“Not happening.” Can’t. Won’t. And every negative contraction there is.
“I guess you’ll never know if I’m truly pierced or not…”
“That’s easy—you’re not.” At least, that’s what I’m forcing myself to believe. There are many things about Beckham Daines that I do not need to know, and at the top of the list is knowing whether his dick is pierced or not.
It’s been months since that damn game night where the topic was brought up. Just the idea of it was enough to bring an already ten-out-of-ten man to a freaking fifteen. Confirmation of what he could do with it would bring him up to a twenty.
Me kneeing him that night in the elevator was a cheap shot, but it was either that or call his bluff.
I take the last bite of my granola bar and toss the wrapper in the trash. “Thank you for the snacks,” I mutter, against my better judgment.
Beck’s shoulders drop slightly and an eyebrow raises.
“What? What’s that look for?”
The corners of Beck’s mouth turn down with a bemused smirk. “Just wasn’t expecting all this gratitude. Is that why you fight me so much? Are you just hangry?”
Instant regret. “I’m going to spit in your drink,” I mumble.
“Is that supposed to be a threat or a good time?” Beck folds his arms and leans closer on the bar top.
Dear lord, and I have a crush on this guy? Really? How the hell did this happen?
I catch Mia in my peripheral before leaning forward to meet Beck with a smirk then tilt my head toward my regrettable escape. “Hey, Mia, Beck needs a refill, and I think your phone number.”
“You little fucker,” Beck mutters before I walk away.
Chapter 3
Jensen
T-minus fifteen minutes left in my hours required. Nine hundred seconds, and I’m fucking counting. Sitting on my tiny stool, I watch as Hank drags his tattoo gun against one of his regulars then wipes with a paper towel.
I hold my breath with each rotation because half the time he pauses and something stupid comes flying out of his mouth.
“You know, Jensen, I’m going to miss having you watching me. Maybe I should pull all your timecards before I sign off on your hours. I’d hate to miss an opportunity to have youlearnsomething.”
“Puerco,” I mumble under my breath.Pig.
He’s been stretching out my last eight hours for over a week already. “All my time has been properly recorded. I hand them over to Tally for her to double-check every week.”
At the mention of the owner and hiswife, Hank goes back to the phoenix he’s supposed to be finishing.
How Tally stays married to this asshat is beyond me. I’ve thought about bringing up his beyond inappropriate commentary and wandering eyes…recently, hands…many times. But Hank’s smart— it’s always small touches, and everything hesays he flips around as if he’s simply joking. Not to mention, Tally thinks he’s the funniest guy in all of Boston—her doing something is a long shot, and I’m too close to the end of this to ruin it.
“I suppose it won’t be all that different when you start working here,” Hank says over the buzz of his gun.
Yeah, in his dreams—my nightmares—will I stay at the same shop as him, and part of me thinks Hank knows that.
Something about his demeanor this week has made me even more uneasy. I’m not usually one to take shit like this, but sometimes it’s more about knowing when to step in it or step over it.
“Interesting choice of bird,” I say to Hank’s regular, Charlie. He’s fruit from the same tree, but that’s not even the worst part about him. Charlie is my freaking landlord. Shall I reference the metaphor again, because I’ve been stepping over shit that really feels like it should qualify as a landmine.
Another reason for my hesitation to tell Tally is that she’s the one who sent me in the direction of these apartments. I can’t tell if she’s oblivious to their bullshit or into it.
Charlie glances down his arm and his face lifts like he’s just now remembering that he’s getting a phoenix. “Yeah, I thought it was the perfect tattoo to get since my divorce from that bitch is final. Rebirth. Newexperiencesto be had.”
Charlie’s eyes trace down from my black hair to my feet. Ugh.Perverito,perv, and for Lucie,sleazebag. Yep, all of those, right on his forehead they go.
