Chapter 22
22
CHARLIE
I check the tiny clock in the corner of my screen for the seventh time. “You’ve got me for three more minutes, Selene, and then I’ve got to go.”
“You’ve kept me apprised of the countdown for the past fifteen minutes.” She doesn’t look up from her desk. “Are there chickens that are in need of rescuing, Farmer Charlie?”
“Look at you.” I grin. “You remembered there are chickens.”
She tilts her chin and squints into the camera. “Wait. The chickens exist? There are real chickens?”
“Eight of them, in a coop behind the bakehouse. You now have two minutes for any business-related questions.”
She closes a file and rests her hands on top of it. “We’ve covered everything. This week is substantially slower. I guess your dad is occupied with something else.”
Or maybe he’s finally decided to listen. I’m trying a new approach where I hold my boundaries instead of willingly giving in to all of his demands. I emailed him after our last disaster of a phone call and told him I’d only be taking calls from him during work hours, organized and coordinated by Selene. It seems to be working out for me, despite the anxiety ulcer I’m giving myself in the process. No matter how much of a douche my dad is, I still struggle with the idea of disappointing someone. Him, in particular.
But it’s difficult to care as much about it when I’m here. When I’m surrounded by people and projects and things to occupy my time. Especially when I’m in Nova’s bed every other night. Or sitting next to her at her kitchen table, filling out expense reports while she flips through a magazine. Or on the back porch of the guest cottage, a fire in the metal drum and her hair shining, shimmering gold. I don’t think it matters what we’re doing, whenever I’m with her, everything else is pushed firmly to the edges.
“You’re dressed up for an evening with the chickens.”
I glance down at my shirt and smooth my hand over the buttons. I don’t know how fancy I’m supposed to be for the soft launch of a tattoo studio, but I want to look nice, and Nova said she liked this shirt.
She said it while her hand was in my pants, but she said it nonetheless.
“No chickens. Nova’s studio opens tonight.”
“Nova.” Selene leans back in her chair with a smug little smile. “I’ve been hearing that name an awful lot.”
“Have you?”
“I keep a tally on the notepad on your desk. Would you like for me to calculate the results?”
“No, thank you.” I don’t need a reminder about how deeply I’ve slipped down this path. Blissful oblivion is the name of the game at this point. I’m not going to think about what comes next. I’m just going to enjoy what I have now. No expectations. “I can count them up when I get back to the office.”
“I bet you’re looking forward to that.” She tidies up the rest of the desk. “Being back in your routine.”
No. Not really.
I’m going to miss the way the sky comes alive at night, stars pressing in through the wide windows at the back of the little cottage. I’m going to miss the way morning smells, cold air and wet leaves and fresh apples and warm butter from the bakery. I’m going to miss Nova’s hair across my chest and her knee pressed between both of mine while I cling to the edge of the bed because she barely allows me any room when I sleep with her. I’m going to miss being here in a million different ways.
But this isn’t the place I belong. These are not things I can keep. I’ve been playing dress-up for weeks, and the cuffs are starting to get a little tight at the wrists.
“Yeah,” I say instead, because it’s better to start convincing myself now. “Yeah, I do well with routines.”
?By the time I get to the studio, there isn’t a single parking spot left on Main Street.
I end up having to park in the short alleyway behind the bookshop, three blocks away. The hum of the party is a low buzz that grows in volume the closer I get, people spilling out from the open doorway to the sidewalk. There’s music and lights of every color, crisscrossing back and forth from the awning of a taco truck to the entrance of the studio.
And standing by the door, lit up in shades of blue, is Nova.
My attention snags on her, just like it always does. She has her hair tucked neatly behind her ears, a drastically different look from when I left her at her house in her pink fluffy robe. Now, I can see the lines of her tattoos that dance up her neck to the hollow below her ear. I’ve traced that ink with my mouth. With my fingertips too. Her lips are painted bright red, and she’s wearing some sort of strapless top that shows off the ink along her shoulders and down her arms.
There’s a gnawing ache when I look at her, head tipped back in laughter at whatever the bozo in front of her is saying. I eye him critically. Black shirt with a hole near the collar. Black boots. Arms covered in ink. I check my cuffs and straighten my sleeves. I want to be the one making her laugh. I want to be the one by her side. I want to close the space between us, scoop her up until her legs are wrapped around my waist, and taste the edge of that smile.
But I’ve never had much luck with wanting things. The things I want almost always turn into the things I don’t get to have, and Nova is not an exception to that rule. No matter how much I’m starting to wish she was.
The person in front of her moves, and she sucks in a bracing breath, taking in the crowd. Tonight represents months and months of hard work for her. I hope she’s proud. I hope she’s looking at all these people here for her and recognizing what a goddamn force of nature she is.
Jeremy pokes his head out of the front window of the taco truck and her lips lift in amusement. He calls something to her and she rolls her eyes. I’m smiling before I even realize, and that’s when she finds me.
It’s like stepping off the curb without realizing there’s a curb. My heart trips over itself, seeing her face light up because of me. I glance over my shoulder just to be sure and when my eyes find her again, she’s got that twist to her lips that tells me she knows exactly what I was doing and she thinks I’m ridiculous for it. Of course I was looking at you , I imagine in her voice. Don’t be stupid.
I push through the crowd to meet her, her eyes on me the entire time. I don’t stop until I’m close enough to press my boots to hers, about as much as I can get away with when all these people are around us.
I want to kiss her.
I want to hold her hand.
I want to throw her over my shoulder and go back to the guesthouse on the edge of the farm and lose myself in her.
“Hey,” she says, and I want to kiss her so fucking bad my hands shake with it.
I curl them into fists in my coat. “Hey,” I say back. “Quite the crowd.”
She nods and looks around again. “The power of a taco truck.”
“Nah.” I rock back on my heels. “This is all you.”
Her eyes snap back to mine. I’ve said too much or I haven’t said enough. I don’t know. I never really know with Nova. I clear my throat and nod toward her studio. “You managed to hang the light.”
She glances over her shoulder at the neon light against the garden wall in the back. Ink I’m just the guy that keeps showing up with a bottle of tequila. I have to swallow three times around the thick feeling in my throat before I can manage a rough “Me too” in response.
She takes two steps backward toward the steps of the studio. I can’t stop looking at how the colors from the lights dance along her skin. As per usual, I think I vastly underestimated my ability to play it cool with Nova Porter.
“I’ll see you inside?”
I nod because she seems to be waiting for it. She could tell me to get in the taco truck with Jeremy and work on the carnitas and I’d probably do it.
“Yeah. Me and Oscar the Grouch.”
?“You’re being weird,” Caleb mutters at my side, a tiny cookie in the shape of a succulent in the palm of his hand. He’s eaten six of them in the span of ten minutes, and I’m really starting to think Nova should have handed out cookie tickets. For him specifically.
“I’m not being weird,” I grumble. I’m being cautious. I spent the first twenty minutes of this party staring at Nova while she worked at her station, her head bent in concentration, tattoo pen in her gloved hand. I’ve never seen her work before. She’s doodled on napkins and on the tops of pizza boxes. Flowers and vines and constellations that I can recognize now as part of her style. But I’ve never seen her like this. She’s fully in tune with what she’s doing, dedicated to the careful, delicate work of inking designs. She’s moving to a soundtrack that only she can hear, loose lines and smooth, graceful movements. Her hair cascades over her shoulder, her face a mask of concentration.
I’m captivated.
She has a sign-up sheet for clients at the very front of the shop next to one of the giant mirrors. For all my teasing, I haven’t put my name on it yet. I don’t know if I can handle her hands on me in a room with this many people.
Also, I still haven’t figured out what I want.
A common theme, I’m finding.
“I’m just taking it all in,” I tell Caleb.
Specifically, the guy Nova has in her chair right now. It’s the same guy from out front, the one she was talking to when I walked up. He’s leaning into her space, dark blond hair combed back. They haven’t stopped talking since he sat down, and I can’t stop sneaking looks. They look good together. Well suited. That’s probably the kind of guy she usually goes for.
I bet he’s absolute shit at doing his taxes.
“Who is that guy?” I ask Caleb, curling my hand tighter around my mocktail. Nova isn’t serving alcohol at this event for obvious reasons, but god, I wish she were. “The one Nova is talking to.”
What in the hell are they discussing? She has a line, for god’s sake. A schedule to keep. One per customer. It says that clearly on the bottom of the sign-up sheet.
“I have no idea, but you might want to try looking somewhere else for a couple of minutes. You don’t have a subtle bone in your body,” Caleb answers, tossing the rest of the cookie in his mouth. “I didn’t know you wanted a tattoo that bad,” he mumbles to himself.
I blink away from the two of them. “And you lack restraint. Don’t you get enough of Layla’s cookies at home?”
He’s already looking longingly at the table in the back where Layla has set up refreshments. “I never get enough of Layla’s cookies.”
I make a face. “Don’t be gross.”
A furious blush climbs his cheeks as he scowls at me. “I didn’t mean it like that. I meant her actual cookies.”
“Sure you did.”
“As in her baked goods.”
“I’m sure her baked goods are very nice.”
Caleb gives me a long look. “I will punch you right in the face.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” I reply, eyes tripping right back to Nova and the schmuck in her chair like a goddam magnet. She laughs at something he says, and I want to flip a table. I want to take the tattoo pen resting comfortably in her hand and scratch out whatever design she gave him. I don’t want him walking around with a permanent mark from her while all of mine will eventually fade. It doesn’t feel fair.
“You could put your name on her list, you know.”
“Nah.” I manage to tear my eyes away from Nova and glance at the place on my wrist that doesn’t have a watch. Another mark left by Nova. Her fingerprints are all over me. Frustration tears at me. I can’t stand here anymore and watch all the things I want but can’t have. It’s a unique form of torture that I don’t particularly want to indulge in anymore. “I think I’m going to head out. I have some stuff to catch up on.”
Caleb frowns at me. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I just wanted to stop by.”
His frown deepens. “She’ll wonder where you went.”
Will she? I don’t think so. She has a full house and plenty of things to hold her attention. I’ll take the night to shove everything back into place and get myself in line. Nova was perfectly clear when she told me what she wanted. I’m not going to twist myself outside of those boundaries. It’s not fair to either of us.
“I’ll say bye on my way out,” I concede. I can be a fucking gentleman despite the tight, anxious feeling swarming like bees in the middle of my chest. I blow out a deep breath. “Go get your cookies.”
Caleb claps my shoulder and shakes me. “You sure you’re all right?”
“Stop asking me that,” I sigh. “I’m fine.”
I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine…except I can’t stop thinking about a woman I have no business thinking about and I’m pretty sure I’m having feelings that can no longer be categorized as business casual. And isn’t that a fucking joke? To want another thing that is so far outside my reach it’s laughable.
Caleb disappears to the back, and I drag my feet over to Nova’s station, ignoring the constant peppering of thoughts that spin fast and faster. You should stay. You promised. You’re going to disappoint her. You can’t handle what you said you could handle. You have no business thinking you deserve her time, her attention. She said casual and you agreed. You agreed.
Stop acting like this. Be better.
I need fresh air. I need a drink. I need to not be watching Nova talk to someone else while it takes all of my willpower and then some not to touch her.
She glances up at me when I rap my knuckles against the top of the partition that separates her station from the rest of the shop. Her face brightens. It sends me sideways.
“Are you next on my list?”
I shake my head and her face falls. I hate that it makes me feel as good as it does.
I keep my gaze forcibly away from the man still sitting in the chair in front of her. His boot is almost touching hers, and it has frustration clawing at the inside of my chest. I don’t want anyone else to touch her. I don’t want anyone else to look at her. Mine , a voice in my head shouts, except she’s never been mine at all.
“I’m heading out. I wanted to let you know because…” Because I’m a glutton for punishment, apparently. I clear my throat. “The studio looks great, Nova. I’m really proud of you.”
“I thought you were staying for a tattoo,” she says, and I want to. I want to give her whatever she wants, always, but I’m not good company right now.
I shake my head. “Another time, yeah?” I try for a smile and it falls flat. “Maybe I’ll call and make an appointment. It’ll be fun to give Jeremy the runaround.”
Her mouth twists. “You don’t need to make an appointment to get Road Runner on the small of your back.”
“But I will if I want that full sleeve of tiny garden gnomes.”
“That’ll probably be several appointments.”
“My point exactly.”
She smiles at me and pushes back on her rolling stool. “I’ll walk you out.”
I laugh and shake my head. This whole place is full of people who want to see her. I can find the exit on my own. “You stay. I’ll catch up with you later this week.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yup.” I ruffle her hair because I’m at a loss for how else to say goodbye without pressing my mouth to hers. She slaps my hands away and something in me eases with the heavy slant of her eyebrows. See? I can do this. I can fall back into the roles we’ve made for ourselves. “Catch you later, Nova girl.”
I push my way through the crowd of people toward the exit I know is in the back, relaxing as soon as I slip into the darkness of the hallway. Back here, I can slip off the mask. I’m exhausted but relieved, tipping against the side of the hallway and letting myself breathe for a second.
Until a body plows into me from behind and someone grabs at my arm, forcibly tugging me farther down the narrow space.
“What the fu—”
Nova drags me into her small office, shutting the door behind us and keeping the lights off. All I can make out of her is her silhouette and the flash of her hair. The smell of fresh ink and tart cherries.
She turns and closes the space between us, tipping her chin up so she can look at my face. “What’s going on with you?” bursts out of her, a whispered accusation.
“Me?” I rub at my arm where she bulldozed into me. “I’m not the one bodily accosting people in dark hallways.”
“No, you’re just the one staring at me from across the room with a broody look on your face.”
I frown. “It wasn’t a broody look.”
It was more of a what-the-fuck-am-I-doing-and-also-I-want-to-kiss-Nova look, if we have to categorize it.
“It was,” she says, shifting closer. “And you were definitely staring.”
Of course I was staring. I can’t stop staring. I can’t stop wanting either, and that’s exactly the problem.
I sigh and try to find something to look at that isn’t the disappointment on her face. I can’t handle it. The light switch on the wall is an excellent choice. “What are you doing back here? This is your party.”
“And I can cry if I want to,” she says, hand reaching forward and squeezing mine. “Or follow you down dark hallways and ask why you’re leaving after barely an hour. Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, of course.” I swallow, and it sounds too loud, even with the muffled sounds of the party drifting through the closed door. “I’ve got—I’ve got some work stuff to handle.”
“Right now?”
I nod. “Yes.”
She sighs. “Charlie.”
“Nova.”
“What’s going on with you?”
I grasp for the end of my control as a hot flare of frustration rolls up my spine. I’ve been trying to keep everything contained all evening, and I feel like I’m standing at the very edge of a bad decision. I’ve got no reason to be upset. No reason to care about who she does and doesn’t talk to.
But I am upset, and I do care.
I’m jealous as fuck.
And I’m mad that I’m jealous as fuck.
I let go of her hand and scratch at my eyebrow, taking one step backward and putting more space between us. This room is too dark, and my thoughts are too quick, and Nova is too close. I never make good choices when I’m pushed in a corner.
“Nova, I’m—”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” My pulse thunders in my ears. I am terrified of saying something that I’ll regret. “I’m going to go.”
“No.”
“Yes.” Christ, this woman. She’s always pushing me. I usually like it, but right now I need to leave. I reach for the door at my back. “I’ll see you later this week. Harvest festival and…whatnot.”
She closes the space between us and presses her palm to the door, snapping it shut again. Her chest presses against mine. I can feel every one of her exhales against my neck.
“Tell me,” she says.
My heart is hammering. I’m a bottle, shaken up and ready to explode. I’m thinking too many things, feeling too many things, the filter I struggle with on my best days flimsy and ready to collapse. “Tell you, what?”
“Why are you hiding from me?” She tips her face closer to mine, looking for all the world like she’s trying to read the answers to her questions on my face. “What’s going on?”
“It’s no—”
“If you say, ‘It’s nothing,’ one more time, I’m going to lock you in this room with me. I won’t let you out until you decide to be honest.”
It’s not the punishment she thinks it is. And before I know it, I’m tumbling right over the edge. My restraint crumbles and frustration guides me forward.
“Fine.” I give in to temptation and slip my hand under her hair, squeezing at the back of her neck. It feels like I haven’t touched her in ages. Like I’ve been holding myself back from everything I want for an eternity. She collapses in a curve against me, her palm still flat against the door. “You want to know what’s going on?”
“Yes,” she breathes, pressing herself harder against me.
“When you said business casual, was that for me or for you?”
She blinks twice, her gaze and her breathing heavy. She likes the way I’m touching her. She likes that I’m being rough. “What?”
I lean closer so I can brush my lips over the shell of her ear. Her shoulders shake in a tiny shiver. Something dark and possessive uncurls in my chest.
“You said if you’re fucking me, no one else is.” I collar her ear with my teeth and nip, just once. “Do the same rules apply to you?”
“Charlie,” she sighs, head lolling to the side. “I knew you were upset.”
“I’m not upset.”
“You seem upset.”
“I’m not upset,” I say again. I keep one hand at her neck and curl the other around her hip, walking us back from the door toward the desk shoved up against the window. I hold her there, tighter than I probably should. “I’m just trying to clarify.”
“Clarify what?”
I drag my knuckles from her hip to her belly button and undo the top clasp of her jeans. My hands are shaking. I want her to forget anyone that isn’t me. I want to overwhelm her the same way she overwhelms me. I want a bunch of things I absolutely should not want and yet I cannot stop myself from wanting them. I yank her zipper down, then slip my hand down the front of her pants. “Am I the only one allowed to touch you like this?”
Nova gasps as I trace her through her lacey underwear, then moans when I tug it to the side to tuck my hand beneath. She is bare skin and wet heat. I drag my fingers against her, and her hands clench tight in my shirt.
“Charlie.”
“Spread your legs,” I order. She does as I ask, resting more of her weight against the desk at her back. The thing in my chest that’s in control roars in satisfaction. I love that I can request this of her with a crowded room full of people on the other side of this wall and she does it. I love that when I press harder against her, she fights to tip her legs wider, trying to feel more of me. I reward her with a rough stroke of my fingers and cup her jaw with my free hand, holding her still so I can touch her the way I want. I trace my thumb over the swell of her lips.
“Is it just me, Nova?”
She takes my thumb in her mouth and sucks. I clench my teeth and twist my hand so I can press two fingers into her. I grunt when she lets out a breathy moan. Fuck, I love that sound.
“Nova.”
Her head drops back, and I trail my thumb that’s wet from her mouth down the line of her neck to the hollow of her throat, farther still to the rise of her breasts through the tight material of her top. I hook one finger beneath the shiny material and tug it down until I can brush a kiss to my favorite rose, her tits straining against the hem. Another inch and I could have her half bare against this desk.
“What?” she breathes, circling her hips and pressing down harder. Chasing my touch.
“Am I the only one that gets to make you feel like this?”
I twist my hand, knuckles brushing against the lace of her underwear. I move my fingers faster, my forearm flexing. She gasps and then moans, hands scrambling from the desk to my shoulders. She pushes at my coat until it’s half hanging on me and curls her fists into the back of my button-down. The one I picked out because she said she liked it.
“Am I the only one that gets these sounds? The only one that gets you this wet?” I ask. The only sounds in the room are our rough breathing and my hand working between her legs. “I am, aren’t I? You don’t get it like this with anyone else, do you? I know exactly what you need.”
She nods. “You do.”
“All you have to do is take it, isn’t that right? You always let me do whatever I want to you.”
She hums, hands clenching and releasing in my shirt. “Yes,” she breathes.
“But I make it good for you too. Don’t I?”
She blinks open her eyes and watches me. “Always,” she says quietly. “You always make it good for me.”
“Tell me.” I move my hand harder in the constraint of her pants. She sucks in a breath through her teeth. “Say it.”
I want it to be a demand but it tumbles from my mouth like a plea. Even when I’m the one controlling her pleasure, I’m on my knees for her.
I brush my mouth against hers. “Can you please say it?”
The fists in my shirt ease, and she slips her hands beneath, palms against my bare skin. She traces the lines of my back, drawing temporary tattoos that only she knows the design of. I gentle my hand between her legs and rub her clit in slow, wet circles. Exactly how she likes it.
“It’s just you.” She nudges me with her nose and buries her face against my neck, hands holding me tight. “You’re the only one, Charlie.”
The hand I still have at the back of her neck squeezes. “Good,” I whisper, mouth against her ear.
She comes with a gasp and a whine, legs trying to shut around my hand. But I wedge my hips between her thighs and guide her the rest of the way through it, until her body is relaxed and her nails aren’t digging half-moons into the skin of my back. I hope she’s left marks. Maybe I’ll have her tattoo those into my skin, so every time I glance at them in the mirror I can remember her exactly like this. Looking up at me in the moonlight from the window with her chin against my chest, some of her hair sticking to her neck, a satisfied smile on her color-smudged lips.
I pull my hand out of her pants and tug up her zipper. Redo the button. It’s easier to focus on these tasks than the yawning, hollow feeling right in the middle of my chest. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have pressed the issue. I shouldn’t have—
“Charlie.”
I curl my hands around her hips and drop my forehead to hers. I shut my eyes tight. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
She makes a low, amused sound. “I know you’re not apologizing for that orgasm you just gave me.”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“—been honest with me? Given me a stunning orgasm? Which one do you regret more?”
I think about it for a second. “Neither,” I finally sigh. I lean back and peer at her, trying to fix her lipstick with my fingers that aren’t wet with her, but I only make it worse. She slaps my hand away and I let it fall to my side.
“That wasn’t—I shouldn’t have—” I pause and take in a deep breath through my nose. “Let’s talk about this when you don’t have a shop full of people waiting to see you.”
She threads her fingers through mine. “Will you stay?”
“I don’t know if I should.”
The erection straining my pants, one reason. My foul mood, another.
“Stay, please.” She squeezes my hand. “I want you to.”
I study her face turned up toward mine.
Fuck.
I’d give this woman anything she asked for.
I take two steps back, still holding her hand. Her face falls, but I tug her with me. I extend my arm out with a stupid half bow, gesturing toward the door. I’m going to need to channel my inner showman if I hope to make it through the rest of the evening.
And I’m going to need ten minutes alone in this dark room.
“After you.” I pat her ass once as she walks past me to the door, a cute little hop in her step that shouldn’t make me smile but it does. I lean out of the doorway after her and whisper-yell, “But stop and fix your lipstick first.”