Chapter Five
O uch, man!” Mitch Denton glared at Sam from his prone position in the tattoo chair. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, why?” Sam placed a hand on Mitch’s shoulder, but his friend refused to go down.
“Because I feel like you’re pounding me with the tattoo gun.”
Sam snorted. “Maybe you’re getting soft in your old age.”
“Ha, don’t you mean ‘our old age’?” Mitch hiked a dark eyebrow, grinning. “You’ve got a few months on me, if I remember right.”
Sam’s mouth flattened into a thin line at the reminder. “And yet, I’m not whining about a little discomfort. Don’t you know what they say? No pain, no gain?”
“That’s in regard to bodybuilding, not tattoos!” Mitch said, lying back again. “Besides, it was your technique I was concerned with. You’re usually a gentle hand at this sort of thing.”
Sam bit his tongue, unsure of what to say to Mitch. They hadn’t gone to school together, as Mitch had moved to Mistletoe in his early thirties from Montana. When Sam had come back to town, they’d started working at the shop together and bonded over their love of art. Mitch’s work was flawless and intricate, and Sam had several of his tats across his back and shoulders. They were late-in-life friends, without the shared history, and talking about Wren seemed out of bounds somehow.
“I’ve been a little preoccupied lately, I guess. Getting my name dragged through the mud will do that to a person.”
Mitch winced, his blue eyes watching him sympathetically. “Oof, I’m sorry, man. When I heard about what happened, I’ll admit, I laughed a little and thanked the Lord that it wasn’t me.”
“Understandable,” Sam mumbled.
“However, it isn’t fair of women to drag your name without taking responsibility for their part in the situation.”
Sam stopped buzzing and looked up. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you were honest and forthright about what you were looking for. If someone thought they could change your mind, they didn’t listen, and their heartbreak is their fault.”
“That’s great. Wanna go on air and tell them that?” Sam asked dryly.
“No, thank you. I’m just showing support for you, my guy,” Mitch said, grinning. “From the safety of the sidelines, of course.”
“Right.” Sam went back to shaking for several moments, but when he felt Mitch jerk under his hand, he sighed, talking over the gun. “Why don’t you talk about something that will calm me down, then, and maybe I’ll stop drilling you?”
“I can do that. Oh, have you seen that new female cop? She is fine— Ow! Fuck!”
“Shit, sorry. Not her either,” Sam growled.
Mitch studied his shoulder before turning his attention back to Sam. “Damn, dude, is there any woman who isn’t on your bad side?”
“My sister-in-law and Holly.”
“Oh yeah, pretty little Holly Winters.”
Sam caught Mitch’s grin before his friend turned away, letting him get back to work. He knew what that look meant and braced himself for the questions that came up any time one of his friends mentioned Holly.
“How come you didn’t snatch that girl up when you had the chance?” Mitch asked.
Sam had answered this question a hundred different ways, but people still didn’t seem to understand that Holly was the one woman he’d never wanted to sleep with. From the moment they met, they understood each other, had connected like they’d known each other for years, and even if he had been interested, he’d never have ruined that by sleeping with her.
“Because I didn’t. Have a chance that is. She was hung up on Declan for years.” Sam added with a chuckle, “Besides, she’s the Garcia to my Morgan.”
“What in the hell are you talking about? Who is Garcia?” Mitch asked.
Relaxed now, Sam went about his work as he explained, “From Criminal Minds . Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia have incredible chemistry, they’re always flirting, but they both know they are better off as friends.”
Mitch stared over his shoulder at him like he was speaking a foreign language, and Sam realized how he sounded. He’d started watching the show with Holly a few months ago at her place, and apparently her thoughts and insights were rubbing off on him. Maybe that was why she was in a functioning relationship and he was single.
“It’s a TV show,” Sam grumbled.
“I’ve never seen the show, but I’m not sure I agree. If you’ve got chemistry, that should always be explored.”
“Not if the chemistry is just going to fizzle out and destroy what you have.”
Mitch scoffed. “How do you know if you don’t try?”
“Trust me, man. I can tell when something isn’t meant to be.” Of course, Wren’s face sprang to mind, and he kicked himself for letting his emotions get the better of him. What happened nineteen years ago was ancient history and had no bearing on his life today. And yet the minute he’d seen her, Sam couldn’t help following her outside just to see...
If what? That overwhelming need for each other still exists? Safe to say that it doesn’t, especially after her reaction to my snark.
He hadn’t meant to come off like such a dick, but come on! Wren acted like Sam was the one who gave her up, when actually she’d told him to go. She’d said they didn’t have a future because she’d wanted to stay in Mistletoe and he’d wanted to find a fresh start for them both. Only she hadn’t stayed. After graduation, she’d left for another state, and he’d never heard from her again. What else was he supposed to think except that she’d always wanted her freedom from him, her father, and this town, but she hadn’t had the guts to tell him?
The fact that she’d come back after all these years was insane to him, but he should have just let her go instead of trying to engage with her outside the Den. Maybe if he had, there wouldn’t be a knot of irritation and regret twisting him up on this gloomy Monday afternoon.
“Are you about done?” Mitch asked tightly, breaking Sam out of his melancholy.
“Yeah, I’ve just got this small section left.”
“Thank God. When you’re finished, go get a Snickers or something. You better hope I don’t remember this experience the next time you want something inked.”
Sam bit back a laugh as he finished up the skull and blue flames Mitch wanted in honor of his dad. He’d passed away a month ago, and Mitch had chosen his motorcycle club’s symbol as his latest tattoo. Sam and Clark’s dad was enjoying life in Florida, away from his sons, while he and his wife sipped drinks on the beach and forgot they ever had children. He’d never inspire the kind of sentimental honor Mitch’s dad did.
“You’re probably right. I need a candy bar to stop being so stressed and frustrated. Chocolate fixes all.”
“According to my sister, it does,” Mitch said.
Sam turned off his tool and started cleaning up. “You’re finished.”
“In all seriousness, Griffin, maybe it’s time to turn over a new leaf.”
Sam glanced up from his task, frowning. “In what sense?”
“With women? Show them you’ve changed and are looking for something more.” Mitch frowned. “That is what you want, right? That’s why you’re upset? You’re finally looking to get serious, and no woman will touch you with a ten-foot pole?”
“That’s not what I said.” Although it was exactly what he’d been worried about.
“Then why does it bother you?” Mitch asked, climbing off the stool and stretching. “There are plenty of women who won’t care about your reputation and will let you tear their clothes off.”
Sam wasn’t sure how to explain it, and that got him really thinking about Mitch’s suggestion. Was Sam ready for something more than just a short-term arrangement?
Sam grabbed the plastic to cover Mitch’s tattoo, securing it in place. “All set.”
Mitch slipped his flannel over his arms, watching Sam. “Just so we’re clear, you’re not interested in the lovely Officer Wren Little, right?”
The question sucked the air out of Sam’s lungs for a moment, leaving him breathless. His first reaction was to tell Mitch Hell yes , because they had history and even if there wasn’t going to be a repeat between them, he didn’t want his friend going after his ex.
But that would require a whole conversation about their past, which was something he wasn’t itching to talk about.
“No, of course not. Go nuts,” Sam mumbled.
“I plan to.” Mitch chuckled, working on the buttons of his shirt. “Dad would have loved this. Thanks for squeezing me in.”
Sam almost laughed. Usually, Mitch and Sam would be too busy to tattoo each other except on rare occasions, but a Monday before a major holiday was slow. They hadn’t had a call in hours, and both their shifts were nearly over when the owner, Astrid, and her husband, Sven, came in. Although the sound of their names automatically made Sam think of Vikings, he knew they’d both grown up here. They were just blessed to have been christened with those names.
“I’m gonna step out to get some air, if you’re good here?” Sam posed it as a mix between question and statement, knowing that he was going to take a walk whether Mitch agreed or not. He needed to clear his head.
“Sounds good.” Mitch patted him on the back. “I appreciate you, even if you did borderline assault me today.”
“Assault my ass, drama queen.”
They both laughed as Sam headed out the door, breathing in the crisp winter air. Sam popped out of the alley onto the sidewalk, passing by a few people who smiled and said hello. Even though he wasn’t part of the mainstream crowd that everyone revered, like his brother, Clark, people were still polite.
He’d never been good at fitting in, even as a kid, and had found his people among the loners, the kids who chose art over grades. He’d barely graduated high school, not because he couldn’t do the work, but because he was so done with all of it: his parents, who put on a big show of caring in public but privately treated their two sons like a burden; the teachers, who didn’t care if someone needed extra help with a concept; the cops, who had looked at him like any minute he was going to detonate and take the whole town with him.
Although he was an adult now, Sam still had his own crowd away from the masses. He’d gotten to start over after his world fell apart in Oregon. He got to be with his brother and watch his nephew grow up. All these things were in the plus column for him.
Sam rounded the corner and almost doubled back when he spotted Sally and her friend Tara walking toward him. The door to Kiss My Donut was between him and them, which meant they were going to reach it at the same time. Sally had upgraded her wardrobe since she’d started dating a doctor, her full figure wrapped in a navy pea coat and brown knee-high boots on her feet. Her light brown hair was cut below her chin, curled, and bouncy. Choosing not to date her had nothing to do with her appearance. Sam had the sense that hooking up with her would have caused mountains of drama.
After Sally’s scathing call-in, it seemed either way Sam chose, he had to deal with the fallout. If he’d hooked up with her and walked away, she would have had something to say anyway.
Since when does Sam Griffin run from a fight?
Sam reached the door first and held it open. When Sally caught sight of him, her face paled. She slowed down a bit, and Tara’s brow furrowed until she followed Sally’s gaze and saw him. While Sally was classy in fall colors, Tara wore purple lipstick, her dark hair loose around her shoulders under a black fedora hat. Her black leather jacket, tight jeans, and boots gave off “mess with me, and I’ll put a spell on you” vibes, and Sam put on his difficult-customer smile and nodded. “Ladies. Are you heading in?”
“Uh, yes.” Tara glanced at Sally, who still seemed stunned. “Come on, Sal.”
“By the way,” he said, leaning against the edge of the door. “Thanks for all those honest opinions about me on Friday, Sally. It really opened my eyes to my character’s shortcomings. Especially all those times when I kindly told you I wasn’t interested. I guess I would have been better off sleeping with you and rejecting you afterward instead of being honest about how I didn’t want to tangle with you because I smelled your crazy from a mile away.”
Tara gasped while Sally’s jaw flapped open and closed like a fish without oxygen. Sam released the door, and Tara caught it before it smacked her shoulder, glaring at him. He wouldn’t be surprised if she asked Merry for one of her famous plush voodoo peens later. His sister-in-law’s crafty business venture of adult knitted items included some quirky things like holiday-themed penis-shaped plushies. Holly had an elf one she kept on her shelf in the living room, and the thing creeped him out, its beady eyes seeming to watch him.
“Have a great day, ladies. Stay real.”
Tara dragged Sally inside, and Sam grimaced. He knew it was a dick way to handle things, but women talked all the time about how men couldn’t handle rejection. That rejecting the wrong man could turn out dangerous, and yet, women could tear down not only a man’s reputation but his life.
“Look at you, making friends everywhere you go.”
Sam groaned as he turned around to face Wren, who stood behind him in full uniform with her arms crossed over her chest. A big black and tan dog sat by her side, watching him with—Who knew it was possible?—a matching expression.
Sam imitated her stance, looking down at her from his height advantage. “My friends don’t lie and try to ruin my life.”
“So all those women who called in were lying about your horndog ways?”
“No,” Sam admitted sheepishly before pointing to where Sally had disappeared inside, “but that one was. I politely rejected her last year, and apparently she’s still sore about it.”
Wren frowned. “That’s not okay.”
He shrugged. “It’s over now and not worth any more energy.”
Wren cleared her throat. “About the other night. I’m sorry I made assumptions about you. It’s really none of my business.”
“You mean like me asking why you’re single?” he asked ruefully.
“Maybe we just let sleeping dogs lie and start over?” Wren asked.
Sam nodded toward Duke. “Speaking of dogs . . . Who is this?”
“Duke, but he’s working right now.”
“So, no kneeling and giving him belly scratches?”
“I’m sure he’d love a rain check on that.” Wren’s lips twitched. “As to the lady in question, I’d be angry, too, if I’d heard all the rumors about how good you were in bed, but I didn’t get to find out.”
A surprised chuckle escaped him before he could catch it. “Maybe if she’d had the chance, she’d have been disappointed.”
“Nah,” Wren said, her gaze sweeping him from head to toe. “You were pretty good at eighteen, and I’d imagine you’ve learned a few tricks since then.”
“Pretty good? That’s not exactly high praise.”
“I can only base your score on my limited experience back then. Now, it’s a little different. I’ve learned a thing or two over the years, too.”
Sam took a step closer and placed his hand on the wall, leaning over her with a devilish grin. “Care to share?”
Duke growled at Sam’s proximity, and Wren reached down, touching his ear. “Relax.”
Duke settled, and Wren grazed Sam’s chest lightly with the tip of her finger, dark eyes flashing with heat. “I don’t think you can handle it.”