And over the next couple of hours, Jasmine poses me, and Jensen takes pictures. When we break, it’s only for a quick drink of water and for Jasmine to push me back into her shop to change. The high-waisted navy shorts and white halter top somehow leave me feeling more exposed than a bathing suit,but when we go back out, we fall back into the same easy conversation.
Finally, Jensen lowers the camera, a broad smile stretching his bearded face wide. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Let me dump these on my laptop, and we can do a little preview, let you see what I got.”
I slide off the hood of the truck, suddenly exhausted. “Is it cool if I change back into real clothes?”
“Absolutely,” he calls over his shoulder as he stalks into the shop, camera in hand, pulling the memory card from the slot.
Jasmine leads me inside her shop and up the stairs to her apartment. “Help yourself to the shower. Figure since this is a surprise for your guy, you don’t want to show up back home, looking like nose art. Towels, shampoo, everything you need is right there. I’ll grab the rest of your stuff from my office for you and then meet you next door at Jen’s,” she says, already heading back down the stairs.
After a quick shower, my face clean, hair twisted back into the mess of black curls on the top of my head, I stuff my things into my tote and wander into the tattoo shop.
The receptionist smirks at me and throws her thumb over her shoulder. “Jen’s office is the last door on the left. Girl, you looked fuck-hot.”
“Thanks,” I say, taken aback.
But when I walk through the door of Jensen’s office, all I see is an image of me looking like I never in my life could have imagined.
TWENTY
Miles
With Chloe finally out of the house, I look at Jake and ask, “You ready to roll?”
He reaches behind him and pulls his shoes from under the couch, shoving his feet into them. For a kid, he did a damn good job, locking down the nervous jitters and acting cool.
“Yep. Let’s do this.” He bounces off the floor and struts to the door, Chloe’s keys in his hand.
“You driving?” I ask, pulling the door shut behind us.
Jake snorts, laughing way too hard over my comment. “No.Geebus, Miles.”
He makes a wild toss with the keys, and I have to jump to snag them.
“I don’t think your mom would be okay with that one either. Cursing doesn’t make you cool, man.” I click open the locks and slide the driver’s seat back as far as it’ll go before climbing in.
“Is that one of the rules?” The click of a seat belt sounds from the backseat.
“It is. Being a gentleman is important business. No matter what, those rules are ones to live by.” I back Chloe’s vehicle out, and in minutes, we’ve swapped it out for my truck. It’s times like these that I’m glad I have both. Not just because Chloe decided to be sweet and get Maggie detailed, but dirty work and moving things calls for a truck that’s not a classic with a pristine walnut bed.
“Didn’t you tell Mom it was too dangerous to go get this thing?” Jake asks, checking the lock on his door.
I chuckle and adjust my aviators. “I did.”
“But it’s okay for us to be here?” He looks around the slightly run-down neighborhood scrolling past us. “Because we’re men and she’s a girl?”
Tilting my head back and forth, I search for the right words. Talking to Chloe’s son, teaching him the things he needs to know to be a true gentleman, has become important to me. I don’t want to fuck it up. “We’re going to call it being chivalrous. Taking care of the people we love, being honorable and protective.” I turn down a street to the right and stop in front of a house halfway down the block.
“And that’s one of the rules, too?”
“Yep. You’re learning, kiddo,” I tell him. We hop out of the truck and approach the older gentleman standing in the shade of the open garage door. “Stick right with me. I’m going to need your muscles to help move this thing.”
I thrust my hand forward in greeting, Jake following suit. “This it?” I ask.
“It is,” the gentleman replies. “Good you brought help; it weighs more’n a bit. Had to have my son come by and bring it up here for you from the backyard.”
I reach into my pocket and pull out the bills for the price we settled on. I didn’t lowball the guy, but meeting him, seeing thathe’s an older man in a neighborhood past its prime, I almost wish I had agreed to the full asking price. “You made this?”
He accepts the money I hand him, pocketing it right away. “I did. The wife wanted a place to sit in her garden to read. What the wife wants, the wife gets.” He chuckles, but there’s a sadness behind it. “Made this and a little table to match. She’d sit out there for hours, reading her love stories, with a glass of tea. Now, she’s in a home. Can’t use it, so I’m glad your missus’ll give it a good home.”
