Chapter Four
Rome
By the time my last appointment was done at Bad Habit, it was close to nine.
The shop was quiet except for the low hum of the lights overhead and the faint buzz still sitting in my ears from the machine I’d been running for the last three hours. I pulled off my gloves, tossed them into the trash, and leaned back on my stool long enough to roll my shoulders.
“You’re getting old,” Grinder said from the chair.
I glanced over at him.
He was still sitting there, staring down at the fresh ink wrapping around his forearm. The skin was red and angry around the edges, but the lines were clean. The piece was simple, but it meant something to him. Club name. Dates. A small skull tucked into the shading.
“You’re the one who needed two breaks,” I said.
Grinder looked up and scowled. “That was because I was hungry.”
“Sure.”
“Fuck off.”
I smirked and stood. “Keep it wrapped for two hours. Wash it with unscented soap. Thin layer of ointment. Don’t pick at it.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ve got more ink than you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Feels like I do.”
“That’s because you whine more.”
He laughed and pushed up from the chair. Grinder was a big guy. Wide shoulders. Thick beard. Club cut over a black hoodie. He looked like the kind of man most people crossed the street to avoid.
I knew better.
Grinder looked mean because he was mean when he needed to be. He was also the first guy to show up when someone needed help moving furniture or pulling a car out of a ditch.
That was the thing about the club. They weren’t saints, and they sure as hell didn’t pretend to be, but they handled their own. Somewhere along the line, I’d become close enough to their circle that they counted me as one of the people worth handling.
Grinder pulled cash from his wallet and set it on the small rolling table next to my station. “Extra’s for staying late.”
“You were scheduled late.”
“Then extra’s because I like you.”
“That’s worse.”
He grinned. “Don’t spend it on anything stupid.”
“I’ll do my best.”
He headed for the door, then stopped with his hand on the handle. “Party Saturday at the clubhouse.”
“I heard.”
“You coming?”
“Maybe.”
“That means no.”
“That means maybe.”
Grinder turned around and looked at me like he didn’t believe a word coming out of my mouth. He was right not to. I liked the guys. I liked the club. I liked knowing if shit ever hit the fan, I had men who’d back my play without asking twenty questions first.
But I liked going home when I wanted even more. I liked not having to explain myself. I liked being my own man.
Grinder jerked his chin. “Prez asked about you.”
“Tell him I’m still ugly.”
“He knows.”
I flipped him off.
He laughed, opened the door, and walked out into the night. The bell above the door gave one last jingle before the door shut behind him.
I locked it after him and stood there for a second, staring out at Main Street.
Most of the block had gone dark. The bakery was closed. The boutique next door had shut off its display lights. The diner a few buildings down still glowed at the edges, but they stayed open late enough to catch the bar crowd.
Across the street, Scoop & Swirl was still lit up.
My eyes narrowed.
The banner in the window had been taken down, but the inside of the shop was bright. Too bright for a place that should’ve been closed hours ago. I could see movement through the windows, a blur of mint-green apron and long hair.
Josie.
I didn’t move. I just watched for a second.
She was behind the counter, wiping something down with the kind of focus that said she’d either lost her mind or was too damn tired to realize she should’ve gone home already. Probably both.
I turned away and went back to my station.
Not my business. That was what I told myself as I started cleaning up.
I stripped the plastic from the armrest, wiped everything down, broke down the machine, and tossed used towels into the bin. The routine was automatic. End of the night work was never exciting, but it mattered. A clean shop kept people safe and kept me in business.
Bad Habit had been open eight years, and I hadn’t built it by cutting corners.
At twenty-one, I hadn’t known half as much as I thought I did, but I knew one thing. I knew I didn’t want anybody else controlling my money.
I’d had bosses before opening Bad Habit. A few of them were decent. Most were assholes who thought owning the building meant owning the people inside it.
I had decided young that wasn’t going to be me.
If I was going to be tired, I was going to be tired for myself.
The club understood that about me.
They’d asked once, maybe twice, if I wanted to prospect. I knew they meant it as respect. They didn’t ask every man who hung around. They didn’t offer that door unless they thought you were worth bringing in.
I appreciated it and I said no. I didn’t need a patch to know where I stood with them.
I did their ink. I went to their parties when I felt like it. I drank their beer, shot pool, gave them shit, and left when I wanted.
They had my back.
I had theirs.
That was enough.
I finished cleaning my station and headed to the sink to wash my hands. My forearms were stiff, and there was a tight spot between my shoulders from leaning over Grinder’s arm for hours. Three appointments in one night was doable, but it made for a long damn day.
I dried my hands on a paper towel and tossed it in the trash.
Then I looked across the street again. Still lit up.
I muttered under my breath and walked to the counter. My phone sat next to the register and I checked the time. Nine twelve.
She’d opened at ten.
If she had been there before opening, which I knew she had because I’d seen her lights on when I rolled in that morning, she had been working at least twelve hours.
Probably more.
I grabbed the cash Grinder left and tucked it into the register. Then I shut down the computer and checked tomorrow’s appointments. Two touch-ups. One small script piece. Easy day.
My gaze drifted back to the window.
Jesus Christ.
Josie had said she hadn’t eaten lunch.
That had been hours ago.
Not my problem.
I flipped off the back lights and went into the small break room. The place wasn’t much. Mini fridge. Microwave. Cheap table. Two chairs. A cabinet that held coffee, napkins, paper plates, and whatever snacks I remembered to buy.
There was a protein bar in the cabinet.
I grabbed it, stared at it, then tossed it back.
A protein bar wasn’t dinner. It was punishment wrapped in plastic.
I should’ve gone home. That would’ve been the smart move. Instead, I grabbed my keys, turned off the remaining lights except for the front sign, and stepped outside. The night air had cooled off, and the street was quiet enough that my boots sounded loud on the sidewalk.
I locked Bad Habit and looked across the street again.
Josie walked past the front window carrying a stack of chairs.
My jaw tightened. “Nope.”
I didn’t know who I was talking to.
Her.
Me.
The universe.
Didn’t matter.
I turned toward the diner instead of my bike.
The diner was three doors down from Bad Habit and smelled like grease, coffee, and every bad decision a man could make after nine at night.
It wasn’t fancy. The booths had cracks in the vinyl, and the floor always felt a little sticky no matter how many times they mopped it, but the burgers were good. That was all I needed.
The bell over the diner door chimed when I walked in. The guy behind the counter looked up from wiping down the milkshake machine. “Kitchen closes in ten.”
“Good. I only need nine.”
He snorted. “What do you want, Rome?”
“Two burgers. Fries. Whatever pie you’ve got left.”
He looked over his shoulder toward the pass-through window. “You eating for two now?”
“Don’t start.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
I stared at him.
He held up both hands. “Fine. Two burgers. Fries. Pie.”
“To go.”
“No shit.”
I pulled out my wallet while he yelled the order back to the cook. I leaned against the counter and looked out the window while I waited.
From here, I could see Scoop & Swirl at an angle. Josie had disappeared from the front of the shop.
Maybe she was finally done. Maybe she had gone into the back. Maybe she was passed out on the floor from trying to run a damn business by herself.
I didn’t like that thought. I liked it even less that I gave a shit.
I didn’t know her. Not really.
I knew her name because it had been plastered across a banner. I knew she made good ice cream. I knew she had a smart mouth and looked at me like she was trying to decide if I was a problem.
That was it.
That wasn’t enough to be walking into a diner after nine at night, buying dinner for a woman across the street.
Except apparently it was.
The guy behind the counter set a white paper bag in front of me ten minutes later. “Pie is apple. Only thing left.”
“Fine.”
“Need forks?”
“Yeah.”
He tossed a couple wrapped plastic forks into the bag and rang me up. I paid, grabbed the food, and headed back outside.
The bag was warm in my hand and the walk across Main Street took less than a minute.
I stopped on the sidewalk outside Scoop & Swirl and looked through the front window.
Josie was on a ladder to the side of the door, one hand gripping the top of a tall shelving unit while the other stretched toward a box on the highest shelf. The ladder rocked slightly under her.
My grip tightened around the bag. “Christ.”
I tried the door, but it was locked.
Good, at least she had enough sense to lock the door.
I knocked once.
She didn’t hear me.
I knocked harder.
Her head snapped toward the window and the ladder wobbled.
I lifted the bag like that explained everything.
She stared at me through the glass for a second, then glanced down at herself, then around the shop like she was trying to figure out if she could pretend she wasn’t there.
I arched a brow.
She muttered something I couldn’t hear and climbed down halfway before stretching toward the door.
Still on the ladder.
Still being stupid.
She flipped the lock and pulled the door open a few inches. “We’re closed.”
“No shit.”