“What areyou doing here so early again, Sweets?”
I laughed at the concern etched on my father’s brow as I let the shopfront door close behind me.
“It’s a busy time. I’m here to help you.”
Which was true. Mostly.
I plopped into the chair at my desk and stifled a yawn, my eyes heavier than I wanted to admit.
“We have some orders from last night and some callbacks to make. Since you’re here, if you could get through those for me it would be a huge help. And I think you and Bri are shopping this afternoon, right?”
“Tomorrow,” I answered my father as I sifted through the new folder of paperwork on the desk. Most of our orders were done online and entered into the system, but Uncle Billy, the main owner of this Falco Custom Bikes and the one in South Carolina, still liked a paper trail.
“That’s right. She told me all about girls’ day and how she couldn’t wait.” His lips stretched into a smile. Brianna was my stepmother, but like Drew, was much more than that. She was a mix of a second mother and a best friend, and after I’d spent time with her, I always felt a little lighter. Not that I couldn’t talk to my mother, but Brianna always managed to hold in that trace of worry my mother could never hide, especially if I dared to mention boys.
“All right. Let’s get a move on so we can close up at a decent time.” He came over to me and planted a kiss to the top of my head. When Dad shut his office door, I noticed a new text on my phone screen.
Anthony:Pumpkin spice latte today, or are you over that shit yet?
I smiled as a familiar rush ran through me. It was a mix of adrenaline, anticipation, and warmth that every morning he always bought me coffee.
I groaned and rubbed my tired eyes. I’d tossed and turned every night, since Anthony’s little game of pretend at the diner last week stirred up all these feelings I didn’t know what to do with. I never wanted to be with someone so much yet was so terrified to admit it.
The one night I did manage to fall asleep, I’d had a vivid dream of Anthonyreallytouching me. His lips and his hands were everywhere, the memory of the scratch of his stubble against my cheek resonating all over my body, and all I’d wanted was more. A relentless ache between my legs woke me up, and I sat up in bed in a cold sweat with a racing, troubled heart.
Victoria:It’s seasonal, I’ll be over it when they stop making them for the year. Thank you.
Anthony:I have a surprise for you when I get in.
Victoria:Tell me!
Anthony:For a writer, you’re a little dense. Surprise means I don’t tell you, sweetheart.
Sweetheart. Since he’d called me that for a joke, he said it all the time now just to tease me. Hearing a term of endearment in his gruff New York accent that we all had in one form or another, sent a pathetic shiver up and down my spine each time.
Anthony was special: talented, humble, and beautiful. He was also closed off, but he let me in—to a point. I rambled on about my crazy family, but all I knew about him was that his mother lived in Puerto Rico, and he had an aunt and cousins he was close to who lived in Queens and the Bronx. No mention of friends or other family. I’d pried a few times, but all he’d surrender were one-word answers.
I tried to get lost in mindless tasks for the next hour until he came in. When the bell chimed above the door, signaling someone’s arrival, my heart did a sad leap in my chest.
“When is the season over? I can’t stand the smell of this much longer.”
Anthony’s full lips twisted in disgust before he came over to my desk and set down the steaming cup.
“I appreciate your suffering for my benefit.” My eyes fell on his smug half-smile before I took the first sip.
“What are friends for?” He winked and pulled one hand behind his back.
Friends. Right.
“Are we playing this game? Show me the surprise or don’t.” I narrowed my eyes but couldn’t help the pull of a smile on my lips.
Anthony’s lips curled into a devious grin, his chocolate eyes shining. As he laughed, my eyes were drawn to the way his shirt stretched across his broad chest just enough to tease the large tattoo creeping up his neck.
I never gave too much thought to getting my own tattoo, but lately, especially when I couldn’t sleep, I’d dream about visiting him at the tattoo shop asking him to mark my body in a place no one else would see.
“Since I know you’re dying, here.” He tossed a comic book on my desk.
I squinted at Anthony before picking it up. When I took a closer look, I recognized some of the dialogue he’d shown me. The ink saturated the paper as if it was freshly drawn.
