Chapter 12 #2
Bobby is on the move. A door creaks open.
The phone moves and then stops. Bobby must’ve set the phone on a ledge, because I’m watching him get ready in the bathroom.
The top three buttons of his dress shirt are unbuttoned.
My fingers itch to caress the ink on his neck and lower until my fingers are trenched in his chest hair through the phone screen.
What significance do the skull, blossoms, snakes, and angel wings have for this sexy stranger who is becoming less of a stranger as we talk and get to know one another?
“Is that a private bathroom?”
“Yep. Only I have the key.”
“Because you and the owner are good friends?”
“True that.” Bobby smirks.
I laugh. “Are you a frat boy, now?”
“Fuck no, unless frat boy talk gets you off.”
It’s like a switch has flipped, and I’m seeing a different side of him—the real Bobby, who is comfortable dropping f-bombs when talking to a girl he barely knows—and I like it.
Carlos was more crass than refined in both his words and actions. He treated me like a princess in public, but in private, he was not gentle. He taught me that pain and pleasure go hand in hand. I like this version of Bobby.
“I’m used to frat boy talk, bluntness, and cursing,” I admit.
“I’d rather you be real than tiptoe around me with words and actions that aren’t you.
” I lay everything out because I’m not someone who plays games with another’s heart.
Carlos showed me what it was like to be genuine and authentic and to be accepted for it. God, I miss him.
“Duly noted. Thank you, Ever.”
“For what?”
“For taking me as I am.”
If I weren’t dressed and made up for work, I’d fall backward onto my bed with a smile on my face and my phone clasped to my chest.
“Do you sleep at the club often?” I carry the phone with me to the kitchen.
“I don’t make a habit of it.”
Good. It must be uncomfortable sleeping in an office chair in an office that isn’t his own.
“Can I ask a personal question?”
With my cell resting against my backpack on the kitchen table, I make myself a bowl of cereal and sit.
“Shoot.”
“Was I dreaming when I said yes to being your girl?”
“We shared the same dream, so yeah, sweetness, I’m thinking we’re an item.”
Dream. Sweetness. An item. The words string together and touch me where it matters—my heart.
“Ask your questions, Ever.”
“No questions.”
“Your face gives you away, Ever After. Now, ask.”
My body springs to attention while my mind is befuddled by how easily I give in to Bobby’s commanding tone.
“When will you be back?” I spoon cereal into my mouth.
“Friday. Meetings during the day, parties at night.”
“Does that include pleasure?”
“Jealous?” He smiles like he’s enjoying the idea.
“Curious.”
“Curiosity killed the cat.”
“This cat has nine lives.” I point my spoon at my chest.
He chuckles. “Duly noted.” He undoes a button on his shirt, giving me a hint of more chest hair and ink. “No pleasure but a chance to network in a social setting. People loosen up when drinks are flowing.”
“You included?”
“Some but not the hardcore stuff, not when money is at stake.”
“But you’ll let the others drink until they loosen up enough for you to take advantage?”
“Not my problem that they can’t hold their liquor or that they let themselves get into a situation of getting taken advantage of.”
“That’s ruthless and . . .” I wanted to say “immoral,” but I can’t deny he makes some good points. Plus, who am I to judge? I don’t run a business and have no desire to. “Kind of scary.”
“It’s the way of life in the business I’m in.”
“What business is that?”
“I’ll tell you in time.”
“Will that be during or after you take advantage of me?”
“You’re not a business deal in the works.”
I point my spoon at him. “Take that back, Bobby.”
“Not going to, sweetness. I repeat, you are not a business deal.”
“Then what am I?”
“Beautiful. Funny. Smart. Have a talent for creating art with napkins.”
I beam and murmur a soft, “Thank you.” I reach for a hand towel, shape it into a pretzel, and place it in front of the camera.
Bobby laughs. “Baby.” He draws out the word, and I am hot from my hairline to my toes. “I’ll buy you napkins in every color.”
“Promise?”
He mimes crossing his heart. Smiling, I bite down on my lower lip. “Adorable, Bobby.”
His face softens. “No one’s called me that before.”
I blow him a kiss, followed by, “You’re adorable, adorable, adorable.”
His eyes shine. I can’t look away from how happy he is. He is sexy. Boyish. Bobby must’ve gotten all the girls in school. Did he go to college? Is that where he met his ex?
“Will you be able to call me while you’re gone?” Six days without hearing his voice and seeing his face is like a lifetime of torture.
“Not a fan of text messages?”
“I like hearing your voice and seeing your face.”
“Same for me, Ever. Send me your work and school schedule, yeah?”
I bring up my calendar apps and do as he asked.
“What time you working ’til, sweetness?”
“Three-thirty. I get there at seven, just in time for the morning shipment of goodies. We open from eight to five. My coworker Maggie comes in at ten and closes.”
He runs his fingers over his shadowed jaw. “The devil is in the details. Thank you.”
“You weren’t bored?” I stare at his handsome face framed by dark hair. He’d look good with a beard, all rugged and mountain-man-like. Or more like a mafia don with the roses, snakes, and angel wings inked on his neck.
“Nah. I like hearing you talk.”
Nice. “Are you tatted elsewhere?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know, princess?”
Before I can respond with a smart-ass remark, he unbuttons his shirt one-handed and removes it while holding the phone. The phone moves, and he sets it on a cabinet of some sort, maybe a tall filing cabinet. The angle and height give me a full-body view.
He has a full sleeve of bold ink in shades of gray, red, and blue. Across his pecs are angel wings. His abs are bare of ink. Along his sides are more tattoos. It’s difficult to make out what they are, but they look like words.
My mouth waters with the need to run my fingers over the words and the lines and curves that make up the angel wings. Then I’d caress along the sinewy muscles of his shoulders, arms, and abs before I drop kisses on his tattoos as I wrap my arms around his bulging biceps.
Bobby’s muscles are hard-earned from working out, and he withstood pain with each injection of ink that created the masterpieces on his body. My body hums with a deep-seated attraction and a powerful need.
“They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.” A low pulse starts in my core, like a beat I can’t get out of my head and don’t ever want to leave my mind.
Being with Bobby has me thinking about disco balls, an empty booth in a crowded nightclub, and leaving the noise behind, eyes closed, as a stranger leads me to his lifted pickup truck.
“When can we go dancing again at Crimson?” I want to make memories with him.
“When you submit to my rules. Then we can go dancing until you tire of my arms around you, swaying to a beat that’s of our making.”
“What are they again?” I remember his rules, but hearing them will make what we agree to real.
A sliver of apprehension runs up and down my spine. Am I really doing this, starting something with a guy I’ve known for less than twenty-four hours?
“You give me full control in the bedroom. Protection for both parties. Exclusive. I don’t share. Outside the bedroom, if you want something, you give up something in return. If I call it off, we go full no contact. No exceptions.”
He repeats what he told me as we sat in an empty booth in a crowded nightclub, and now he’s in the owner’s office, sleeping off a hangover because he and the manager are close.
How does Bobby know Dom Costello, the owner of Crimson?
Dom is friends with Midnight Sterling, and Midnight and Ty hang out when Ty is in Dumas.
Dom, being the respected and wealthy acquaintance of Midnight Sterling, doesn’t have Ty and the crew hating him less.
Crimson is and always will be Red Dahlia’s competitor, even though a two-hour drive separates them.
“Are you in?”
Said in a casual tone, but I have a feeling Bobby cares what my answer is. Bobby dislikes liars, cheaters, and manipulators, but what’s worse is getting rejected. I can’t imagine anyone rejecting Bobby, that he’s clamped down on his expression like he’s bracing himself.
“I’m in. But you’re wrong.”
“About what?”
“I’ll never tire of being with you.”
He scowls. “Never say never. Your words will come back to bite you in the ass and rob you of your heart and soul.”
“You know what I’d say to your ‘never say never’ BS?”
“What, baby?” His eyes darken. His lips lift in a smirk. Bobby is throwing down a challenge, and I am in.
“I’d say bring it.”
He stares intently at me, as if he can see my soul through my eyes and feel my heartbeat through the phone screen as this whoosh, whoosh, whoosh through my veins.
“I like that. A lot.” His finger traces over the screen. My heart beats faster. It’s a heart, a perfect heart. “Bring it, sweetness. I’ll be your villain, your bad boy, any fucking day of the year.”