Damn, I was begging for trouble.
Chapter two
Wyatt
Nothing screamed pathetic more than asking your way-too-young piercer to grab food with you because you were lonely.
Except by some miracle, he’d said yes.
I climbed out of my truck, the snow falling on my shoulders and my cock aching like a motherfucker. A deep-rooted pain remained there, the sort that made my teeth numb a little, but I’d managed pain before, and I could now. The end result would be worth it—at least, I kept telling myself that. Harp had put her fingers in her ears once I mentioned wanting a genital piercing, and she refused to let me say what kind, just told me to go to Rory because he was the best in the area at those.
And he had been—fast, efficient, and with an effortless charm that put me at ease from the moment I stepped in.
Finding ease with anyone was a rarity, and maybe that was why I’d invited him out to Fun Guy, our mushroom capital’s sports bar. Plus,I stood no chance of running into my daughter here while I was trying to come down from getting my dick pierced. She loathed sports bars. By the time I made it to the door of the bar, footsteps thumped behind me.
I turned around to spot Rory striding my way.
He’d popped a beanie on, covering his dark hair, and his leather jacket hid the full sleeves of tattoos that had been on display in the shop. His eyebrows were pierced, extra around his ears, and I’m sure he probably had others too. Rory was the sort of guy who oozed charm, and he probably had swarms of ladies flocking around him at any given time from the easy way he smiled and the young, tattooed bad-boy air about him.
“Are you a beer drinker?” I asked as we walked in. “I should’ve checked before whether this worked for you.”
“I’ve come here for trivia nights before—they’ve got a good menu. Most of the time I’m at the clubs in Philly, though. The scene in the suburbs is a bit too quiet for my liking.”
I snagged the door and held it open for him. The party scene hadn’t been anything I’d gotten to do when I was young, and it happened to be another thing on my list. “Think it’d be weird if I hit up the clubs now?”
“Mmm, the ones I go to have plenty of older guys,” he said, a sparkle to his deep-set blue eyes. He stepped in and led the way over to an empty table, making it clear he’d been here plenty before. What kind of clubs were filled with guys my age? Honestly, the idea of going out after a long day of work sounded fucking exhausting, but post-divorce I had a few items I wanted to attempt, and I was determined to try to break out of my rut.
Rory took a seat and slung his jacket on the side, bringing all those tattoos out into the open again. “Like what you see?” he asked, showingoff his arms. “Now that you’ve got piercings covered, are you going to tackle some ink next?”
“Mind if I look?” I asked, reaching out for his right arm.
“Please,” he said. “I didn’t get these bad boys to have them wither away unappreciated.”
“The arms or the tats?” I asked, an amused grin lifting my lips. Despite his slenderness, he clearly worked out based on the definition of his biceps and triceps, as well as his corded forearms.
I gripped his arm, and the skin-to-skin touch sent a ripple of electricity through me. Damn, between Susie and me splitting up to Harper being on her own now, I hadn’t realized how touch starved I was. Even back in the tattoo shop, I’d been getting harder by the second right before he pierced me. Except, with how much my dick hurt right now, I wouldn’t be getting an erection anytime soon.
I traced along his upper arm where the colors and lines seemed like a chaotic blend of red, black, and white, but upon closer observation, the piece was neat and clear. A red spiral around a black compass leading to an X marks the spot, all framed with white and black spirals. “What’s this?”
He licked his lower lip, which made it glossy. “Trash polka art—it’s Nyx’s specialty, so I let her go to town.”
“No special meaning?” I asked, reluctantly letting go of my grasp on his arm. At once, I missed the touch.
Rory shrugged. “Most of the art on my body is more about the art and artist than any personal sentiment—apart from my raven tattoo, but that’s on my back.”
“Raven tattoo?” I asked. The server swung by, interrupting the explanation, and I placed an order for two beers and a burger for me. Rory ordered one as well, and the server jetted off again. When thesilence settled between us, I fixed my gaze back on him, hoping for an explanation.
He was so fascinating, so different from me. My brothers always had comment after comment about how I never talked enough, how quiet I was, how dull. And their words still lingered, because even now, I hadn’t found anyone who saw all of me in the way I wanted apart from my kid.
“That tattoo was for my last name,” he offered. “Brannon means raven, so the whole family got them—apart from Cor, because he’s a stubborn shit and refuses to get inked or pierced just to spite me.”
I snorted. As one of three brothers, I could understand the sentiment. However, his family sounded close, unlike mine. David had moved away almost a decade ago, and even though Jeremy lived nearby, we saw each other at holidays, and that was about it. Truthfully, it was probably better that way, even if the loneliness seeped into my veins a little deeper with the realization.
“I think it’s pretty amazing your family would do that together,” I admitted, squeezing my nape. All of this was so out of my depth—even just getting a drink and some food with someone else. I’d been so focused on work and raising Harper for so many years that apart from grabbing a beer here with some of the guys after a job, I’d let most of my socialization slide. Going out into the dating pool at this point felt unfathomable, and I’d probably die alone in my apartment, eaten by cats, even though I didn’t have a pet.
“My family does everything together,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “We’re unhealthily codependent.”
“That sounds pretty fantastic to me,” I said.
