Chapter 30
THIRTY
ryder
The shop is packed with clients when I arrive, and I’m grateful for the distraction. But the steady buzz of idle chatter does little to drown out the memory of how Noia’s pupils dilated and her breath caught when I swiped the syrup off her lip with my thumb this morning.
And the way her lips parted just enough that I could see the tip of her small pink tongue? She was practically begging to be kissed.
“Earth to Ryder.” Jax waves a hand in front of my face. “You in there, man?”
I blink, realizing I’ve been staring at the same sketch for I don’t know how long. “Yeah.”
“You’ve been spacing out all day.” He leans against my desk. “Is it that writer chick again?”
“Her name is Noia,” I growl.
Jax holds up his hands in defense. “Whoa, easy there, Ride. Just asking.”
I run a hand down my face and try to pull myself together. Last night’s nightmare has left me drained, and this morning’s slow-burn with Noia has my body wound tight—so yeah, not the best combination.
“Sorry,” I mutter. “Didn’t sleep much.”
A flash of concern crosses Jax’s face. “Nightmare?”
Even though Jax is one of the few people who stuck by me through the worst of my PTSD and pill addiction after I got out of the Marines, I just nod, not wanting to get into it.
“Have you talked to Claire about it yet?”
“No. It’s fine. Just a rough night. It’s the first in a long time, actually.”
“If you say so.” But he doesn’t look convinced. “Anyway, we’re meeting Claire at The Brew at six to finalize the party details. You still good with that?”
“Yeah, I’ll be there.”
Fuck. Even after talking with my best friend, my dick is still hard.
I adjust myself in my jeans and force my attention back to my work. I have two more clients today and a mountain of paperwork to get through before meeting up with Claire and Jax.
By the time six o’clock rolls around, I’m exhausted, but somewhat more focused.
The Brew is only a couple of blocks from the shop, so I walk, hoping the cool evening air will clear my head.
It looks exactly like I remember it. The converted warehouse has exposed brick walls and high ceilings. Decorated with oxblood leather booths, the rest of the place has wood and metal accents.
The building itself is split in two, with a restaurant on one side and a bar with a dance floor, pool tables, dartboards and a jukebox on the other. Warm amber light floods the space from Edison bulbs hanging from the ceiling.
Claire is sitting with Jax at a high-top table near the bar, nursing what looks like her typical drink of choice, a vodka soda.
Her purple hair is pulled back in a messy bun, and she’s wearing her usual black jeans and vintage band T-shirt.
She’s surrounded by paperwork and talking animatedly to a tall, bearded man I don’t recognize until a memory slams into my brain.
Owen, owner of The Brew.
“Hey, Ride!” she grins.
“Hey, Cee Cee.” I clasp her shoulder in greeting before nodding to Owen. “Appreciate you letting us take over tomorrow night.”
“Are you kidding? You and your clientele are half my business most weeks.” Owen’s laugh is a deep rumble. “Plus, ten years is a big deal. You need to celebrate the right way.”
I slide onto the stool next to Jax, who pushes a beer toward me.
“Already ordered for you,” he says. “Figured you could use it.”
“Thanks.” I take a long pull from the bottle, the cold liquid soothing my dry throat.
“So,” Claire slides a paper across the table. “Here’s the final guest list. We’re looking at about seventy people.”
“Seventy?” I raise my eyebrows. “That’s more than I expected.”
“Well, we invited all the regulars, plus a bunch of former clients who moved away but said they’d come back for this.” She taps her pen on the paper. “And, of course, everyone is allowed to bring a plus-one.”
“Speaking of plus-ones,” Jax smirks. “You gonna bring your writer girlfriend?”
Claire’s head snaps up. “Girlfriend? What girlfriend?”
I shoot Jax a death glare. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Yet,” Jax adds with a shit-eating grin.
“Hold up.” Claire leans forward, eyes narrowed. “You’re dating someone? And I’m just hearing about this now?”
“It’s... complicated,” I mutter, taking another swig of my beer.
“Her name is Noia,” Jax supplies not so helpfully. “And she writes steamy romance novels.”
Claire’s eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly disappear into her hairline. “You’re dating a romance novelist?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I growl.
“Just that she doesn’t sound like your usual type,” she says, echoing Jax’s previous misconception. “But seriously, a writer? That’s... unexpected.”
“She’s different,” I say, feeling oddly defensive. “Super smart and talented.”
Claire studies my face, her expression softening. “You really like this girl.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Well, I can’t wait,” she says with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I need to meet the woman who’s finally managed to crack that titanium shell of yours.”
“Don’t go getting any ideas,” I warn. “None of ‘Claire’s Third Degree.’”
“What? I would never,” she says with mock innocence.
“Bullshit,” Jax coughs into his fist.
We spend the next hour going over final details for the party—the food, drinks and music. Owen is bringing in extra staff, and we’ve hired a local band for the first half of the night before we switch to a DJ.
“This is going to be awesome,” Jax says, clinking his beer bottle against mine. “The biggest party Skin & Ink has ever had.”
“Let’s hope nothing burns down this time,” Claire adds with a wink.
“Accidentally setting a trash can on fire does not constitute burning something down,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
“Nope,” Jax chimes in.
After finalizing the last details with Owen, I check my watch. It’s just shy of eight o’clock. Hanging out with my friends made time fly.
“I should head out.” I slide off the stool. “Got an early client tomorrow before we close up shop for the party.”
Claire gives me a quick hug. “Make sure you bring your girl tomorrow. I can’t wait to meet her.”
“We’ll see,” I grunt, knowing I have every intention of showing Noia off.
The ride home takes longer than usual with Friday night traffic. You would think a small town in the mountains wouldn’t have that problem, but you’d be wrong.
By the time I pull into the driveway, my shoulders are tight with exhaustion. An unfamiliar blue Mazda is parked next to Noia’s SUV and I suddenly remember her friend Sasha is visiting this weekend.
Great. Just what I need. An audience for our slow-burn standoff. Guess I’ll have to take it down a notch while she’s around.
The house is quiet, but I can hear muffled voices and occasional bursts of laughter coming from upstairs. I recognize Noia’s melodic giggle, followed by another woman’s throaty laugh.
In the kitchen, I pour myself two fingers of whiskey and down it before pouring another, the liquor easing some of the tension from my shoulders.
Another round of giggles erupts from upstairs, followed by a hushed “Shhh!” then more giggles.
Wanting to give them and myself some space, I grab my glass and head to my bathroom for a much-needed shower. The hot water pounds against my back as the steam clears my head.
After toweling off, I put on a pair of boxers and collapse onto my bed with a groan. Goonie appears almost immediately, jumping up beside me and settling into the crook of my arm with a contented purr.
“Looks like it’s just you and me tonight, pudge,” I murmur, scratching behind his ears.
The warmth of his soft body against my side is oddly comforting, and I find myself drifting into the soft darkness of dreamless sleep with Goonie’s steady purr as my lullaby.