Chapter 32
THIRTY-TWO
ryder
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckit-y. Fuck.
Chest heaving, I slam my bedroom door closed and slump against it, cock hard.
When I looked up and saw what Noia was wearing, I nearly fell off the stool. The image of her in those tiny shorts and that effing see-through tank is now burned into my retinas for all of eternity.
The way her nipples pebbled beneath the thin fabric, and how her skin flushed even before I touched her—it took every ounce of self-control I possessed to walk away after I dumped her in her room.
This shit is just going to keep getting harder, and I still have some other stuff planned for next week before I let myself take her again.
“Goddammit,” I growl, yanking open the dresser drawer with almost enough force to pull it all the way out and onto the floor.
I grab the first clean shirt I find and pull it over my head, then snatch my leather jacket off its hook. I need to get out of here before I march back upstairs and finish what we started, friend visiting or not.
Grabbing my keys and wallet, I storm through the living room and out the front door. The cool morning air does nothing to calm the fire raging like lava in my veins as I climb onto my motorcycle.
The engine roars to life, the vibrations between my thighs only intensifying my frustration. I tear out of the driveway, riding faster than I should on the winding mountain roads.
By the time I arrive at Skin & Ink, my breathing has evened out, but the tension in my body is still coiled tight. The shop is quiet when I walk in, with only Claire at the front desk.
“Whoa,” she says, taking one look at my face. “Who pissed in your oatmeal this morning?”
“Not now,” I toss out as I head straight for my station.
“Your client called. She’s running about twenty minutes late.”
Perfect. More time to stew in my sexual frustration.
I busy myself setting up my station. The methodical process helps ground me only for a few minutes before thoughts of Noia and her perfect nipples attempting to cut their way through her tank top take over again.
When my client finally arrives, I slip right into professional mode. The familiar buzz of the tattoo machine drowns out everything else as I lose myself in my art.
It’s a small tattoo, so I’m able to finish within a couple of hours.
After sending my client off with aftercare instructions, I clean up.
“Ready to head over?” Claire calls from up front. “Jax texted. He and Lizzy are already at The Brew getting things set up.”
“The party doesn’t start till eight.”
“Yeah, and there’s a shit-ton to do before then.” She raises a brow. “Unless you have somewhere better to be?”
Images of Noia in those tiny shorts flash through my mind, and I almost groan out loud. “No. Let’s go. Just let me grab my jacket.”
Tossing my gloves in the trash, I roll my shoulders, trying to release some of the tension.
“You still haven’t told me what’s got you so wound up lately,” Claire says as she locks up the shop.
“Seriously,” I grunt. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”
The walk to The Brew is short, but Claire manages to interrogate me the entire way.
“So, this writer friend of yours... is she coming tonight?”
“Her name is Noia,” I sigh, shoving my hands into my pockets. “And yes, Cee Cee, she’s coming. So is her best friend, Sasha, who’s visiting for the weekend.”
“Perfect. More witnesses for when I embarrass the hell out of you with stories from your apprentice days.”
Despite my mood, her laugh is infectious.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me, Blackwood.”
When we walk into The Brew, the place is already buzzing. Staff members are arranging tables and setting up the bar while Jax directs a couple of guys hanging a massive “10 Years of Skin & Ink” banner across the back wall.
Lizzy is standing on a ladder, stringing up fairy lights along the exposed beams. Her blue-tipped hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, and she’s wearing ripped jeans and a tank top that shows off her colorful tattoos.
“Thank god you two are here,” she calls down when she spots us. “Jax has been driving me crazy with all his micromanaging.”
“I heard that!” Jax shouts from across the room.
Claire chuckles and heads toward the bar to check on the alcohol delivery while I make my way over to hold the ladder steady as Lizzy steps down.
“Thanks,” she says breathlessly, wiping her hands on her jeans. “These lights are a bitch to hang.”
“They look good.” I glance around, impressed by how much they’ve already accomplished. “Need help with anything else?”
“Yeah, actually. Owen just dropped off the centerpieces. They’re in those boxes over by the DJ booth. Could you start setting them up on the tables?”
I nod and make my way over to open a box. Each centerpiece is a small, vintage tattoo machine surrounded by black and red roses, which was Claire’s idea.
As I work, I wonder what Noia is going to think about all this. Will she feel comfortable around my friends and colleagues? Will they like her? Fuck… will she like them?
Just the idea of those two parts of my life colliding is more than unnerving.