Chapter 16But I’m keeping the key
SIXTEEN
But I’m keeping the key
Trace
“I’ll take it to go, thanks, Lucy.” I slip onto a barstool at the diner’s counter in the back and rest my head in my hands.
I’ve been in a wild headspace since yesterday.
I spent a full day in this cage, and when I thought I’d be left to navigate a weird and tough conversation with Ivy, it turned into… more.
Staring at the line cook scrambling eggs, my mind veers to Ivy’s perfect body, the way resting my hands on her naked hips feels like being home.
More than her being sexy as hell and fucking a dildo strapped to my body, she handles me in a way no one ever has. She didn't force me to wobble through a weak explanation, she didn’t lash out or yell. There were no tears of hurt or betrayal.
She called me on my shit move, and made me pay. Simple.
But in the way she made me pay, we both got to come and come clean.
She likes me, too. What she did last night wasn’t just to teach me. It’s to claim me. Ivy Ellington wants to claim me and although I told myself I’d never let another woman stake claim to me again, I’m realizing how foolish it would be to make good on that jaded promise.
As much as it terrifies me to admit it, I want Ivy in that serious, permanent way. The desire to be near her, talk to her, get her opinion, hold her, taste her— the need has surfaced and I can’t drink it down any longer.
It’s growing, too. It started as a little burn deep in my bones in some unreachable place. I barely felt it, the hot little flicker of awareness when she came into the room.
But as time went on, that ember grew. Every salty comeback, every shitty smirk, every tender touch and subtle glance fanned that ember, growing it into what it is now. An all-consuming blaze, eating up all of my other hopes and dreams, swiping at my fears and insecurities. She’s quickly becoming the only thing I think about. The only thing that matters, and if I’m being honest, I care about the art and tattooing much more with her around.
She reignites my passion, reminds me of why I’m here in Bluebell in the first place. Because I’m sick of that life I keep going back to and instead of sinking into toxic familiarity, it’s time for me to grow a bigger pair and move past all that shit.
It’s time for me to get the girl, the one that actually wants me.
I dig my phone from my pocket, and peer around me, making sure no one is witnessing the dumb-ass grin sweeping my face at the thought of texting that little Firecracker.
Mornin’ Firecracker.
Lucy walks up with a mug in one hand and a carafe of coffee in the other. I point at it. “Actually, I’ll take two.” I set the phone down for a moment. “Hey, Lucy, I met your mom at the bowling alley.”
She sets down my mug, reaching for another under the counter. “Did you get the cream soda float?”
I shake my head. “Root beer. But next time I’ll try it.”
She winks. “Here or to go?”
“To go,” I smile.
She drums her fingers against the counter. “One of these wouldn’t be for Miss Ivy, now would it?”
I nod. “Yeah, actually.” I nod toward the back, where the cooks are working. “Part of that is for her, too.”
“Well,” Lucy says, leaning over the counter. “Ivy likes her coffee with protein powder. But you gotta blend it with a little milk first, then add the coffee.”
I stare at the paper cups she pulls out from beneath the counter and watch her fill one. “I guess just… leave room?” I suggest, knowing I can’t get my hands on protein powder so I can’t bring her the coffee she likes best.
That vexes me.
Lucy nods, filling the cup. “Sure thing, sweetheart. Food will be out in a minute.”
Once she walks away, I return to my phone, relieved to see Ivy has responded.
Hodwy.
I smirk at the screen.
You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?
Why would I?
I like that you call me Firecracker.
And I like that she’s telling me what she likes. My thumbs work quickly, the morning commotion of the diner falling away as I focus on Ivy.
Tried a can opener on my dick this morning. You know. To get the cage off. Didn’t work.
And don’t think you’re off the hook, by the way.
LOL. Can opener. You didn’t tell me you’re funny!
Off the hook?
In my periphery, someone sits next to me at the counter. But I don’t take my eyes off the screen, the phone moving between my hands as I type.
You touched my naked body without my consent to get me in this device.
You gotta pay the piper for that one, baby.
Is the piper your dick? If so, I paid him yesterday, remember?
Or do you need a refresher?
I smirk.
I think the proper payment comes in the form of a tiny silver key.
I don’t.
I’m bringing you breakfast.
Thank you.
But I’m keeping the key.
I watch as three dots bounce along the screen, and nearly jump when a hand comes down on my forearm. Flipping the phone screen down, I glance over to find Deuce sitting next to me, and Hudson on the other side of him. It irks me to leave that message unread. What did it say?
“Gentlemen,” I greet, tipping my invisible cowboy hat.
I may live in cowboy country now but I am not wearing a fucking hat. Hudson lifts his from his head, resting it atop the bar counter as he greets me hello.
“Trace, good to see you,” he says, then lifts his phone to his ear, reading the menu to someone.
Deuce turns to face me. “Morning.”
I sip my coffee. “Good morning.”
Lucy appears, sliding the plastic bag onto the counter, reciting my order. “Two short stacks, two eggs, four slices of bacon and two fruits, to go.”
I nod and leave a wad of cash on the counter, far more than the total. “Thanks, Lucy.”
Deuce grins. “You learned her name.”
I pop my knuckles. “Yes, I did.”
He hooks a finger in the bag. “Speaking of Ivy–”
“How’d you know this isn’t all for me?”
He glances at Hudson, who is still engrossed in his phone conversation, then looks back my way. “Is it?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m bringing breakfast to Ivy at work.”
He nods. “About Ivy.”
My skin grows hot, and the weight of the cage between my thighs causes me to shift nervously on the barstool. I pull my hair off my neck and wrap an elastic around it. “What’s up?”
“I think she earned some skin for saving your ass.” At that precise moment, Hudson ends his call, writing furiously on the back of some receipt he dug out of his wallet.
I cock a brow. “Skin?”
Deuce rolls his eyes. “Jesus, what did you do last night that you forgot the night before?” He shakes his head. “Ink. Typical rite of passage is inking herself at the end of her apprenticeship, but she’s already inked herself plenty so… I was thinking it should be you she inks.”
“Yeah,” I say, holding back the smirk that threatens to peek through my curved-down lips as I picture Ivy straddling me, her little gloved hands working as she leaves her mark on me permanently.
Though I know she’s already done that.
“She did great yesterday. And I think we both know she’s got the experience to start her own client list.” He sips his coffee and my pulse picks up, a sick foreboding edging in. “Thought we could wrap up her apprenticeship this week, let her get started on her own. Out of your hair.”
Anger burns in my toes, rapidly gaining momentum as it tears through me, making my neck flush and my cheeks simmer. “One good tattoo doesn’t mean she’s ready to work on her own,” I grumble, eyeing her coffee cup and the slow trickle of steam drifting from the mouth hole. If she’s on her own, if she doesn’t need me… she may not want me.
“She’s not good enough to ink on her own full time,” I finish, snatching the plastic bag of food off the counter. The truth is? She’s beyond ready and more than good enough. It’s me that isn’t. I can’t lose her before I have her, and for whatever fucked-up reason, that’s what this feels like. I leave my coffee on the counter and grab hers, tip my head at Deuce and Hudson, and turn to leave.
I have a hot breakfast for my girl, and I want to take it to her, not hear about how she ought to do her own thing.
Only, when I turn, I find Ivy standing behind me, her phone in her hand. Her hair is down and straight, the onyx shining in the morning light pouring in through the door. She’s wearing her boots, the handle of her knife peeking out, making my caged cock throb. In leggings and an oversized hoodie with a leather vest over the top, she looks like a goddamn wet dream. Like every fantasy I’ve ever had come to life.
Like my future wife.
From my pocket, my phone dings. I pull it out and look at it.
Ivy
Look behind you dummy.
I blink at her, wind knocked from my chest as I notice her eyes.
They’re misty and damp.
“Not good enough?” she questions hoarsely, her head bobbing. I hate that her eyes fall to my boots, and that she stares at them for a long moment before her gaze lifts to mine again.
A tear slips down her cheek, through her thick lashes. “I’m glad we still have time to work together,” she finally says, taking a few steps backward, which feels greatly metaphorical.
“Ivy,” I call, reaching out, the bag of food falling to the floor with a crash. “Ivy, wait.”
But she’s gone before I can do anything, and I only have myself to blame.