“Are you making fun of my job?” She stalks off and heads into my bedroom.
A muffled scream emits from the other side of the door as she jumps right back out and heads into the room next door with a definitive slam of the door.
A petite blonde flies out of my room, and my stomach grinds to nothing.
Shit. “Gina.” A nervous laugh gets buried in the pit of my stomach because I know what’s coming next as a brunette peeks out behind her. “Camille.” A sickly smile tries to come, but I can’t seem to land it.
They scamper the hell out of here, citing something about too many crazy bitches, and I catch the press snapping pictures of them as they make a run for their car.
Last night was pretty damn insane.
Another scream comes from the spare bedroom down the hall.
Something tells me Hurricane Daisy is about to school my ass when it comes to women and redefine insanity altogether.
All of MondayI lose my ass down at Think Ink, drilling over one client after the next while a handful of reporters set up shop outside the window. It was less than a year ago when I first saw Daisy Pembrooke’s beautiful face. I knew right then I could easily have her likeness stamped across my chest for the rest of my life and not have an ounce of regret. And that body. I don’t dare get started on that body. You don’t see tits like that every day. Not that I’ve seen her in the buff, but that nude colored bikini she prances around in down at Stilettos doesn’t leave much to the imagination. I’ve seen my fair share of girls in all shapes and sizes, and those tits move the way God intended. Most of the girls down at the club are inflated with silicone, boobs too far apart they refuse to sway naturally with the rest of their body. I’ve had more than my fair share of silicone land in my bed as well. Not that I mind it, and for damn sure not that I’m judging. It’s just that when Daisy first came out strutting her stuff, it was her wiggle and her natural giggle that kept my attention—and the attention of just about every other kook in that place. Something about the desperate way she tried to fit in, her exaggerated moves, her schoolgirl smile—instead of sponsoring a hard-on in me, something about Daisy Pembrooke broke my heart. Earlier last summer, I decided to do something about it and started sending a few hefty tips her way, hoping to get her out of whatever ditch she landed herself in. Not one time has Daisy taken it all off for the world to see, and that pretty much let me know she didn’t really want to be there. She was in it for the money, trying to get back to her dorm night after night with her dignity still in tact.
Honey Babcock pokes her head into my office. “Jody Kyle, that chick with the documentary, called like five times this morning.”
I groan at the mention of her name. Jody Kyle has been after me for weeks. Her production company would like to include Think Ink in on a documentary they’re shooting. I’ve run it past Lucky, and she isn’t that hot on the idea. I’m not so sure I am either.
“Got it.” I can’t just keep ignoring Jody. In the least I owe her a phone call. Hell, maybe I’ll listen to her spiel once again.
“And your next appointment is here.” Honey pokes a pencil into her beehive while obnoxiously snapping her gum. Her dark purple lips move up and down as if chewing cud. She’s a decent, semi-nice girl, always ready with the attitude, which seems to be my only requirement with women.
“I’ll be right out.”
I’ve banged Honey. I’ve banged just about every chick that’s ever worked for me and not because it’s some twisted policy I have when it comes to hiring for the front desk. It’s just who I am. Somewhere along the line, I’ve accepted the fact I’m not getting involved in a relationship, so I’ve gone in the opposite direction and began what Owen likes to refer to as “panic fucking”. But just because I don’t want to squeeze myself in a serious commitment doesn’t mean I’m panicked. I just need that release. And it just so happens I’m not all that picky who I get it from so long as she’s sporting the right kind of plumbing.
I head into the next room and find a couple of girls huddled over theHidden Treasurebook I keep out for display purposes.
“Whoa, knock that off.” Normally, I wouldn’t object to anyone looking into that depraved style manual rife with pictures of piercings and tats where most piercings and tats should never venture to go, but with the girls in question, I feel I have the right to object to just about anything.
Lucky and Ava stand at attention as I snag the book away. Neither one of them looks too guilty, probably because the two of them are just alike—a ball of attitude and snark, two things I don’t usually mind in a girl, but when it comes to these girls, I firmly object.
I glance over to my sister and frown. Lucky is vamped up a little too much, but it was the first day of school. She probably went all out. Ava is a bit more girl next door, but she wears Owen’s devilish grin like it’s nobody’s business. She’s a handful. They both are. It’s not a huge surprise they get along.
“What’s up?”
“I’m up.” Lucky jumps onto the table and crosses her legs. Her shorts are way too close to home, and that tank top she’s wearing shows off more than her midriff.
I take a seat on the stool and roll over as if I were her doctor. “How were your classes? Did you like your first day?” It took a lot of fight not to head down to Briggs and follow her around from class to class. “Did you have enough money for books?”
“Yes, but you can give me more if you want.” Lucky blows a tiny pink bubble in my face, and I hold back a smile. Lucky will always be that same pigtailed six-year-old following me around, annoying the crap out of me. Only now the tables have turned, and it’s my turn to annoy the crap out of her. “I’m here because it’s time for you to pay up. You said if I got into Briggs, I could get the tattoo I wanted.”
“Crap,” I mutter. “What are you looking for?” It’s true. Last fall, in an effort to get her to apply to WB, I may have bribed her with some ink. In theory I have nothing against Lucky tatting herself up like a Japanese mafia princess if she wants to, but, now that the theory is about to become a reality, a part of me has changed my mind. I see the way people look at me, especially when I happened to wander into the campus administration building to help Lucky out a handful of times. I don’t want Lucky to endure a lifetime of those same judgmental looks. I can take it. Hell, I don’t give a rat’s ass what anybody thinks of me, but, then again, I pretty much have my life established, and hers is just starting out.
She clicks her tongue at me, eyes to the ceiling. “Stop overanalyzing this from every angle. Relax. I want something private, something just for the man in my life and me.” She glances to Ava as they break out in titters.
“You don’t have a man in your life, and that’s the way you should keep it for the next five years.” Make it ten.
She growls in my direction before stabbing her finger over her inner thigh. “I want a giant X right here so he knows where to put his tongue.”
“All right, stop messing with me and get out of here. Don’t you have finals to study for or something?”
“Very funny.” Lucky runs her finger up her leg a little too close to home. “How about a rose? I want the thorns leading all the way up my happy trail.”
“First, you don’t have a happy trail, so get that out of your head. And second, it runs the other way. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? That’s disgusting by the way. There’s no way I’m doing that for you, now or ever.”
