20. Not a Boyfriend
Chapter 20
Not a Boyfriend
Bonnie
Normally, I’d be miffed about a crowded day at Ink it’s oddly freeing to ask for what I want and do what I like. Is this how he lives? Without worry of judgment? It’s absolutely electric.
“How much was it again?”
I blink out of my thoughts. A tourist stares at me over his open leather wallet.
I smile. “Sorry. That one is”—I peer at the large print in his hand—“fifty.”
The man digs and begins counting bills. I wait, running my thumb over my pulse, as if trying to revisit where Rafe gripped my hand to help guide my strokes over his cock. I want to touch him again, so much that it’s like a fever coursing over my skin. Shivering but hot, all at once.
Over the man’s shoulder and through the large windows, Rafe stands outside, cigarette in hand, blowing puffs into the air. He’s taking a break before we close. It’s been nonstop today, and I know he gets stressed when he’s around too many people. We’re similar in that way.
I’m taking in the way Rafe’s hair falls, small strands tickling right over his cheekbones, when a woman stops beside him. She’s stunning, delicate, and well put together. She holds out her hand, gesturing toward him with her two fingers. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but Rafe reaches in his shirt pocket and pulls out his cigarettes. He holds it out to her. She removes one, smiling. He gives a half smile back.
My mouth goes dry at the interaction.
My eyes dart between them.
He says something.
She laughs.
Rafe pulls out his lighter next, striking it against the end of her cigarette. She leans in, keeping her eyes locked on him the whole time.
Is she flirting?
Is he?
Her hand coasts over the back of his arm. His sultry eyes follow every inch. And then she slides a piece of paper toward him and?—
“Excuse me?”
My head jerks to the man in front of me. His eyes are widened, likely offended that I’ve been drifting in and out of this conversation.
“Sorry,” I mumble, taking his exact change and tucking it into the register.
The man rolls his eyes, takes his print, and leaves the shop. When I look back at the door, Rafe is walking inside again, running a palm through his inky-black hair. His other hand is tucking the box of cigarettes back into his pocket.
“That’s not good for you,” I singsong.
“Yeah, yeah,” Rafe says with a sly grin. “Let me slowly ruin my lungs in peace, yeah?”
I give a weak smile in return.
What did he say to her? Did they exchange numbers? Social media handles? Does Rafe even have social media?
My heart races at the possibilities.
I need to control myself.
I breathe in, then slowly out.
But I choke on my breath when a woman in a white lab coat rushes through the door, her arms loaded with paper bags and overflowing garments. I’d think it was an animated pile of clothing with two feet were it not for her frizzy black hair, teased with gray.
“Mom?!” I ask.
“Sorry, in and out,” she says, out of breath. “I need to get to Jasper’s.”
I blink over and over as she rushes across the store, messily drops off some boots behind the counter, and pulls me in for a quick hug.
“What—”
“I got you boots.”
“Okay, and what’s all that?” I gesture at the hefty pile she rearranges in her arms with a small jump.
“Wendy’s,” she answers. The word is muffled against a velvet dress pushing into her cheek.
“Wendy’s?” I ask.
“Maternity clothing.”
“Oh—”
Mid-syllable, Ma hugs me again, shuffling across the shop floor once more.
“Get home before dark!”
“I—”
But she’s out the door before I can argue otherwise.
Like a total whirlwind.
Rafe, leaning against the wall, turns to me.
I swallow, glancing down at the thrifted boots she left for me. They’re admittedly cute.
“My mom’s love language is gifts,” I explain.
Rafe raises his eyebrows. “I see.”
My cheeks burn in embarrassment from the interaction. Not just because it’s my mom doing mom things, but because Rafe was flirting with someone older and prettier seconds ago, only for him to be reminded that I’m … well, me.
Bonnie Davies.
Youngest daughter of the Davies family.
Rafe is not mine. He’s far from mine, and I’m only gonna drive myself insane if I get jealous. He’s allowed to flirt with other women. We never said anything about exclusivity. For all I know, he could be out there sleeping with someone every night I don’t see him. He could be painting more nude women up in the apartment, then screwing them on the couch, just like me.
I’m tense, even thinking about it, but it’s not my place to be upset—it’s not .
He isn’t my boyfriend.
I can be cool. Shiv can be understanding.
I tap my finger on the counter and click my tongue. “So … she seemed nice.”
“Your mom?” Rafe chuckles. He’s at the far wall, refilling a hanging wire display with prints by sliding new ones into clear sleeves.
I lick my lips. “No, the woman outside. She seemed nice.”
He pauses, lifting an eyebrow at me.
“The woman you … she gave you her number, didn’t she?”
“Oh. Her. She was all right.” The print thunks into the plastic sleeve. He slides his thumb over to the back to seal it, then places it on the rack.
“Hot, you mean,” I clarify.
He narrows his eyes. “Hot?”
“Yeah, well …” I’m shifting from one foot to the other. “She was gorgeous, wasn’t she?”
“I suppose,” he says slowly.
“You don’t think so?”
His lips pull into a tight line. “Maybe. She isn’t a redhead though. They’re my favorites.”
His eyebrows rise in a tease, but I tap the countertop absentmindedly.
“Seriously, if you wanted to?—”
Rafe’s playful expression falls like a dead weight. “Let’s not do this, Shiv.”
“What? I mean, she is hot.” I shrug, toying with the business card holder, straightening the cards in the stack, staring at them like a lifeline. “And I don’t mind if you … if you’re interested.”
I do mind. I absolutely do. But I’m Shiv. Cool Shiv. Cool Shiv whose mom doesn’t come in like a tornado at work. And Cool Shiv doesn’t care. She can be a decent wingwoman.
When Rafe doesn’t respond, I look up. He’s staring at me intently. His pupils are pinpricks.
“You promised not to lie,” Rafe says.
My face heats. “I’m not. She’s hot.”
“But you do mind.”
I bite my lower lip. I don’t know what to say about that. Regardless of what I want to say, it doesn’t matter. I have no claim on him. Anything I could say would be childish and irrelevant.
So, I manage a, “I know what we are. We can do whatever we want.”
He tongues his cheek for a moment before turning back to the print and murmuring, “All right. Good to know.”
I wish he’d say more, but he doesn’t. In fact, he disappears into his office for the last hour Ink & Tide is open. I hate myself for even bringing it up.
I work the register until people drift out, and then I grab the closet broom and sweep. The moment it hits seven o’clock, I pace to Rafe’s office and collect my backpack.
He’s at his desk chair, sifting through paperwork. How can he always look so effortlessly elegant? His hair falls over his cheekbones as he stares down in concentration. His hand rests on his temple as his thumb spins the thick ring on his index finger. His eyes swivel up to look at me, though his head is still pointed downward.
“Where are you rushing off to?” he asks.
“I gotta get home,” I say. “Lu needs …” I almost lie again. I almost tell him she needs a study partner, but the fact is, she’s taking a break this weekend. “A girls’ night,” I finish instead. “We’re gonna watch some TV.”
It’s not a lie. Bingeing our shows is what we do most Fridays after Davies family dinners.
I pull my backpack strap onto my shoulder and turn to leave, but I only take one step out when Rafe asks, “What do you watch?”
I pause, turning on my heel.
“Dumb stuff,” I explain. “You’d hate it.”
He places an elbow on the armrest and leans back in his chair, the leather squeaking beneath him. He raises his eyebrows. “Try me.”
I cross my arms and jut out my hip. “Reality shows.”
“I don’t hate reality shows.”
“You watch reality shows?”
He shrugs. “I watched some Big Brother in my day.”
“You’re just being nice.”
“I’m never just being nice.”
He gives a half smile. It’s almost like a truce. I return it.
It’s not an acknowledgment of what happened today, but it’s good enough. We’re talking. Like coworkers might. I can only hope this won’t affect anything else either. He doesn’t seem open to discuss further though, so I turn around again.
But right as I turn to leave, he says, “Hey, Shiv?”
My heart is pounding now as I turn to face him again for the second time.
“Yeah?” I ask.
Rafe stares, squinting, as if considering something.
“What?” I ask on an awkward laugh.
“How would you feel about a work outing?” he asks.
“Uh, sure. Where?”
“Want to see Howling Ravens with me tomorrow?”
I almost drop my cell phone dangling in my palm. “Oh my God, are you serious?”
Rafe nods. “Figured it’d be good to meet one of your clients.”
I shake my head with a laugh. “They’re not my clients.”
“Yet,” he says.
A beautiful, teasing smirk spreads on his face. He’s stunning. Too stunning.
I wonder if he knows I could never stay irritated with him. I wonder if he knew I was irritated at all.
“Well?” he prods.
I shake my head. “Sorry, yes, of course I wanna go.”
The Howling Ravens. I’m gonna see the Howling Ravens.
“Good,” Rafe says, looking back down to his paperwork. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon.”
“Oh. Are you driving?”
He glances back up and tilts his head to the side. “Well, how do you feel about motorcycles?”