7
Beckett
Hours later, I’m sitting in my studio at Inked on Agnes , frowning down at the sketch in front of me, nauseous from the smell of bourbon and lead pencil shavings.
It’s all wrong. The lines, the shapes, the shading. All of it.
My afternoon was blocked out for a fucking reason; so that I could work. Funny, ‘cos all I’ve managed to do is drink myself stupid and mess up every design I’ve attempted.
Thankfully, Ryan’s spending the day with Molly’s daughter, Emma, so he isn’t here to witness this shit show.
“You’re clearly still tied up with the last woman you supposedly loved. How about you deal with that before deciding on her replacement.”
The words are so clear in my mind, and they sting a little more every time I think about them.
What I felt for Paige? Shit, it’s not even close to how I feel about Penny.
Not. Even. Close.
Didn’t I show her that?
I tried. God, I tried…
Why wasn’t it enough?
“I can’t do this.”
“Fuck,” I groan, grabbing the open bottle of Johnnie Walker sitting beside me. Three large gulps do absolutely nothing for me, so I take three more.
“Maybe if we just take some time apart…”
Jesus .
This isn’t helping. Nothing is helping.
With more enthusiasm than necessary, I scrunch the piece of paper in front of me, into a ball, and toss it at the stainless-steel trash can to my right.
I miss, because of course I do, and the paper ball mocks me as it bounces off the rim and disappears out the door and into the hall.
“For fuck’s sake,” I whine, pulling myself from my seat to retrieve it, just as the front doorbell chimes.
Excellent. That’s what I need right now, a fucking customer.
I swear I locked that damn door.
I huff and scrub my face with my hands as I put one foot in front of another and head for the front counter.
“Hi, Beckett.”
I pause, hands still covering my face, as the familiar, feminine voice has the hairs on the back of my neck raising.
I better be fucking hallucinating right now because I swear to God if I that’s who I think it is…
Slowly, I open one eye and peek through the cracks in my fingers.
God must hate me.
Truly.
“What in the fuck are you doing here?” I groan, dropping my hands to my sides as I watch my ex-fiancé walk toward me with a cocky smirk on her face, as if she thinks my tone is some kind of foreplay.
The last time I saw Paige, which was almost two years ago now, she was standing on our front porch in nothing but a sheer white robe with crocodile tears streaming down her face as she watched me drive away. I’d caught her screwing one of her very married co-workers on the outdoor couch, I’d only put on our back deck the week before and packed my stuff within minutes. What really shit me about the entire situation wasn’t that she cheated. Part of me had been expecting that. Hell, I barely even flinched when I saw Richard’s bare ass rutting into her from behind. No, what really pissed me off was that six months prior, I’d sold my shop and taken a shitty job at a competing tattoo studio, because she wanted me home for dinner every night, and off on weekends. I worked a job I hated, tatted fucking butterflies and infinity symbols on eighteen-year-old girls’ wrists five days a week, for her. For us. For nothing .
Then I moved north, needing to put as much space between the two of us as I could. I had enough saved to fuck around for a while. I painted, worked on my craft, and rented a chair from a mate when I felt the itch to put needle to skin, and then, just as the lease on my rental property was about to end, Ryan called me. Said he wanted me to work for him, that he wanted to open his own shop, and instead of accepting the offer, I made one of my own. He agreed to be partners. I moved to Mawson Lakes, took out a mortgage to put down permanent roots, and then I rebuilt everything I’d lost.
And now she thinks she can just what? Walk on in here like she fucking owns the place?
“I’ve missed you,” she purrs, hiking the Louis Vuitton purse I bought her for our one-year anniversary higher on her shoulder while smoothing down the front of her dark grey pencil dress.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, unable to stop myself from swaying a little as I step backwards. “Your boyfriend leave you for a newer model, did he?”
She visibly bristles, and I know I hit the nail right on the blonde head.
Figured as much.
“Get the fuck out of here,” I say, with a snort and a wave of my hand, before turning around, returning to my studio, and to my bottle.
Of course, she doesn’t listen, and I groan out loud as I hear the click of her heels following behind me. Quickly, I take a gulp of my bourbon, enjoy the burn as the liquid glides down my throat, and then turn just in time to watch her walk through the doorway. “Paige, seriously, leave now or I will remove you.”
She flinches a little from the harshness of my tone, but recovers quickly. She thrives off anger and arguments, despite the innocent, sickeningly sweet mask she wears for the rest of the world, so it’s no surprise that she ignores my warning.
“You haven’t been answering any of my messages or calls,” she says, swaying her hips dramatically as she continues toward me.
“There’s a reason for that.”
I blocked her number immediately after showing Penny our one-sided message thread.
Paige rolls her eyes and drops her purse to the floor with a thud. “You’ve always been one to overreact,” she says, stepping forward and running her fingertips over the smooth fabric of the leather tattoo bed in the centre of the room. It’s impossible to miss the glint of the diamond rings decorating her fingers as she does. “Nice place you’ve got here,” she adds. “Very rustic .”
She’s still a snob, it seems. Shocker.
Exhausted from this fuck of a day, I give up on standing and sit my ass down while she continues to roam around the room. I’ve got nothing left in me. No more fight. No more nothing. So instead of arguing, of engaging, I drink, and I hope that she, along with this ache in my chest, will disappear by the time this bottle is empty.
“I’ve missed you, sweetie,” she says, turning to me and crossing her arms. “Don’t you think it’s about time we sort this out?”
I choke on my mouthful and sputter. “Sort it out?” I half laugh, half cough. “Fuck, you’re more delusional than I thought.” Her narrowed eyes amuse me, and I can’t help but smile as her cheeks redden. “Seriously. Please get out. I really don’t have the energy for you today. Or any day.” I point the bottle in my hand at the door as I speak and then bring it back to my lips as she shakes her head and morphs her scowl into a sly smile.
“But we were so good together,” she coos, slowly approaching me, like some kind of predator. “You remember, don’t you?”
I snort and tip my head back again to have another drink, but before I can, she’s in front of me, standing between my legs, with her hands on my shoulders. I lower the bottle between us and scowl at her.
“What are you-”
“Don’t you miss me ?” she whispers.
“No.” My reply is instant, simple, and so damn true. I do my best to look her in the eye while I say it, but I’m having a little trouble focusing on her face.
“Just give me another chance. One more chance,” she pleads, her hands sliding to my chest, and then slowly moving down my body until they reach my belt buckle. “I made a mistake…”
“Paige!” I swat her hands away clumsily, but she just grabs at my belt again and tries to pry the buckle open. “Stop.” I grab her wrist and hold it still.
“I didn’t know how good I had it with you, baby. I miss you. I miss us .”
“I don’t want you, Paige. I’m with someone. I’m in love with someone.”
“Oh yeah?” she teases. “And where is she?”
Gone.
Another memory comes to mind, except this time, it hurts so much more than the others.
Penny and I are sprawled out on my burgundy corduroy sectional, watching some dumb TV show about an older woman and a younger man. The dudes a tattoo artist, and his sleeve looks like a five-year-old took a crayon to it. I tell Penny as much.
She lifts her head from my chest, her sleepy eyes lock on mine, and a little grin tugs at the corners of her mouth. “Well, not everyone can be Beckett Cooper now, can they?”
I bark out a laugh, jostling her upper body with my own. “Damn right,” I reply, winking at her as I tighten my grip on her ass.
“Arrogant bastard,” she mutters, shaking her head at me.
And then in that moment, when she looks at me, and I see all that love, all that adoration in her eyes for the very first time, I know I’ve fallen for her.
I know I’m hers now.
And I’m not scared at all.
My entire body goes slack from the memory, and I release Paige’s wrist. Before I realise what’s happening, her mouth is on my neck, and my belt buckle is undone. “Shhhh,” she whispers, and I recoil at the feel of her lips against my skin. “I can make you forget all about her, I promise.” She nips at my neck and then sucks. The sensation brings me back to reality.
I stand abruptly, and she falls backwards onto the tattoo bed. Instead of cracking the shits as I expect her to, she grins up at me, like she’s won. She leans back on her hands and raises her feet, one at a time, forcing the pointed heels of her shoes to sink into the leather and hold her steady. The room blurs for a moment, as she hikes the fitted material of her dress up so that it bunches at her hips. When I manage to refocus, I’m staring down at her light pink panties.
Something about the way she’s sitting right now, the way she’s got her legs spread, reminds me of Penny. Of this morning, and then, of everything we said after that. Pain radiates through my chest once again, and I can’t take anymore, so I reach for my bottle, close my eyes, and I wash it down with booze. For a second, the burn of the alcohol removes the memory from my mind. I feel calm. That is until Paige speaks again.
“Beckett,” she whispers. “Look at me, baby.”
Reluctantly, I open my eyes, and I watch her move her underwear to the side as if she’s some kind of porn star.
I look away, wincing as I do, feeling like an absolute piece of shit.
“You don’t love me. You love fucking me.”
“I can’t do this.”
“This is all getting too heavy.”
Penny’s voice rings in my ears, over and over and over.
I just want to go home.
I just want to go home and climb into bed with her and forget any of this shit even happened.
But I can’t do that, can I? Because she doesn’t want me.
My heart clenches so painfully that I grind my palm against my chest, trying to ease the ache.
Did I really make all that shit up in my head? Was any of it real?
I huff and stretch my neck out, trying to clear the headache brewing.
Just fucking. That’s what we were.
Sex .
I was never going to have her the way I wanted her.
She was never going to let me have all of her, was she?
And now it’s over.
And this is all I have left.
I look back at Paige, and I feel nothing other than disgust. And then I realise that feels a hell of a lot better than feeling everything else. So, instead of telling her to leave again, to get out, to show some fucking self-respect, I take another swig of my drink, I turn my portable boombox on, hoping like hell the music will drown out the sound of her voice, and I think of the life I’d planned out with a woman who doesn’t want any of it. At least not with me.