Chapter 6
SEVEN
“ C ontamination,” I finally blurt out, wincing a little.
It’s lame, so fucking lame, but I’ve already started down this path, and there’s no turning back now.
“I was worried about…food contamination,” I continue, feeling my cheeks heat as I continue to pull nonsense out of my ass. “If Pierce is prepping food, he shouldn’t get his um…” I pull in a breath, wishing I could turn back time and think of something, anything less stupid to say. “Shouldn’t get his hands dirty,” I finish in a softer voice as Binx looks at me like I’ve grown a second head that speaks exclusively in pig Latin.
“There’s a sink right there, dude.” Pierce nods to the wall behind Binx as he studies me with an expression that’s both amused and pitying. “And I’m done with the prep anyway. I just have to pull the wieners off the grill.”
“Right, I… Well, that’s good,” I say, wishing I had an excuse to punch him.
I really want to punch him.
So much.
The urge only gets worse when Binx pats his chest with an easy affection and says, “You should do that, Pierce. I’m sure the savages will be hungry for more than chips soon. But take a look at the area I roughed-in when you get the chance. See if that’s big enough. We can always go bigger if you want, but I think this size will give it a nice feeling of movement without showing above your collar when you put on a dress shirt and pretend to be a corporate douchebag.”
“Aw, thanks,” Pierce says, shooting a smirk my way. “But it’s not pretend. I am a corporate douchebag. I’ve already sold three franchises for Chickie Fingers, one of them in Iowa. Pretty soon, I’ll be nationwide.”
“That’s awesome, douchebag, congrats,” she says, summoning a snort of laughter from Pierce as she moves toward me.
“You’re a character, McGuire,” he says to her back.
Or to her ass, rather. As soon as she turned away, he was right back to ogling her like a piece of meat. There’s a way to appreciate a woman’s body without looking like a cartoon wolf drooling over a turkey leg, but Pierce hasn’t mastered the craft. Not even close.
But before I can say something I shouldn’t—again—Binx grabs a fistful of my sweatshirt and mutters, “Come with me. I need to talk to you about something.”
“Yeah, me, too,” I say, glaring at Pierce’s smug ass face one last time before following her outside.
I warn him with my eyeballs that this isn’t over, and that I’m not going to let him sneak into Binx’s affections through the tattoo studio’s back door.
He glares back, his eyeballs telling me that he isn’t going through the back door, he’s going through the front, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Then he makes a gross joke about enjoying “back door action” that makes me want to punch him again.
And yes, I’m aware that eyeballs don’t actually talk, and I’m imagining all of this, but it feels real.
As real as the heat in Binx’s tone as she drags me into the shade by the fence and hisses, “What was that about, Seven?” I pull in a breath, but she cuts me off before I can speak. “If you say anything about contamination, I swear, I’m going to lose it.”
I exhale, knowing better than to try to come up with a lie.
I don’t lie to Binx. At least, I try not to. I withhold sometimes, I evade, but I don’t lie.
“I’m sorry,” I say instead, keeping my voice low. “But I know Pierce. He’s an asshole with zero respect for women.”
Her scowl doesn’t waiver. “Yeah, I know.”
My brows lift. “You know? And you’re still interested?”
“No, I’m not interested.” She rolls her eyes with a huff. “He’s a client, Seven. A client who wants a very large, very pricey tattoo that will keep me in work for months.”
I grunt. “And keep you in close quarters with a man who’s said raunchy, demeaning shit about you behind your back.”
“So?” She folds her arms over her chest. “It wouldn’t be the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last. At least this way I’ll be getting paid while he stares at my boobs.”
I prop my hands on my hips, shaking my head. “You don’t understand. Pierce isn’t just your average creep. He’s fucking gross. After you shaved your head, he kept talking about how he wouldn’t have anything to hold onto while he…you know.”
She sighs, still looking spectacularly unimpressed. “While he what? Gave it to me good?”
I shrug uncomfortably. “In a grosser turn of phrase, but yeah. And he said it in the middle of the locker room at the gym, surrounded by people he knows are your friends. He has zero respect for you.”
“I don’t care if he respects me,” she says. “I’m never going to date him. I’m just going to tattoo his skin with permanent ink so he’ll bear the giant mark of the woman who refused to fuck him for the rest of his life.” Her eyes glitter and her lips hook up on one side. “So, who gets the last laugh, Seven? You tell me.”
My shoulders slump. I know when I’ve been defeated, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. “I’m still going to be worried.”
“I’ll be fine. I can handle Pierce.”
“But what if you can’t?” I press. “You’re tough but he’s got half a foot and at least seventy pounds on you.”
“I can take him.”
“No, you can’t,” I insist. “He’s almost as big as I am, and I could pick you up and throw you across the room with one hand.”
She rolls her eyes and mutters something I can’t make out beneath her breath.
“What was that?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she says. “I should go. I’ve already missed too much of the karaoke. Someone’s going to get offended if I don’t go join in the ‘fun.’ See you inside.”
“Tell me what you said. Please,” I say, curling my fingers around her elbow when she tries to leave.
Instantly, electricity shivers up my arm. My stomach tightens, warmth floods through my core, and all I want to do is pull her closer. I want to tuck her under my chin, wrap my arms tight around her, and growl at anyone who dares to get close to what’s mine.
But she’s not mine, and she never will be.
I have to let her go. I have to leave her alone so she can find someone capable of giving her the love, support, and protection I can’t. But not Pierce. I can’t leave her alone with him, not even as a client.
I’m about to volunteer to be her bodyguard during her appointments with the jerk, when Binx bursts out, “I said, ‘but you wouldn’t.’ You wouldn’t pick me up with one hand because you don’t ever put your hands on me. Even at the wedding, as soon as you gave me a boost into the tree, you couldn’t let go fast enough. I almost fell because I didn’t have a good grip on the branch yet.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I?—”
“I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to tell me why you really said what you said back there.” She steps closer, until her sweet, sexy smell fills my head. “Why did you tell Pierce to get his hands off me? Why were you glaring at him like you wanted to smash his face in with a rusty tire iron?”
I swallow and curl my hands into fists.
I won’t touch her.
I can’t.
Even if I could, this isn’t the time and certainly not the place. Her entire family is inside, not to mention my mother. If we were going to give dating a try, it would have to be something we kept quiet. I wouldn’t want my mother or Sprout to get excited about something that might not work, and it’s obvious her parents think I’m trash. Getting involved with an ex-con, no matter how long ago I served my time, would only make her relationship with them more strained.
I don’t want that for her.
Especially not for something that wouldn’t last.
But it would last. That’s the problem. She doesn’t mind that you’re intense as fuck and color outside the lines. You’re perfect for each other. At least for now. You’d draw her in, tie her down, and use her up. By the time she realizes she threw her youth away on an old man, it’ll be too late. You’ll be a grandpa and she’ll be stuck trying to find another partner in middle age, a thing you know sucks all the fucking ass.
Or you’ll be dead, and she’ll be alone.
The men in my family don’t live long, healthy lives. The ones who don’t self-destruct get taken out by heart disease or lung cancer or some weird twist of fate.
I’ll be lucky if I get another twenty years.
In twenty years, Binx will be forty-six, around the same age I am now, and I sure as hell can’t imagine myself with a sixty-year-old woman. Hell, my mother’s only sixty-eight. But under all the blue dye, her hair is nearly white, and she can’t get up off the floor after playing games with Sprout without holding onto the couch.
The aging process between twenty-six and forty-six might not be that big of a deal, but a lot more degeneration happens between forty-six and sixty-six.
I can already feel myself starting to slow down. I can’t work a twelve-hour day without a good night’s sleep anymore, and I get injured so much more easily than I did as a younger man. I haven’t had something major go wrong, but I deal with enough weird, new aches and pains to be irritated with my body on a regular basis. It’s only gotten worse since I hit my late thirties. It’s enough to make me pretty sure that fifty-two is going to feel a hell of a lot different—and more physically unpleasant—than forty-two.
That’s my future. I have maybe ten more good years left, and Binx deserves so much more.
And…so do I. I’ve worked too damned hard to turn my life around to fuck it up now. I don’t want to spend my golden years plagued by guilt or feeling like a selfish bastard or a burden.
My only choice is to walk away and do whatever it takes to get this woman out of my head, even if it means taking Pammy up on her offer to stay at her mother’s timeshare in Cancun this December. We haven’t done anything more than kiss goodnight at this point, but maybe it’s time we should.
Maybe if I start touching someone else, then not touching Binx will get easier.
But when she reaches out, grabbing a fistful of my sweatshirt in her hand once again, I don’t pull away. I hold my ground as she steps closer, and even the feel of her knuckles against my skin through the cotton is enough to make me hard. “Come on,” she murmurs, tilting her chin back to hold my gaze. “Tell me. You have your faults, but I’ve never known you to be a coward.”
“I’m going inside,” I tell her, but my hand is already curling around her hip.
“Then go,” she says, gripping my shirt with her other hand now, too, holding on tight. I bend closer, until our lips are only inches apart, and I’m practically crawling out of my skin with the need to kiss her.
I want to lift her into my arms, pin her against the fence, and show her exactly why I told Pierce to get his hands off her. It’s because I want my hands all over her, memorizing every inch of her skin, giving her pleasure, making her scream my name, showing her that she’s all I think about these days when I’m alone in bed and reach down the front of my boxer briefs.
I’m about to do it—to let this genie out of the bottle and ruin both of our lives—when a strident voice calls across the patio, “Binx, what are you doing?”
We startle apart, Binx releasing my shirt with a spasm of her hands as we both turn to face the petite woman standing just outside the back door. She has salt-and-pepper brown hair and eyes the same brilliant blue as Binx’s.
Fuck, it’s her mother. We’ve never been introduced, but I’ve seen her around town with her kids and grandkids. She’s usually smiling and saying hello to everyone, playing her role as “pillar of the community” to the hilt.
But she’s not smiling now. She’s looking at Binx like she’s a naughty child and I’m a pile of dog shit she’s been playing in while the grown-ups were distracted.
“Nothing,” Binx says with a rush of breath. She flaps a hand toward the kitchen door. “I was just talking to Pierce about his tattoo while he finished up the barbeque, and then Seven said he might…want something.”
Her mother scowls. “Want something?”
“Yeah, a tattoo. A, um, a flower or a bee or something. What was it you said you wanted? I’m sorry, I’ve been running around like a crazy person all day making Jello shots.” She glances up at me with a “thinking face” that looks nothing like her real thinking face.
She’s a terrible actor, and her mother isn’t buying any of this, but I nod anyway and say, “A bee, yeah. Maybe with blackberries around it. I thought we could weave it into my sleeve on my left arm.”
Binx hums a little too loudly. “Oh yeah, that’s right. Sure, we can totally do that. Just come by the shop next Wednesday night. That’s when I have apprentice hours.”
Apprentice hours…
So, she still hasn’t told her mother about changing jobs. And tattooing for a living is a lot less scandalous than dating an older man who spent eighteen months in prison for driving a getaway car, who also has a kid.
“Cool,” I say, with a stiff nod. “I’ll do that.”
Her mother lets out a long-suffering breath. “Well, anyway, your song is up next. We’ve been looking for you everywhere. I know you aren’t a big fan of singing in public, but it means a lot to your brother.”
“I know, Mom, I’ll be right in, I promise,” Binx says, but her mother doesn’t budge. She just stands there, glaring at her daughter with increasing disappointment until Binx shoots me an apologetic glance and whispers, “Call me later, we’re not done with this discussion,” before hurrying across the patio.
But I’m not going to call her later.
I am, in fact, going to ignore her texts for the next five hours before blocking her number.
Then I’m going to call Rob and ask him to cover for me at work while I take my mother up on her offer to watch Sprout while I go on a last-minute, rock-climbing trip for a few days. When she first suggested the trip this morning, I shut her down without hesitation, citing all the shit I have to do to get the cabin renovations finished before winter sets in.
But now…
Now, I need to get the fuck out of town and away from Binx. I need to clear my head, refocus my thoughts, and firm up my resolve. And if I can’t do those things, I need to work up the guts to make a clean break. Better to lose a friend than to betray her. I’d rather cut off my own hand than hurt Binx.
I’d do anything for her, in fact, except the one thing she wants.
It’s star-crossed as fuck. Even a guy who slept through the ninth-grade unit on Romeo and Juliet can see that.
But I don’t see much else. I remain blinded by my own forbidden crush until I’m stranded in the wilderness Tuesday morning with no cell phone, no car, and a creeping suspicion that I’ve been set up.
That suspicion is confirmed two minutes later when a familiar voice calls out from the other side of the clearing, “Hello? Is someone there? They said I’d find the rest of the group up this way?”
I turn to see none other than Binx emerging from the trees, dressed in her tight black climbing pants and carrying a camping pack just like mine.