8. Chapter 8
Chapter eight
“ A guy I met last night,” Gigi says slowly as she slides out of the seat of my truck, “taking me to an abandoned building on the edge of town.” She eases her door shut, wincing as it creaks on its hinges.
“Perfect place for a murder,” I say.
“My murder,” Gigi says.
“Or mine,” I counter.
We’re about ten minutes from downtown, the abandoned shop one of a few businesses on the road. The exterior looks better than I anticipated: all I’d need to do is repaint the brick, stick a sign out front. The inside is another story; I could tell just from the listing’s photos.
I use my hands to shield myself from sunlight as I peer into the building’s front windows. It looks small, but not too small. It’s enough for me to fit a few chairs and a workspace. That’s all I’ll need to get the shop started. After I convince EJ to assist me with major cleanup. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the building doubled as a landfill with all the pop bottles and paper cups trashing the floors.
“With a nickname like princess, you really think I have the capacity to kill you?” Gigi counters. “That’s bold.”
“You told me you hate the nickname,” I say, stepping back from the window. “You can’t use that as justification that I shouldn’t be scared you’ll hurt me.”
Gigi rolls her eyes. “Why am I here, Cade?”
“I think I may be opening a tattoo shop,” I say. “And I think Geddington Beach might be the place.”
“Wait a minute.” Gigi’s forehead creases as she thinks this over. “You have enough money to just do that?”
“No.” I shake my head, stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans, and stare down at my sneakers sheepishly. “Not yet. But I’m working on it.”
“Well.” She steps forward, peering into the building. “It’s not the worst place ever. A little TLC will help.”
“I brought you here because I’ll need help with marketing,” I tell her. She narrows her eyes at me, placing a hand on that delicate curve of her hip. I bite back the urge to put my hands there instead and see if she’s bullshitting me about guys with tattoos.
“Now I’m more confused,” she says. “And a little less certain that you aren’t going to kill me.”
“No, no, no. Listen.” Fuck, I need her to focus. I’m being serious, and she’s making me feel like a wuss about it the longer I talk. “You hate tattoos. My goal is to get a person just like you—who hates tattoos—to be intrigued enough to walk in here. Tell me what I need to do. What will get you?”
“A nice dinner and some compliments,” Gigi muses.
I stare at her, eyes narrowed. “Gigi.”
She giggles. Giggles! My center stiffens, my stomach flipping with a feeling I don’t think I’ve ever felt before.
“Sorry,” she mumbles, smiling still. “Uh… Maybe keep it simple. I bet most people are like me, scared by the whole idea. Maybe pull people in with simplistic work—minimalist.”
I consider this. “I see what you’re saying. Makes sense.”
“I don’t know.” She shakes her head, bites her lip. “Sorry.”
“No. Hey.” I reach for her without thinking twice about it, my hand looping delicately around her slender wrist. “I like hearing what you think. Like I said, girls who hate tattoos are still part of the target market.”
She glances at my fingers curved around her. I drop my hand, still battling with the unfamiliar feelings waging in my core. “What else you got?” she asks, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.
“This is the only thing I’ve found,” I say. “So, unfortunately, this is the end of our tour. You hungry?”
Her eyes glitter with joy. “Starving,” she says.
When EJ isn’t working a shift at the coffee shop across from Gigi’s mom’s diner, he told me he picks up early afternoon shifts at a pizza and ice cream parlor combo near the building I want for my shop.
When I mention the place to Gigi, she says she’s never heard of it—some local she is. When I pull into the lot and cut the engine, she sighs longingly.
“No way I’ve been here,” she says. “As if Belinda would have ever allowed pizza or ice cream. Heavens, no! Whatever would I do if the dairy made me,” she gasps dramatically, “fat?”
“Very funny,” I deadpan.
“My mom uses ice cream as a cure-all,” she says. “And she’s typically spot-on. Shows you how she and Belinda differ, really.”
“Wait.” I stop once we reach the front doors. “You lost me. Belinda is your mom.”
“She’s my mother ,” Gigi tells me pointedly. “I have a mom—back in Connecticut, my sister’s mom—and then Belinda. My mother, giver of life. Whatever she is. Two completely separate roles.”
“You have a sister?” I ask.
“That’s what you got from what I told you?” Gigi places a hand on that hip again. I want my hand wrapped around that curve. “Yes, I have a sister. She’s eighteen. And I don’t know for certain, but if I asked, I bet she’d say tattoos aren’t her favorite, either.”
I chuckle. “I think you covered all my questions.”
“I figured,” she says. “Now, are you going to be a gentleman and buy me lunch?”
God. This girl.
“I’m not a gentleman,” I tell her sternly, pulling the door open for her to slide under my arm and into the building.
The overhead lights are so bright, reflecting off of the glass display cases full of pre-made pizzas sitting under heat lamps. Not far from those, there’s another counter showcasing large tubs of ice cream.
We find a table near the back of the room, a plastic number four acts as a barrier between us at this cheap plastic table with red pleather chairs that are as brightly colored as the paint on the walls. Gigi’s sipping on a Coke, and that makes me happier than it should.
When we walked into the diner to give Gigi’s mother her coffee, the woman was frantic. She immediately took the coffee from Gigi, sipped it, and then started going on about how she prefers iced, as most people should. Then, she asked Gigi what coffee she had, took it upon herself to take Gigi’s coffee from her, and recommended that she choose black coffee, as it’s calorie-free.
“That is black coffee,” Gigi told her.
Belinda smiled warmly, her bright pink lipstick spreading about her face. She placed a kiss on Gigi’s head, whispering something, and then handed her coffee back. Almost like a reward for answering correctly, even if Belinda was going to inspect the coffee, regardless.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks, pulling me from my thoughts. “Never mind. I know that look. You’re thinking about Belinda.”
I sigh. “Sorry.” I swirl the ice in my cup. “But—”
“It’s easier not to piss her off, Cade,” she tells me. “I know that’s crazy. But it’s the truth.”
“I was going,” I say through a breath, “to ask why you bother to see Belinda if she’s so… You know. Hard to be around.”
“Seeing her this time was out of necessity.” Gigi takes a sip from her drink. “I needed to get out of town. I’m running from something. Just like you are.” When I don’t question her, she continues. “Like, at Beach Brew earlier. You told the barista you were flirting with that you were running from something. I’m running, too.”
“I was not,” I say coolly, “flirting with her.”
“You were.” Gigi nods, sure of herself, as she fiddles with her straw wrapper, twisting and untwisting it around her fingers. “What are you running from, Cade?”
My chest tightens, my lungs shrinking with it. “What are you running from, Gigi?”
“I see,” she says, not meeting my eyes. “You’re putting the question back on me because you’re uncomfortable and don’t like talking about your dark parts.”
“I am full of dark parts,” I say. “And I don’t mind talking about them.” Or showing them to a girl when she’s in my bed. But that’s not a place I’ll find Gigi.
“So, tell me why you’re running, then.”
“You first,” I say.
She chews on her lip. “Fine. But only because talking to you is like talking to the most friend-zoned of all friend-zoned guys. I’m telling you my dark parts because you’ll never see me naked. I have no interest in you.”
“Fair.” I nod. She’s a bad liar.
She nods. “This guy I was… seeing? Hooking up with? Well, he decided he didn’t want to hook up anymore. He wanted a dating relationship.”
“That’s good though,” I reply. “Right? Girls want that.”
“He just didn’t want to date me.” Gigi’s face pinches at the memory.
“Oh.” I frown. “That’s shitty.”
“Yeah, well. Is that the thing now? We just have flings? No one wants commitment?”
“Typically.” I nod. “At least for me. I don’t want anything long term.”
“You and most of the male population.” Gigi sighs. “Except for Marcus. He wants Cass.”
“Nickname?” I guess.
She nods.
My chest pinches. “Oh, Gigi. That sucks.”
“See what I mean!” she exclaims, throwing her arms up.
A waitress comes by, dropping off our deep-dish pizza.
“Awesome! Hey, thank you so much. This looks awesome,” I tell her, flashing a smile.
“No problem at all. You just let me know if you two need anything else, okay?”
When she wanders off—clearly red-faced—Gigi is looking right at me, eyes narrowed.
“You flirted again.”
“I smiled and thanked her for our food,” I say. “What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s like you aren’t even aware that you ooze sex,” Gigi mutters. “Unbelievable. Truly unbelievable.”
Amusement bubbles in my chest. “You think I ooze sex, do you, princess?”
“Cade,” Gigi warns. “Stop talking.”
I smile at her as she gets herself a slice of pizza. We spend the time eating, making small talk, and I’m relieved she’s done asking me questions. I don’t think now is the time to tell her I escaped to South Carolina to run from yet another girl to chase my soulmate: a tattoo shop.
And I know the moment I tell her the truth, Gigi will not hesitate to tell me I’m an asshole.
“I don’t find you unattractive,” Gigi admits, not meeting my eyes. “And I appreciate you buying me lunch or whatever. Dealing with Belinda today threw me off.”
“I appreciate that,” I say with a chuckle. “It totally wasn’t obvious to me that you were a liar.” Admittedly, her saying it is doing something to me. Like butterflies are loose in my brainstem.
“Cade!” she squeals.
God. I want to hear that again. And again.
“I’m kidding. But I respect that you don’t hesitate to tell me you don’t agree with my non-committal lifestyle.” Gigi looks pleased at that. “Now, if we could just get that confidence to translate to Belinda.”
“Fat chance,” Gigi admits. “But I appreciate you trying.”
Her words make my stomach sink.
“You want ice cream?” I ask after we’ve eaten.
Her blue eyes glisten. “Yes. But you’re buying.”
As we stand and make our way to EJ at the ice cream counter, Gigi says, “Can you teach me how to be the girl guys like you will like?”
I nearly choke on my spit. “Um. What?”
“I mean,” she continues, casual as can be, as if she’s telling me about the weather, “you’re clearly a casual guy. You can tell me what you look for in a girl you do that with, right?”
“You said you don’t like me,” I remind her. “Or don’t find me attractive? Whatever it was.”
“I just told you I lied,” she says sheepishly. “But I don’t mean you ,” she says. “I mean, like, a tourist or something.”
“You want a casual relationship,” I clarify, “with a tourist?”
She nods, agreeing. “With anybody, really.”
“Except for me.”
“Precisely. And not any other clearly non-committal man within city limits.”
I blow out a breath. EJ comes to greet us at the counter.
“How are you two together?” he asks.
“We’re not,” Gigi says, laughing.
EJ looks at me. I shrug. “Ice cream?” he wonders.
“Just a scoop of strawberry for me,” Gigi says. “Please.”
We get our ice cream—her strawberry, my rocky road, which she of course gives me shit about—and sit back down at our table.
Gigi is picking frozen strawberry chunks from her ice cream as she says, “So, will you help me?”
“You want me to help you get a guy to want you,” I clarify.
“Yes.” She really doesn’t need my help in that department. Any guy in this town would gladly have her slender, tan legs around his waist. “If you don’t want to help me, I can start the journey on my own. It’s just… I’m…” She chews on her bottom lip, releases it. “I’ve only ever been with Marcus. So, I don’t know how to, like, you know.” She takes a bite of her ice cream.
“You’re assuming I sleep with a lot of girls and can tell you what I look for,” I realize. “Oh.”
“Don’t you?” she asks, eyes widening. “I mean, you said you don’t do serious relationships, and flings are your thing. So, I thought—”
“No,” I hold up a hand, stopping her. “You’re right. Sort of.”
Her face lights up. “Great. Perfect.” She’s looking at me expectantly. “So, you’ll help?”
“I’m still not exactly sure what I’m helping with,” I tell her.
“Teach me,” she says, leveling her gaze at me, “how to be the girl guys like you will want.”
I don’t need to teach her how to do that. She’s effortlessly straining my zipper every time I see her.
“You’re asking for trouble,” I tell her.
“No, Cade,” she says flatly. “I simply want someone to want me so bad it hurts. For once in my life.”