Instead of answering, she pulls me close for a sweet, soft kiss.
“Yeah, I want that.” She reaches out a hand and tugs me to standing, then nestles against my chest and hugs me. “But if I keep kissing you tonight, I can’t be responsible for what happens. And I know tonight isn’t the night for anything more. So, I’m going to say goodnight. Until next time.”
I hold her firmly against me, breathing in her hair. I try to memorize the scent of her so I can hold it even when she’s not with me. When I finally let her go, she looks into my face, and we grin like idiots. Like teenagers. This was fun. This was good. No drama. No games. Gracie is the real deal. More real than anything I’ve known.
She turns away but laces her fingers through mine. She leads me to the door, where she slips on her sandals and grabs her purse.
“Leave that key under the mat, Ryder.” She gives me a grin full of promise, then I watch as she walks to her car. She starts it up, waves goodbye, and drives off into the night.
It’s by far the best first date I’ve ever had. And it feels like the start of forever.
9
GRACIE
“Babe,you posted for the shop last night? I could fucking kiss you.”
Romy drops a small white paper bag on my station. “I noticed it had been a few days.” She winks at me before scurrying to her station.
“If what I think is in that bag is in that bag, I’m going to kiss your face,” I say, unwrapping a peanut butter crisp. I don’t know how the hell she snagged one, but it smells fresh so I’m not going to ask.
“She’s a suck-up,” Toni, another amazing artist at my shop, says before she sticks a finger in her mouth like she’s going to gag herself.
“You could learn a thing or two from her,” I say, pulling the cookie from the bag and pretending to eat it right in front of her. We’re actually not allowed to eat at our stations, but Toni gets the point.
She blows me a kiss because even though we diss each other constantly, we love each other to bits. Staff comes and goes in this business, but Toni has been here since the beginning. We have each other’s backs when it comes to just about any drama that comes up in the shop.
Toni sees everything in life as a fight. She tends to see the negative, and I get that’s just how some people are wired. But she won’t offer anything, ever. Not to take out the trash, not to cover the phones. One of her favorite lines is “Not part of my job description,” and while I can’t help but agree with her at times, that attitude is the only thing that ever really causes us to clash.
If she cares about the cookie Romy brought me, she doesn’t really linger on it. Toni asks about my schedule for the day, and we bitch for a few minutes about how the last weeks of summer have passed way too fast and all we’ve been able to do was play catch-up.
Since The Body Shop reopened, every day has been absolutely chaotic. While our shop was closed for cleaning, our clients were anxious to get back on our schedule to get their tattoos done. Every chair has been full, and most days, Echo is so busy answering phones that the rest of us have to chip in and do things that normally aren’t our jobs, which has made Toni frazzled and bitchy, which has me playing the mediator more than I’d like to.
And it seems as if, with every spare second I have, my thoughts can only go to one place.
Ryder.
We’ve been having phone dates every night since I went to his house. I’ve been craving more of those fucking kisses ever since I got a taste. I knew he was attractive. I mean, one look at his sculpted thighs and shoulders…and then those chocolate-brown eyes that would melt any woman who isn’t made of stone. I’m sure we look like total opposites together, but somehow, the way he felt under my lap, the touch of his hands in my hair… God, the taste of him. We fit like we are made for each other.
Since our make-out session at his place, things have definitely progressed. We haven’t even gone on a first date yet—not a real one at least—but our attraction is off the freakin’ charts.
But I’m brought back to reality when my phone buzzes, and I check the caller ID.
My gut turns over when I see who it is. My doctor’s office. I debate actually answering it. Running outside so I can have a few minutes of privacy and deal with whatever this is. But the stronger part of me, the part that wants no distractions before I start inking someone’s body, wins.
I let it go to voice mail. I’m not dealing with it. Not today. I’ve got clients back-to-back, a backlog of designs to catch up on. Email and voice mail and… Yeah, I know. They’re all excuses. The trivia and bullshit of everyday life that I’m putting ahead of my health. I know that’s exactly what I’m doing.
I shut off the ringer, grab my purse and phone, and go into the bathroom. I close the door and splash water on my face. My heart is racing, and I feel overwhelming guilt and fear.
This is so stupid.I scold myself.
It’s my doctor, not a bill collector.
My doctor wants what’s best for me, and it’s not like they are in the business of stalking patients. But no matter how I try to console myself, I lean my hands on the cool porcelain, fighting tears.
Whatever it is, it’s already there, I remind myself.
But the reassuring words do nothing to calm the flutters in my stomach. The tears that have been threatening to spill out finally do. I don’t fight it. I just sit on the toilet and let them flow. If I’d fought them, I’d end up feeling even worse and just making myself sick. And I need to be clearheaded and calm to work.
