Chapter Eleven
Garrett
My elbow is finally good enough I can sit for a full session without painkillers. Gez is back on the table, lying face down and holding his phone out in front of him. I’m not interested in what he is watching. I just want to get this done.
My mind has been all over the place for the last few days. I’ve been a bigger asshole than normal. It’s permeating the mood in the shop and the others have been quieter because of me.
Again.
Lucky gave me hell for dipping out on Shane’s celebrations. To be fair, I’d agreed to go to the club for Shane. Then I left the party without a word.
Once everyone left, I went down to the back room and stood in the doorway, staring at the bed. I’m not sure if it was my imagination, or I could smell her in here. Her perfume, for sure. Sex, I’m not sure that’s possible, or wishful thinking.
Being the anal-retentive tattoo artist I am, I cleaned the chair. Not that there was anything on it. I wanted all the evidence of what I saw gone. Then I grabbed my sketchbook and went back upstairs.
Was she right? Had I left the book out? It’s not like I have to hide it. The others know to leave my shit alone.
Back in the living room of my apartment, I flipped through the book. What must she have thought, seeing images of the same woman? It hadn’t concerned her enough not to kiss me.
Truth is, she has nothing to worry about where Gwen is concerned. The woman in the drawings is my sister. She died when she was eighteen. The sketch pad is intensely personal, and why I lost my shit the way I did.
We’ve been at this session for two hours. I’m losing my concentration and Gez deserves better than that. So, I tap out, apologize and use the excuse my elbow is locking up.
When I’m checking the appointment book, Phoenix shows up. His brow is furrowed, and he runs a hand through his hair a few times, catching my eye. I lift a questioning brow. He said he had shit to do this morning. We offer canceled appointments to people on his waiting list, but he asked Lucky to let him have the morning off.
Lucky asks where he went, which he waves off as errands. This is something to do with the Disciples. It’s the only thing he never discusses with her. He heads to his station to prepare for his next client.
What the fuck was he thinking going there? I give him space for a while as he focuses on his client. Lucky kept the rest of my day free, so I decide to go get some supplies for the store, letting her know to text if she needs me.
Outside, I pull out my phone and text Phoenix.
Garrett:
You went to the clubhouse
It isn’t a question. Through the window, I watch Phoenix glance at his phone. He doesn’t pick it up. He’s in the zone and will answer when he’s ready. Whatever it was, he’s got to work through it. My next thought is to text Nero and find out what happened. Nero won’t tell me anything either.
I don’t want to tug on that rope. Nero has left me alone since I finished the surveillance job for him.
Phoenix will tell me in his own time. Foregoing the bike, because it’s another hot day, I decide to walk over to Highlandtown to clear my head. The Art District is one of the best places in the city to get creative supplies and I’m running low on charcoal, and can get some sketch pads.
I take my time browsing the shops, picking up more than I intended. A regular client owns one of the local bars, so I dip in and catch up, grabbing a drink with her and her girlfriend. It’s been an age since I did something like this, at my own pace, around people I enjoy catching up with.
Eastern Avenue leads me toward Patterson Park, and I contemplate heading to the Observatory building, but it’s on the opposite side of the park to where I want to be.
My phone buzzes as I wander the outer path of the park, away from the tourists and families enjoying the weather.
Phoenix :
Nero wanted to see me
Garrett:
For what?
Phoenix:
To catch up. You know he doesn’t like leaving his little island
Garrett:
Trouble?
Phoenix:
If you mean Darla, no. Nero kicked her out last week
Garrett:
Good
Phoenix:
Mom was there
Fuck. So that is why he is in a dark mood. And why he made time to go out to Locust Point. But fuck, there is only ever one reason his mom hangs around the clubhouse.
That shit irritates the hell out of me. Why the hell does Nero let her keep coming back? If it’s a way to keep Phoenix tied to the club, it’s downright shitty.
Nero is adamant his baby brother won’t join up, which doesn’t mean he wants him out from under his thumb. Things probably got ugly if Kate was around looking for a guy.
Garrett :
You need to ride?
Phoenix:
Nah, this tattoo straightened shit out. I’m good. Where are you?
Garrett:
Patterson Park
Phoenix:
lol. Enjoying a stroll, old man?
Garrett:
Get fucked
I put the phone away. He’s putting on a show, I’ve always been able to see through him. He might say he doesn’t want to go for a ride, but I will talk him round. It’ll do me good too.
A familiar bike catches my attention and I slow my stride. Glancing around, my brows shoot up in surprise.
Calli is sitting on the floor, her legs crossed and a sketch pad in her hand. She glances up at a building opposite the park, then makes some quick slashing strokes with her pencil.
She draws? What the fuck? No wonder she was attracted to my artwork. Walking away before she sees me is the best idea. But I’m intrigued. What is she drawing?
Fair’s fair right. She looked at my shit. Why can’t I see hers?
At first she doesn’t notice me, but the longer I stand there, she realizes someone has stopped. I’m far enough back not to be able to touch her, or scare her.
When she turns, her lips part and she drops her pencil. Okay, I get it. The last time she saw me, I’d had my tongue down her throat and my hand up her skirt. Then I split with no explanation.
The last time I saw her , she was fucking her hand and calling my name.
Her pencil rolls on the slight incline, and I move my boot to stop it from getting further away. Calli watches me bend down and pick it up. It’s a mechanical pencil, not a regular drawing pencil. My eyes go to the pad.
Jesus. She’s drawn a perfect rendering of the building across from her. She’s added to it, making it a couple of stories higher, giving it a more modernist look, which makes it a lot more interesting.
That is serious talent. I didn’t know she could draw, let alone create something so technical.
She closes the book, her cheeks pink as she gets to her feet. My eyes go to the pad again, which she is now clutching to her chest. Like she’s protecting it. Or protecting herself?
“Fair’s fair,” I say, and hold out the pencil.
She licks her lower lip and glances away. Jesus, what would it be like to press my mouth against hers and taste that tongue again? Her lips twist as she fights with herself over what to do. I get it, we’ve never had the best relationship, but it’s more awkward than before.
Calli lets out a sigh, then relinquishes her tight hold on the pad. She takes a step closer and holds it out. Setting down my bags, I take the pad and flip through it.
Page after page of landmark Baltimore buildings fill the pad, all with additional flourishes or extensions, all perfectly drawn with an expert eye for design, and technically perfect.
She is more than a barista. Lucky and Katja suspect there is more to Calli’s history. The evidence is here in my hands.
Closer to the back of the pad, there are different images, softer ones. Ideas more than actual buildings. And at the very back, a building I don’t recognize at all. I lift my eyes and meet her gaze. Calli hasn’t said a single word. She handed over a huge part of herself showing me this.
I’m not sure why. Guilt maybe? She should be mad as hell at me, but she isn’t. Although her hand is wringing through the fabric of her skirt.
Passing back the pad, I glance at her things near the bench. She has a bag from the same art supply store as me.
I almost laugh. We’re so fucking different, but the same in other ways. These drawings are professionally done, years of training, honing this craft.
A million questions run through my mind, but I have no right to ask. We’re staring at one another in silence. This is weird as fuck.
“I didn’t think you ever took time off,” she says.
“I’m not a robot.”
“No,” she casts her eyes away.
If she is thinking what I’m thinking, then hell no, I’m not a robot. There is no need to be an ass. She’s friends with my friends. Maybe we won’t ever hang out, but I should at least try to ease some of the animosity and weirdness between us.
No other woman would get this kind of reaction out of me. I am who I am and don’t change for anyone. What the fuck is it about her?
“About the other day.”
“You don’t have to talk about that,” she blurts, another blush creeps up her chest.
She’s wearing a pale blue summer dress. It has capped sleeves, but her arms and legs are bare. She’s paired it with white All Stars that have blue laces to match the dress. Her long hair is braided over one shoulder.
I want to draw her.
That thought gets shoved into the back of my lizard brain right away. I’m not thinking about drawing her, it’s about studying her, touching her to get her the way I want her. My eyes drop to her chest. Despite the delicate pattern on the fabric, I can see the vague outline of her piercings.
In that leather corset, I hadn’t been able to feel them. I clear my throat and lift my eyes to a more respectable area. If her lips could be called that.
“We’d been drinking and…” she trails off.
I wasn’t drunk in the slightest. But if that is what she needs to believe to get past this.
“I want to apologize.”
“For what?” I frown. Getting yourself off on my tattoo table? Kissing me, driving me fucking insane?
“Your work is personal. I overstepped and… That night I didn’t apologize for that. Things got…”
Things did get… something .
“You returned the favor,” I nod to her pad. “They’re good.”
“So are yours.”
Now she is curious. I won’t tell her about Gwen. She’s keeping secrets, I will too. Not that we owe each other anything. I’m about to walk away because this is fucking awkward now, but she speaks again, stopping me.
“And about the other thing. I crossed another line.”
My gaze must be too harsh because she dips her head, fumbling her pad. My lip twitches because I’m pretty sure I know what she is thinking of. And not the kiss. She did naughty things after I left. Very naughty.
“I don’t want things to be awkward. Knowing I made you uncomfortable is making me crazy.”
“The only uncomfortable thing you made me feel was…” I stop before my fucking mouth takes over my brain. The discomfort was in my jeans, from my cock being so hard I wanted to slam it into her again and again. Not the right thing to say.
“What?” she asks, her chin higher. She wants me to tell her so she can make it better.
Before I open my mouth again, a big drop of water lands on my head. Then more. One second the sun is out, the next the clouds are dumping a month's worth of water in ten seconds.
The rain comes down hard in such a flash we’re soaked in the blink of an eye. Calli lets out a little scream, hugging her pad to her chest. People around us are hurrying to take shelter, or pulling out umbrellas. When the skies open like this, if you’re outside, you’re fucked.
On instinct, I move closer to Calli in some futile attempt to shield her.
“Holy crap,” she shrieks, scrambling to get her things into her satchel.
I help with her bike. The helmet catches my attention. That’s a surprise, a pleasant one. She’s taking her safety seriously.
Standing the bike upright, I turn to face her. She is in the middle of the path, her dress soaked through, hair hanging in wet tendrils around her face, her feet in a puddle of water.
My T-shirt is stuck to me. Is there anything fucking worse than wet denim? Calli draws my attention again, over the roar of the rain her laugh is hard to hear, but she is smiling. When she holds her hands out and tips her head back, I’m fucking mesmerized.
As fantasy inducing as this is, the rain is cold, I’m soaked and a good fifteen minutes away from home. Although my eyes do snag on the piercings, like a fucking pervert.
Grabbing the handlebars of her bike, I hurry toward her. She tilts her head down and her smile turns to a grimace as she shivers. Someone runs past and splashes through a puddle, soaking my already wet legs. I scowl after him, but he’s long gone.
“Oh Jesus,” Calli hurries over and takes hold of the bike. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she looks me up and down. For a moment, she stands there, lost in thought.
“Calli, we gotta get out of this,” I pull on the bike.
“Okay, yeah.” She trots along beside me, letting me take the bike.
The rain is so hard it is dancing up off the floor where it’s landing. Cars have slowed because of the reduced visibility, headlights going on at two in the afternoon. We reach the edge of the park. Both of us stare at the bike. She can’t get a cab with this.
“I only live two blocks from here.”
Without thinking, I nod and follow her lead. She runs across the street and hugs the buildings as she hurries along the sidewalk. We could dip into a coffee shop or store, but we are so wet, I doubt the store owners would let us in.
Calli doesn’t remember I’m aware of where she lives. Not wanting to bring that memory back, I pretend I don’t know where I’m going. By the time we arrive, my boots are squelching, my jeans feel like concrete around my legs, and my hair is plastered to my face.
Calli’s dress is catching between her thighs and her shoes slap the ground as she runs up to her door. She gets it open and steps in, turning to hold it for me so I can wheel her bike inside.
“Holy shit, I can’t believe that. It was gorgeous and then…” she peers through the glass door.
“I should get going,” I step around her.
Her hand lands on my arm. When I turn back, her eyes are wide. “You can’t go back out in that. Look at you?” She points to my chest and then lower.
“What am I supposed to do?” I ask.
“I can’t let you go back out in this rain. Look, I have a dryer upstairs and it’ll only take a while to dry the clothes off. By then it might have stopped.”
My expression never changes, but my mind is racing. She is inviting me up to her apartment to get naked… Relax asshole, she only wants to dry my clothes. I shouldn’t go up there. As I shift, my jeans rub against my skin, and I grimace.
“Garrett,” Calli looks at the door again, then back at me. “You can’t seriously prefer to go out in that than come upstairs.”
“If you’re good with it,” I say.
“I wouldn’t have asked,” she says back with attitude.
I shouldn’t like that. But I do. Calli asks me to bring the bike upstairs instead of storing it with the others down the hallway. We get into the elevator with the bike between us. The water is dripping off us and pooling on the floor. Calli is really shivering now.
As we walk down to the apartment, she is busy searching in her satchel for the key. Down the hall, a door opens, and a man steps out. He looks at Calli with a smile forming, then he sees me and it drops.
My pulse picks up. He doesn’t know me. He never saw me once when I was tailing him or going into his apartment to set up cameras.
“Hi Calli,” he says, side-eying me, then focusing on her.
Whatever reason Nero had for wanting him tailed, I have no clue, but it can’t be good. His talking to Calli pisses me off. I take a step closer to her. Calli looks up from her search, first at me, then at him.
“Oh hi,” she says. To me, it sounds dismissive.
“You got caught in the rain?” he says, not taking the hint.
“What gave it away?” I mutter. He glares.
“Nice to see you,” Calli says, getting the door open and pushing inside without looking back.
The look I give him must make him realize he better walk away, because he does. As I guide the bike through the door, I glance down the hallway. He is standing by the elevator, staring at me. The temptation to give him the finger almost wins out.
“You coming?” Calli’s voice drags my attention back. I give the asshole a smug smile before entering her apartment.
“Did you just have a pissing contest with my neighbor?”
I could deny it, but what would be the point? Instead, I shrug. “I won.”
Calli rolls her eyes, then takes the bike. I’m dripping water all over the wooden floor as she disappears down another hall. It’s a nice place. Compact, but she’s made it homey.
There are architectural drawings framed on the wall. They’re not buildings I recognize, but I see a familiarity in the lines. Calli drew these. Bending, I undo my laces and step out of my boots and socks. My pants are so wet, they feel two sizes smaller, the denim tight around my thighs.
Callie appears wearing a T-shirt and soft jersey shorts. She is holding a bundle of clothes. My eyes narrow, wondering why she has men’s clothes, then she holds out the pants. They’re gray sweatpants with a pink flower over the pocket.
No fucking way.
“It’s all I have,” she lifts a brow. “They should fit, I like them baggy.”
Baggy. Right. I take them and hold them up. Baggy on her, maybe. I should leave.
“Come on, it will only take half an hour to dry them off.” She indicates the window. “It’s still coming down. Or you can call a cab, whatever.”
I am uncomfortable as fuck, and it is bad out there. Fuck it.
She should be careful what she wishes for.
Calli stands in front of me, holding out her clothes, staring wide-eyed as I pull my T-shirt over my head. Her eyes drop to my chest, lower down my torso. She stares at my belt line for a good ten seconds. Then she shakes herself and looks back at my face.
I’m soaked to the bone, goosebumps rising on my skin. Balling up my T-shirt, I let it drop to the floor beside my boots. Moving my hands over the button of my jeans, I lift a brow at her.
“Are you going to watch?”
She rubs her lips together, then turns around. I can’t help the dark laugh. She stands still as I unbutton my jeans and roll them down. It’s a good job she’s not watching because this is not fucking sexy at all. The jeans are sticking to me. I almost fall and have to prop myself on the wall.
My underwear is drenched too. “Do you have a towel?” I ask.
“Oh, of course. Yeah. Hang on.”
She walks away. I roll up the wet clothes and hold them in front of me. Calli comes hurrying around the corner and freezes when she sees me. She practically throws the towel at me. I catch it with one hand and hold out my clothes with the other.
“Okay, it shouldn’t take long to get these dried off.” She gathers my stuff, holding it away from her. When she looks up, I’m rubbing at my chest, the towel hanging down in front of me. She waits.
“What?”
“Underwear,” she says it like it isn’t affecting her. Her blush says otherwise.
“Right.”
This time I don’t tell her to turn away, using one hand to slide my boxer briefs down my legs. When I bend to pick them up, I hear her mutter something. I’m naked and she hasn’t turned away.
Reaching out, I hand them to her. Calli bites her lip as she takes them. I wrap the towel around my waist, securing it by tucking it in at my hip, but keeping hold of it. Just in case.
“I’ll be right back.”
After she leaves, I pick up the clothes she left me, eyeing them again. Drying off as best I can, I step into the sweatpants. They fit length wise. They’re snug around my thighs and my junk is not disguised. The flower sits to the left of my cock, bright pink and glaring, and will draw the eye.
Fuck, if anyone could see me right now. I tug the T-shirt on. That at least is big enough, and plain. I step further into the living room, drying off my hair.
The rain is still coming down in sheets. Standing by the window, rubbing at my head with the towel, I watch the few people who have braved staying out in the rain. If you told me a couple of hours ago I’d be standing in a gorgeous woman’s apartment, wearing her clothes…
I don’t even know how to finish that thought.
“I’ve never seen that flower so… blatant.”
“What?” I glance over my shoulder. Calli points to the back of the sweatpants. What the hell is she talking about? Twisting so I can see my ass, my mouth drops open. “What the fuck?”
Calli laughs. At the giant flower and ‘girl power’ slogan right over my ass.