Chapter 2
LAWSON
My brother is a fucking dumbass.
This is not new information—he’s been a dumbass since the day he was born.
But watching him sacrifice his dignity to flirt with the gorgeous tattoo artist might be a new low.
She’s clearly not interested in him and even if she was, I have a feeling she’d eat the little fool alive.
He seems to have no idea she’s messing with him, content to enjoy the feel of her hands on him as she applies the tattoo.
Not that I blame him. Can’t imagine there’s a straight, red-blooded man alive that wouldn’t enjoy being near that body.
To his credit, he barks out a laugh when Nova holds up the mirror for him to see her work.
“Very nice,” he tells her. “I think it really brings out my eyes.”
She beams down at the hot pink, peach-sized princess crown tattoo she put on his face.
“The sparkles are a nice touch, I thought,” she agrees.
Then her eyes jump back to my face—not for the first time since Lucas dragged us all over here.
She’s been stealing little peeks at me the whole time, which is one of the reasons I decided to stick around once it was clear my little brother was going to make a move.
And ever since she started working on Sawyer’s face, her eyes have been dancing when they meet mine—like we’re sharing a little joke.
I like that a lot.
Sawyer peers at himself in the mirror, still grinning like a dumb-ass. There’s not much that ruffles this kid. “I can definitely pull off sparkles,” he says and Nova laughs.
God, she’s pretty like this, green eyes bright with mirth. She gets this little scrunch in her nose when she laughs, and I’m desperate to kiss it.
Or any part of her, really.
It’s not very often that I’m completely bowled over by a woman.
I’ve earned every bit of my playboy reputation.
I’m not ashamed that I like sex, or embarrassed by the fact that so many women seem eager to give it to me—and yes, I know that makes me sound like a cocky asshole, but it’s also the truth.
I treat the women I take to bed well. Very well.
I make sure they have a good time and leave satisfied when we’re finished.
And I respect them enough to make sure they know the score ahead of time—no sleepovers, no repeats.
So far, I haven’t had any complaints. A good proportion of the female population of Solitude North Carolina seems perfectly happy to go along with my rules.
So much so that I can’t even remember the last time I had to make the first move.
But Nova is worth changing things up for.
As soon as I laid eyes on her, I knew I needed to get to know her better. She’s far from my usual type—the women who come into my bar hoping to hook up are usually dressed in skimpy shorts and dresses with big hair and lots of cleavage on display. Nova is more understated, more natural.
And the girl is fucking stunning, no two ways about it.
She’s small, maybe somewhere around five-four, five-five, a bit shorter than my sister who comes up to my chest. Her golden-brown hair hangs in loose waves down her back and over her shoulders, and she has the kind of curves that could make a man weep.
Her outfit doesn’t really scream tattoo chick—the simple black top and long, gauzy skirt give her more of a hippie vibe.
So do the bracelets on her wrists. I can’t count how many there are—dangling ones that clink when she moves, woven ones, little leather cords decorated with beads.
I found myself staring at them while she was helping Lucas pick his tattoos earlier, wishing I could remove every single bracelet, one at a time, like some kind of PG strip tease.
I also want her to tell me about each of them, where they come from and why she deems them important enough to grace her wrists.
Which is kind of a weird thing for me to be thinking about, honestly.
When she settled on the stool across from the kid to apply his tattoos, my attention went to the swirl of purple, blue, and pink ink that adorns her upper arm.
A riot of flowers—hydrangeas, peonies, roses—trail down from under the tiny cap sleeves of her shirt.
It looks like the tattoo starts around her shoulder, and I get a glimpse of ink disappearing down into the cotton on her back.
I want to know how far the flowers go, want to know if she has even more ink under her clothes.
I want to know everything about what’s going on under her clothes.
Having her put the temporary tattoo on my brother’s face, while amusing, had also been a special form of torture.
Her leaning over him while he sat on the stool put her tits right about at his eye-level.
And she smelled so damn good even from here, a combination of peppermint and sugar.
I can’t imagine how much better she smelled to Sawyer.
Or how her fingers felt gently touching his face.
But I have every intention of finding out what it feels like to be touched by her. As soon as possible—preferably, without clothes in the way.
“Nice work, Nova,” her boss says, smirking at Sawyer’s princess crown. He came back from his break about halfway through the process, and proceeded to glare at my brother the entire time. Maybe he was catching onto the way the dumbass had trouble keeping his gaze above her neck.
I wonder if there’s something going on between Nova and her boss, and a strange swoop of hot anger hits my belly. It’s jealousy, I realize, which is fucking crazy. I don’t think I’ve ever been jealous over a woman in my life.
“I’m just glad he likes it,” she says sweetly, patting my brother’s cheek. “You know I aim to please when it comes to my customers.”
Once again, her eyes dart to mine, like there’s some kind of homing beacon on my face she can’t avoid for long. Even with my brother ostensibly hogging her attention, I’m still the one she can’t seem to stop looking at.
I meet her gaze head on, not trying to disguise the depth of desire I’ve been feeling since my family and I first approached the booth. I get the feeling she can read my hunger loud and clear, ’cause her cheeks pink up a little bit. I fucking like it. A lot.
“Come get some food with me,” Sawyer says, and I bite back a groan. I’d almost forgotten he was still here. “Let me pay you back for doing such a stellar job on the tattoo.”
“She’s working,” the boss barks.
“She doesn’t get a break?” Sawyer asks, still in that affable, charming tone of his. I’m not feeling very affable at the moment as I narrow my eyes at her boss— I really don’t like the protective vibe this guy has where Nova is concerned.
“She gets a break,” he concedes. “But she doesn’t need to spend it being harassed by you.”
“I have no plans to harass her.” He turns the charming grin to the boss but the guy just scoffs, unimpressed.
“What the hell do you call what you’re doing right now?” he shoots back.
Sawyer looks up at Nova, smiling like a damn puppy dog. “I think I’m getting an amazing pink princess tattoo,” he says. When she laughs, I feel another jolt of that strange jealousy.
“It is pretty amazing,” she agrees, then places a hand on her boss’s shoulder. “It’s fine,” she tells him in a low voice. He looks between her and us for a moment before scowling. But he gives her a nod and goes behind the curtain to the tattooing stations.
“So, what do you say?” Sawyer asks as soon as he’s left. “You gonna let me buy you some snacks when you take a break?”
“Linc actually brought me a snack already.” She points to the table, where a brown paper bag sits next to a plastic cup filled with red slushee. Her boss must have left them there when both Barlowe boys were too preoccupied trying not to stare at her tits.
Sawyer shrugs. “Then we could skip the snacks and just go somewhere to make out. Sounds like a win to me.”
She rolls her eyes, but her lips are twitching like she’s fighting a smile.
“Jesus, man,” I mutter, deciding it’s high time to put an end to his fun. “Can’t you see that she’s not interested?”
He just looks confused. “What are you talking about? She’s totally into me.” He looks up at her, hopeful and boyish, and I almost feel bad for what I know is about to happen. “Aren’t you?”
“Sorry,” she says kindly. “You’re very sweet but, no. I’m not interested.”
He slumps down in his stool. “So I got this fucking pink crown on my face for nothing?”
She laughs softly and pats his shoulder. “I wasn’t kidding about it looking nice on you. And I think it takes a strong man to rock a pink princess crown.”
He puffs up a little. “Does that mean you might want to meet me behind the tilt-a-whirl?” He waggles his eyebrows. “I could show you exactly what this strong man could do to your—”
“Still not interested,” she says hurriedly, and I’m relieved neither of us will have to hear whatever ridiculous innuendo he was about to spew.
“Fiiine,” he grumbles like a petulant teenager. “It was nice to meet you anyhow.”
She smiles. “You too, Sawyer. You’re a good sport.”
He gets up to go, only pausing when he realizes I’m not following. “You coming?” he asks, voice laced with suspicion. I hold up my hand. “Gotta make a call first. I’ll catch up with you.”
He doesn’t look eager to leave me here with her, but when I pull my phone from my pocket, he finally turns to go.
“A phone call, huh?” she asks, sounding amused. “I got the impression you were a straight shooter.”
She’s giving me this look—like she’s got me all figured out. I guess my intentions here aren’t too difficult to decipher. Sawyer might have been too clueless to pick up on the vibes that were shooting between us, but Nova seems to know the score.
“Didn’t want to make the kid feel even worse after getting shot down,” I tell her.
She smirks. “You seem awfully sure of yourself. How do you know you’re not about to get shot down yourself?”
I take a step closer, not dropping her gaze. “Sweetheart, I think we both know that’s not going to happen.”