Stealing Sunshine (Cherry Peak #4)

Chapter 1

1

brYCE

“Ow! Shit. Fuck. Can’t you be any gentler?”

I consider pressing the tip of the tattoo gun harder into the underside of my best friend’s ass cheek before turning the idea away.

“You’re the one who decided to get a tattoo here,” I mutter.

“I didn’t know it would hurt this bad!”

“It’s two letters and a period. Suck it up.”

Anna, another important member of our friend group, leans closer to both me and Poppy with blatant interest. She’s got virgin skin, totally uninked, and while I’m itching to change that for her, I’m also not interested in pushing.

“Is it really that painful, or are you being a bit sensitive?” Anna asks her.

Turning her head to the side, Poppy glares at our friend. “How about you get a tattoo on your ass, Annalise?”

She’s stretched out on the leather table without a shred of insecurity, a move completely in character for her. The hem of her sundress is flipped right up over her entire ass, a hot pink thong bright beneath the shitty lights in my basement.

Anna smiles, shaking her head while leaning back on the storage bin she’s sitting on. “Brody would like his initials there a bit too much, I think.”

“It isn’t too late for me to change the tattoo, Poppy,” I remind her, half hoping she will.

“Cut it out, Ice. I’m not changing it.”

“You can’t honestly tell me he deserves his initials on your ass.”

“Technically, they’re not his initials,” she rebuts.

I huff. “Might as well be.”

S.D. are the letters she asked me to ink into her skin. A permanent mark that corresponds to the nickname she gave her boyfriend when they first met, Sir Douchelot.

“I think it’s romantic,” Anna says.

I wipe the S with a paper towel to clean the ink. “I don’t see Garrison in here getting Poppy’s initials on his ass.”

“Would you like me to text him and ask him to come? We both know he’d be here in five seconds. He’s probably waiting for me outside already,” Poppy says.

Readjusting my position on my stool, I stretch my fingers out before gripping the gun again and bringing the needle back to her skin. The period is quick to ink, and then I’m wiping the skin again.

“All I’m saying is that he better appreciate this. It’s going to hurt to sit and use a pole for a few days. You’ll stretch this area constantly.”

“Maybe just avoid going to the studio during that time, Pops,” Anna encourages.

Poppy ignores our warnings. “No pain, no gain, guys.”

Beautifully Bold, her pole studio, is her entire life. She’s on a pole more than she is her feet at this point. Nothing and no one is capable of keeping her off it.

“Suit yourself,” I grunt.

“So . . .” Poppy starts, wiggling slightly when the gun’s needle passes over a sensitive spot. “When are you getting out of this basement and into a studio of your own? ”

“I’m happy here.”

“Here? You’re happy doing tattoos for free in a dungeon?” she asks, calling me out.

“It isn’t a dungeon.”

“It is a dungeon, Bryce. And you should be charging people for your work. You’re incredible,” Anna says, watching me with that soft look of hers.

My skin tightens with discomfort as I continue to keep my late-night tattoo work to myself. They wouldn’t judge me for tattooing those desperate enough to get one in the middle of the night, but I’m not ready to tell them about it yet. I haven’t been ready for the last year.

“I’m tattooing two letters into Poppy’s ass.”

“So? Is that supposed to prove something?” Poppy asks.

“I tattoo to take the edge off. It’s not a stable job idea in Cherry Peak.”

“Neither was my hair salon,” Anna says.

Poppy makes a noise in her throat. “Or my pole studio.”

They’re fair statements. Doesn’t mean I want to take them into consideration right now. The thought of opening a tattoo shop gives me anxiety. In a town as small as Cherry Peak, the judgment is always there regardless of what you do or say. It’s gotten better over the years, but with the number of wrinkled assholes packed into the streets on the daily, it’s hard to believe it’ll ever fully change.

I’ve watched Poppy be treated like a filthy freak for opening a pole studio and have received more than enough dirty looks for the ink on my skin. Their opinions don’t matter to me, but they would have to if I were to open a real business here.

Not to mention, I have a terrible inability to keep my mouth shut when someone pisses me off. I’ve made my fair share of enemies in this town with my sharp retorts and middle fingers. A potential shop wouldn’t last a week with how quickly I’d get myself in hot water. At least those who seek me out now know exactly who I am and love my work enough not to complain. A brick through my window sounds like a pain.

With a final glide of the needle, I finish the D and wipe it and the rest of the tattoo clean before turning the gun off. The cursive writing is clean and precise. Fucking pretty, even. I push away from the table and reach for my favourite ointment before slathering it over the raised skin.

“Do you want me to cover this? Or are you going to peel off whatever I put on the moment you get home?” I ask.

Poppy stretches her arms out in front of her and groans. “Since you’re so worried about me, put the damn cover on, and I promise to leave it for a couple of days.”

“So generous.” I cover her tattoo with a sticky film and pinch the inside of her thigh. “You’re done. And like I said before, it’ll hurt to sit for a few days, so take it easy.”

Anna giggles. “That seems more like a warning you should be giving Garrison.”

I crinkle my nose in disgust. “Pass.”

Poppy slides off the table and smooths down her dress before moving to the standing mirror I have propped up against a softened wooden beam.

Fine. Maybe dungeon isn’t that far off after all.

With a tight grip on her dress, Poppy twists and lifts it to expose her ass again. Her eyes latch onto the initials that appear in the mirror when she bends slightly. I watch her face for a reaction, some small part of me always hungry for praise when it comes to my tattooing work.

“Yup. He’s going to shit a brick when he sees this,” she says, swaying her ass in the mirror. “It’s perfect.”

I take the compliment and leave her to continue checking herself out. Busying myself with cleaning up, I tune in to the music playing from my speaker on the small workbench left here by the previous tenant and fight a wince.

The country music is low and slow, the lyrics drawled in the way I can’t stand. It’s almost like nails on a chalkboard, but I’ve kept that to myself my entire life. Especially now that Anna’s decided to marry a goddamn country superstar this upcoming summer.

“Are you sure we can’t convince you to get something, Anna?” Poppy asks her, coming to my side, dress swishing at her thighs again.

“Someday, maybe,” Anna answers.

Poppy yawns. “Boring.”

“If I buy you a drink, can we forget about the whole tattoo Anna thing?”

“Depends on what type of drink.”

“Whatever your heart desires, baby cakes.”

Anna moves to my other side and gathers the ointment and stack of wraps from the table before putting them back where I grabbed them from.

After disinfecting the table, I take my makeshift station down quickly. The two women linger while I work, talking about their plans for tonight at Peakside, the only bar in town. Every Saturday, a giant group of us steals a table and stays until closing.

Over the past couple of years, less and less of us have stayed that long, though. Anna and Brody are getting married and have better things to do than hang around at a bar until the morning, and Poppy and Garrison can’t make it more than a few hours without fucking, so they’re out early.

Even Johnny, the town’s sunshine cowboy with a mouth that rarely stops moving, isn’t interested in staying late anymore. Not since he found Aurora and convinced her to give him a shot. He’s had her on lock ever since.

It’s been a long year of watching overly touchy and at times obnoxiously happy couples twist up our friend group. We’re a far cry from what we used to be, and as one of the last single people around, it’s becoming tiresome to go out with them every weekend.

I’m happy for them. Really. It just makes my lack of a dating life a bit more noticeable .

“Who’s driving tonight?” Poppy asks once we’ve headed upstairs.

The stairs are old and creaky, the kind you find in a horror film with a blonde screeching while running from a possessed nun. I leave the basement light on at all times. Fuck my power bill. As someone who believes in all things paranormal, I’m too big of a wimp to ever turn the light off. Especially not while going up these creepy-ass stairs.

“Anna,” I say.

She stops at the top of the stairs and glances at me. “Why is it always me?”

“Because we have to get our use of you in the summer, considering you’re the world’s worst winter driver,” I state.

After bumping the door shut with my hip, I lead the way into my tiny bathroom to grab a couple of pain pills for Poppy.

“For your ass. We’ll be sitting tonight, and the skin will still be pretty raw,” I say before extending them to her with a flat palm.

“Thanks, Ice.” She takes them from me eagerly before we step into the kitchen.

My fridge is as full as it ever is—and by that, I mean empty as fuck—when she grabs one of the half-drunk Fanta bottles from inside to help her swallow the pills.

“So, I don’t think either of us are going to be driving tonight. You were right, Poppy. Garrison’s leaning against Brody’s truck with a scowl,” Anna calls from the living room.

Spinning, I find her staring out my front window, which has been illuminated by the shine of headlights flashing down the street. I roll my eyes at the two men.

You’d think neither of them has ever had to leave Poppy or Anna before. How clingy can you get?

“Sorry, Bryce. Believe it or not, I did tell him to just meet us there,” Poppy says, even though there’s no disguising how happy she is to see him .

“Doesn’t matter as long as there’s room for me in that godawful fucking truck.”

Anna gasps, her head whipping back, eyes wide. “Don’t let Brody hear you say that. He thinks of that truck as a child.”

“Congratulations. It has your eyes,” I mutter before finding a pair of black boots and shoving my feet into them.

The other two finally peel themselves from the window and follow suit, and five minutes later, we’re all stuffed inside the truck.

I tune out the sound of Garrison’s dirty whispers from the opposite seat in the back as he squeezes Poppy’s knee and twist to stare out the window.

Soon enough, I’ll be able to sneak off to drink my cocktail alone and, for a few blessed minutes, not be constantly reminded that I’m destined for a life of singleness.