Chapter 19
NINETEEN
LENNON
I sling my laptop bag over my shoulder and cut across the downtown street, my head down against sharp, cold February wind.
My breath comes out in little clouds, and I’m grateful when I jog the last few steps down the sidewalk to the tattoo shop where August works.
My hand is on the door handle before I notice a sign on the glass and grin.
Tattoos with August Gallagher are By Appointment Only.
Call to get on his calendar.
Walk-ins with other artists welcome
Then it lists a number of the shop.
My smile widens as I push in the door, hiking my bag higher on my shoulder.
A wall of heat and the buzz of half a dozen tattoo machines running at once greet me as soon as I get inside.
The small waiting area is packed. Every folding chair is full and two guys parked by the flash-covered wall are flipping through a portfolio binder. Someone’s toddler runs laps around the reception desk while his mom pretends not to notice. The whole place smells like green soap.
August and I didn’t set up a contract before I started running his socials, so when we finally sat down to do it last week, after I’d been running them for three weeks and he had really started seeing an upswing in business, he was the one to suggest I take a percentage instead of a flat fee.
It’s not unheard of. It’s usually just the client that wants to talk flat fee options, no matter how big their businesses are or how much specialized attention they want.
August says I should always demand percentages.
I’ve never had anyone believe in me as much as he does, and he just met me.
I could certainly give my all to a more selective clientele, locking in to make sure their businesses soar.
To be honest, the last three weeks have been the most insane and liberating of my life.
Which, you know, is only mildly effing terrifying.
This thing with August… I mean, it literally started out as a lovely distraction and means of escape for what was supposed to be one, wild, electric night I’d never forget.
Which… I mean, oh my god, it was. Beyond my wildest dreams.
And then it got complicated.
Way, way complicated.
Even August himself says I should run, and God knows I’m not na?ve enough to be blind to how messy this is.
He’s my ex-husband’s brother.
He’s also magnificent, and sexy, and has a rare gentleness, and he listens, and oh my god did I mention how goddamned sexy he is?
I see the way he sees himself—like he’s broken because of the way his brain works, in part because of what they did to him—and I want to go to war on his behalf.
And it makes me want to stand up straighter and go to war for myself, too.
How often do you meet someone in life who helps you to see your own worth?
August is working in the back, tattoo gun in hand working on what looks like an intricate back piece.
He glances up and when our gazes connect, a ball of joy and sexual chemistry sizzles in my tummy that makes me grin so hard, it hurts my face.
For just a second, something flickers across his face—worry, maybe, or something coiled tighter than that—before he smooths it back into that easy, cocky grin of his and dips his chin at me.
But Daddy, I love him.
I spin away, cheeks flaming at the terrifying intrusive thought. It’s just a dumb meme.
I’ve only known him a few weeks.
We’re just having fun together.
I mean, we can’t really—
Not in this actual, human reality where I’m still legally married to his brother—!
“The woman of the hour!” says a man popping up from a station near the front of the shop. He steps out around the front desk and comes toward me and thank God, because I’ve never needed a distraction more in my life.
I give a little wave. “Hi.”
“Hi! I’m Cormac Johnson. Everyone calls me Mack. August says you did his… social whatevers.” He waves a big hand back at the crowded front waiting area. “And it’s caused all this.”
“Oh.” I can feel my cheeks still all hot, most from my unruly mind and the effects of August’s glance moments earlier, but also from Cormac’s praise.
I don’t do well being the center of attention. “Mostly it was August’s work.”
Mack just hefts a heavy eyebrow and pulls out his phone, where he’s got August’s Insta grid pulled up.
He clicks on one of the reels where I used a lot of movements and cuts along with a trending sound. The post happened to pop off and go semi-viral. It’s almost at 500k views.
“How do I hire you? I mean, I do fine.” His chin notches a little higher with pride. “But the other guys are feeling a little sour with August getting all the business and attention. Can the shop hire you so you do this for everyone who’s got a chair here?”
My grin comes back. Losing myself in my work—now there’s a lasting distraction.
Just give me a project and set me loose.
That’s much better than going in circles about whatever may or may not be happening with the handsome tattooed god I spend most nights in bed with or, worse, the headache of all the divorce stuff.
I was just at the divorce lawyer’s office before coming here, and it’s all going to be a much more frustrating and drawn-out process than I anticipated.
Not to mention expensive. So, so expensive, considering I now know Jake’s going to put up a fight, although my lawyer reassures me that even though it’s scary, it’s far better to fight it now rather than have regrets later.
Still, I need all the work I can get.
“Of course.” I look around at the crowded shop. “Is there somewhere we can sit and talk over what you’re thinking? I’ll probably need to talk to each of your artists individually, too, to see how we want to develop their individual brand.”
Mack smiles at me. “I like the way you think. How the hell did August manage to snatch himself such a smart, beautiful lady as his hype woman?” Then he rolls his eyes. “It was all the muscles, wasn’t it?”
I laugh out loud at that.
Mack moves to the side and I notice August lift his tattoo gun and look my way again at my laugh, our eyes again connecting with the same wham-pop-zing.
Phew. Takes my breath away every time.
“How about we go chat at the coffee shop across the street so we can have space to hear ourselves think?” Mack says, and I nod like a bobble-head. Yup. Space. Space would be good right now, especially when I’m having all these… feelings.
But I take one lingering glance back to August before we go, wishing I could pull out my camera to capture his devastatingly handsome face as he bends over, concentrated on his work.
Again, there’s that now-familiar swoop, low in my belly.
This can’t actually be real, can it?
Almost every night, in his bed.
Waking up to those stunning, too intense eyes gazing at me, his strong but gentle fingers caressing hair out of my face.
He takes my breath away.
It’s like I’m in a dream I never want to wake up from.
At some point, we’ll have to open our eyes and take a breath, won’t we?
Or what if, some dangerous corner of my heart whispers, it’s so much more desperately worse, and you’re actually really and truly falling for your ex-husband’s brother?