“Have you lived here long?”

“Almost a year in November,” he answered.

Why was he making this so difficult? I glanced at the bare walls and clean counters, listened to the cicadas outsides, thinking of the fact he lived out of the city limits. “I’m a little surprised you have a house out here and not an apartment like Trip’s.” A little shudder curled through my spine when I thought of the state his toilet seat had been in.

In typical Dex fashion he picked up on the last thing I would expect. “You been to Trip’s place?”

Did his tone sound off or was I imagining it? One look at the straight line of his jaw had me deciding I’d imagined it. “Once.”

“Huh,” he huffed. Those dark blue orbs narrowed for a split second. His fingers tapped against the counter before he started talking again. “I used to live in the same complex before I bought this place. Fuckin’ hated it there.”

“Really?”

Dex lifted up a shoulder. “Made me feel like I was livin’ in a beehive. Kinda reminded me too much of bein’ all cramped up in a double-wide as a kid, too.” When he went to start scratching at his throat, I understood how awkward and uncomfortable the memories of living in a trailer made him feel.

Then I remembered everything he’d said about growing up with his drunk of a dad. That kind of man in such a small place? Oh hell. With two sisters? Where the hell would he have even slept?

Acid built up in my chest and throat so quickly it caught me off guard. I was suddenly the one that felt uncomfortable. “I had to share a room with my little brother—bunk beds—until I was nineteen.” Yia-yia’s house had been so small, but it’d been home. I swallowed hard at the memory of sleeping on the couch at the apartment we’d moved into after selling the second home I’d ever known. “So I get it.”

And then, nothing. Silence.

O-kay. I could let that topic go.

I fumbled my way through making sauce for the pasta, hoping it wouldn’t taste completely bland since I didn’t have the right ingredients. In the mean time, Dex watched quietly, only getting up to grab a beer from the fridge and asking if I wanted a drink.

We sat on opposite sides of the kitchen bar, Dex drinking a beer and me with a bottle of water he’d pulled out from somewhere in the fridge I hadn’t seen. Considering the absence of necessary condiments and herbs, I thought the food came out pretty good. Dex’s murmurs of enjoyment told me he was either a great liar or it wasn’t too bad.

“Good food, babe,” he finally muttered after twirling ribbons of pasta around his fork, gaze leveled on me.

I smiled at him, taking a few more mouthfuls of food. I glanced up again only to see him still looking at me.

O-kay.

“Is there spaghetti sauce on my face?” I asked.

He shook his head, stringing more noodles along the tines of his fork.

I let it go until I caught his eyes one more time. “I’m not kidding, what’s on my face?”

“Nothin’.”

I narrowed my eyes in his direction but kept watching him. Until he did it again.

Oh dear God.

I put my hand over the middle of my face. “There’s a booger in my nose, isn’t there?”

He looked at me for a long moment, a moment that stretched light years and galaxies. Time-wrinkled centuries and possibly eons. Generations—

And then Dex was laughing. Laughing and laughing and laughing. Muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “You’re the goofiest f**kin’ girl,” between bellows of barrel-shaped laughs.

And I might have had a booger in my nose, though I’d probably never know for sure, but that laugh coming from that man.

So worth it.

Chapter Eighteen

“That’s f**king outrageous!”

Dear God, what in the hell had I been thinking working at a tattoo parlor? A tattoo parlor that was right around the corner from a body shop. A body shop that was owned by the president of a biker club. A biker club that owned a bar, which seconded as headquarters for said club, who were enemies with stupid asses that beat up innocent—err, pretty innocent—people.

Where had my quiet life disappeared to?

And why hadn’t I insisted on going with Sonny?

With the exception of Rick, the drunk guy who had yelled at me and called me a bitch, every other client had been incredibly nice. Even when they had to pay the steep rates that the shop charged—with good reasoning. The reasons were framed all over the shop in printed acclaims.

The first time I heard how much Blake charged his client, I had to stop myself from choking. The prices could be down payments on used cars. I’m not exaggerating. But it was standard practice to agree on a fee before any piece got started so the customer didn’t have a fit at the end.

Obviously, not everyone functioned on the same wavelength.

This customer had been in once last week to talk to Blue about having some detailed script done on his ribs. Blue had drawn out the idea, spoken to the guy about the pricing and the man had scheduled an appointment to come in and get it done.

So why the would-be client was now standing in front of me while I was trying to take payment and having a fit to end all shit-fits—and this included the year I worked at a daycare—was beyond me. “Blue had already spoken to you about the pricing last week,” I reminded him.

Blue stood directly behind me, silent.

“You never said it was going to be that expensive!” the guy shouted at Blue, completely ignoring me.

Yes. Yes, she had.

“Sir, before we schedule anything in advance for custom artwork, the rate is agreed on,” I told him.

Pissed Off guy just shook his head. “Fuck that. I’m not paying that much for a goddamn tattoo.”

Blue and I looked at each other and shrugged. “Okay.”

There were payment options that Blake had told me about, but that consisted of the customer paying in advance for artwork or doing bits and pieces at a time as they could afford it. But if Blue wasn’t going to say anything about it, then I wasn’t either. I think we both could be perfectly happy having one less belligerent customer coming in over a period of time.

“Fuck that and f**k you guys!”

Blue and I glanced at each other again and shrugged.

“Fuck this place! You f**king thieves. Your shit ain’t that good.”

We just stared at him.

“You short little shit.” He pointed at Blue.

Blue blinked like she didn't give half a crap what he thought, but I did.

"Hey, that's unnecessary," I snapped back. Why did people have to be so rude?

And then the pissed off man moved his finger in my direction, ignoring my outburst. “And you, you—“

“Get the f**k out, man.”

Blue and I both whipped our heads over our shoulders to see Dex come prowling down the hallway from his office.

Oh snap!

With the mood he'd been in all day, I'd been relieved when he'd locked himself in his office as soon as we'd gotten to the shop. That morning he'd come out of his bedroom with his lips pursed, jaw locked, angry at the friggin' world. He'd snapped at me for just asking if he'd heard from Sonny. Sheesh. I wasn't sure what had gotten him so ripe but even I knew better than to ask.