internal debate came to a screeching halt. “Hey,” he called out, rounding the desk to catch up to her and stepping in close. “Why don’t you swing by here after you’re done, and we could maybe grab a coffee then head over to my place? Grey’s heading out to some party, so you won’t have to deal with that little lech skulking around.”
“He’s not a lech, he’s a sweetheart.” She laughed, her smile returning. “And I’d love to. See you in a few hours.”
Watching through the window as she crossed the road to the quaint Italian restaurant on the other side of the road, he ran his hands through his hair and looked to the clear sky for the strength he’d need not to jump her once they were alone.
“Goddamn, Birch,” his client chuckled, settling back onto his stomach. “Was that Jocelyn Carter? If she’s the kind of woman working here gets you, I’d like to grab an application.”
*
Jocelyn felt the shift in her smile from genuine to forced, as Rheyna and Elise looked at her expectantly. “What about him?”
Elise leaned in a fraction and gave her a knowing smirk. “Don’t pretend with us. Birch Baker is the hottest, baddest ride in town and you’ve been seen test-driving him for the past three weeks.”
The sudden need to protect Birch from gossip and rumors slammed through her and she felt her hackles rising as she readied herself to jump to his defense. “There’s nothing bad about him. And I’m not test-driving him,” she huffed, sitting back in the booth and crossing her arms. “We’re just hanging out.”
Rheyna laughed. “Hanging out? No woman just hangs out with a Baker. I don’t know much about the youngest one, but I know for a fact that Birch fucks. He doesn’t date, he doesn’t commit, and he sure as hell doesn’t hang out . He fucks. Fucks like it’s an Olympic event, but that’s it.”
Nudging Rheyna’s shoulder, Elise lowered the volume of her voice. “You haven’t been around since high school, Joce, so let us get you up to speed on who you can and can’t take for a spin while you’re here. The McGillvrays and Lockins are all married, Ben Carro and Gabe Wilkins are single, same with Jonas and Darren Filips. Holden and Preston are always up for a good time, but all they talk about is football so take it for what it is.” Straightening up, she took a sip of her latte. “According to my cousin, Birch is a perfect one-night stand, but you definitely don’t want to carry the family baggage that guy has in his closets for more than a few hours. Besides, being seen with him, or with any of those Baker boys, is a social death sentence around here.”
A social death sentence.
Memories of cameras, sly smiles, and elite parties flashed through her mind. The tuxedos. The gowns. The whispers of adoration.
The exposés.
She loved her friends dearly, but they had no idea what a true social death sentence was.
She channeled the disengaged, breezy attitude she’d mastered two years ago, the one she needed to save her job, her reputation, and what self-esteem she had left after scrambling out of the hole she’d found her brokenhearted self in.
“Oh, no,” she sighed sarcastically, placing her company credit card on the table to cover the meal. “Whatever will I do when Epson’s elite shun me from their gender reveal parties?”
Rheyna snickered and slid her phone across the table, River’s swimsuit ad on the screen. “If I wasn’t married, I’d be joining your Baker boy hangout. Have you seen this? Like, damn. What do they put in the water on that side of town?”
“Oh my god,” she said with a laugh, as she shoved the phone back at her friend. “He’s half your age.”
“He’s exactly three-quarters my age,” Rheyna corrected, giving the picture one final look before sliding her cell into her purse. “But Winter was always more my style.”
Elise choked on her tea, laughing through her sputtering. “Convicted murderer Winter Baker is your style? So marrying Harrison with all his hot, detailed lesson plans were the next best thing?”
“A girl has to grow up some day,” Rheyna giggled. “What about you, Elise? We already know which Baker drops Jocelyn’s panties. Which one does it for you?”
Glancing around the quiet restaurant, Elise shrugged. “Hardly a fair question since two of them are borderline cradle-robbing.”
“It must be Birch.” Jocelyn grinned. “Come on. Spill. Am I going to introduce you two and have it get all awkward and weird because you once crossed the tracks and took him for a spin before you settled down and went all domestic?”
Her friend looked suitably appalled. “Of course not.” Licking her lips, she side-eyed Rheyna. “It was Winter I took for a spin in senior year. And it was worth every damn second of my walk of shame the next morning.” Rheyna let out a howl of laughter and Elise swatted at her to shush her. “I’m just looking out for you, Joce. Hang out with Birch, if that’s what you want to call it, but remember who he is, okay? Those of us who stayed close to home know better about what the Bakers are like because we were here watching every time things went to hell.”
*
Birch tied off the last of the trash bags as the door chimes announced Jocelyn’s arrival.
“I’m in the back,” he called out to her, propping the back door open with his foot and slinging the garbage into the large metal bin. “I’m afraid we’re stuck hanging out here until Ryder comes in.”
She set her purse on the filing cabinet and sat in his chair, spinning around to face him. “I’m in no rush. How did the day go?”
“If I said I was feeling artistically frustrated, would that sound weird?” he asked, rolling his stool over to her. “Most days I’m good with doing the standards, but sometimes it’s a little tedious.”
Leaning back, she stretched one long leg onto his desk. “Grab a pen and go hard.”
He smirked. “Seriously? Ryder could be here any minute.”
“Then that should be a good incentive for you to stay focused,” she smiled, closing her eyes.
Lifting her leg enough to open the top drawer of his desk, he pulled out a fresh package of colored body art pens. “Any requests?”
“Wherever your creative mind takes you.”
His creative mind went straight to the gutter, and he cleared his throat, taking a moment to refocus his attention on her ankle. “How high up can I go?”
“As far as you can reach.”
He eased the hem of her trousers up past her knee and moved in closer as he uncapped the black pen. “I ordered a bunch of these in two weeks ago,” he said, drawing the first lines on her skin. “I’d been thinking of maybe seeing if I can get in on a booth at the July Fourth celebration. You know, set up a custom temporary tattoo station or something.”
“That would be a fantastic way to bring in more business,” she said, tucking her hands behind her head and lounging further back into the chair. “Is Ryder on board?”
Scoffing, he glanced at the door, hoping his partner was running on the later side of his anticipated arrival. “I don’t think so. I mentioned it to him when he called, and he didn’t sound too enthusiastic. But Grey said he’d step in to do any kids who come by. He’s got a steady hand and can work off a visual.”
The idea had come to him during one of his daydreams of inking Jocelyn’s skin, the memory of the work he did down her spine taking a surprisingly chaste turn. The thought had wormed through his head on and off until that day on Trevor Drayson’s veranda. Three years into Serpent’s Tongue Ink becoming the go-to tattoo and piercing shop in town, it now kept some potential clients from traveling to one of the biggest cities. And he wanted to up that to all potential clients.
But then everything went to hell.
When the temporary tattoo pens were delivered, he shoved them into his desk alongside any thought of voluntarily stepping into Epson’s public eye in a way that didn’t involve cops, lawyers, and evidence. It seemed pointless to attempt to garner any positive attention for the business while it was under scrutiny.
Under scrutiny by the woman whose ankle he was currently holding.
But she was also the woman who brought the idea back to life with the tiny sparks of hope she kept tossing his way. The one fueling his dreams at night and soothing the nightmare he was living.
“Can I look?” she asked, breaking his concentration and drawing his eyes to her closed ones.
Capping the black pen, he opened the others to have at the ready. “Nope. No peeking.”
The design in his mind was one he’d talked through with a few clients, but none were willing to allow him free range to ink it as it came to him. His attempts to sketch rough drafts never turned out, the finer details escaping him as he worked on the impersonal paper canvases.
For this one, he needed to work it out on skin. And Jocelyn’s was perfect.
Hell, everything about her was perfect.
She was this beautiful safe haven with a killer body, an incredible mind, and a voice that knocked his knees out from under him.
Her only flaw was seeing something remotely worthy of her in him.
The chimes clanged through the office, and he felt Jocelyn startle under his hand.
“Hey, you two,” Ryder called out as he strode in. “I’d apologize for being late, but it looks like you found a way to pass the time.” Walking up behind Birch, he knelt down to inspect the artwork. “Are those the new temporary pens you were talking about? They’re pretty sweet.”
Angling his hand to allow Ryder a better view while blocking Jocelyn’s, he nodded. “Jocelyn volunteered to be my test subject with them.”
Ryder stood up, setting his keys on the cabinet beside her purse. “Make sure to take a picture when you’re done because I guarantee that one will become a favorite.” Extending his hand to Jocelyn, he gave her an amused smile. “I’m this thug’s business partner, Ryder Drayson.”
He glanced up to watch her reaction, his stomach knotting until she smiled up at Ryder and shook his hand. “Jocelyn Carter. Nice to finally meet you.”
Pulling up a chair, Ryder straddled it and got comfortable. “You went to Jersey for school, didn’t you? Still living it up on the coast?”
“Sure did and sure am. You two have a nice place here.”
Birch kept his head down, anxious to finish his work. He knew she wouldn’t let it slip that she was on his partner’s tail, but it didn’t sit well with him, putting her in the position to lie.
Ryder craned his neck to watch the movement of the pen. “Yeah, we’ve been doing all right. This guy here has the steadiest hand in the state. What do you do over in New Jersey? Runa gym or something? You went on a track scholarship, right?”
She laughed. “I did, but now I just run as a hobby. I went into the exciting field of bean counting.”
“Right. Birch mentioned that. Some accounting-type thing?”
“That’s right.”
Ryder nodded slowly, nothing in his expression showing he connected any dots. “Birch and I should hit you up some time. We might need to get a new accountant down the line.” Adjusting his position he leaned forward, Jocelyn’s job forgotten. “So, what are you doing slumming it up with this loser?” He elbowed Birch and almost caused an unwanted streak of red ink along her knee.
“I’m using him for his skilled hands.”
Ryder let out a bark of laughter and Birch looked up at her, smirking when she merely cocked a brow at him.
Blending the final blue hues with his finger, he sat back. “All done.”
Despite the fact it was temporary, he held his breath while she angled her leg to see the design that he’d put on her. It wasn’t a piece done for her. It was one done for him. A melted clock sitting on the sand of an hourglass, the grains dropping onto the fine bars encasing the house at the bottom. A delicate hand with a tiny unmistakable scar was pressed against the shattered glass in the middle, keeping the last of the sand from spilling further across the base.
The seconds stretched out to what felt like hours as she studied it, her steel eyes finally looking to him. “I should have said I was using you for your skilled hands and beautiful mind. It’s incredible.”
“I’ll snap a pic,” Ryder stated, pulling out his phone. “I’m telling you, Birch. This one will sell, and it’ll sell high.”
He capped the rest of the pens and tapped a quick beat on the desk while he read over the schedule. “You have two piercings coming by in an hour, and Kaley Basco wants you to finish the color on her devil after she’s done work.”
Ryder snapped a few pictures of Jocelyn’s leg and nodded. “Are we stocked with juice? She nearly fainted on me during the outline.”
Helping Jocelyn to her feet, he slid the tattoo pens into his back pocket, reached over, and checked the fridge. “Good to go. Offer her an energy bar before you start, too.”
With a grunt of acknowledgement, Ryder passed Jocelyn her purse. “I’ll text you after I do the deposit tonight. See you tomorrow afternoon.”
Waving as they walked through the door and out of Ryder’s sight, Birch exhaled. “That wasn’t awkward or tense or anything.”
Jocelyn hooked her arm in his and led him along the strip mall over to the coffee house at the end. “I doubt he even knows the Serpent’s Tongue account is being reviewed. Most people assume financial evidence is taken to the cop shop and left there for lawyers to use. They don’t consider the fact lawyers aren’t tax experts and don’t always know what they’re looking at until one of us numbers nerds points it out.”
He opened the door for her, instinctively unhooking his arm from hers when they walked in and one of the customers gave him a disdainful once-over. “Have I told you lately how hot I think numbers nerds are?”
“Have I told you how I think hot tortured artists are?” she retorted, pointedly grabbing his hand and marching them to a back booth.
“Tortured artist,” he scoffed as they sat. “I’m hardly tortured and I’m barely an artist.”
“The tattoo on my leg says otherwise.” Opening the bistro menu, she perused it for a moment before setting it on the edge of the table. “Are you going to tell me the meaning behind it now or will I need to drag it out of you later?”
Scanning his own menu, he felt his shoulders hunch defensively. “Maybe we can save the heavier stuff for later.”
“Then let’s keep it light,” she said, her toe inching up his calf muscle and along his thigh, the thin point of her stiletto heel coming to rest just under his balls. When his eyes widened, his dick hardening under the pressure of the sole of her shoe, she smirked. “Light enough?”