I pull open the door to Rogue, the bell chiming overhead.
“Hey there, kitten,” I say teasingly to Rogue’s woman, Kinsey, who’s sitting at the front desk by herself, curled up in the chair like a kitten basking in the sun. They’ve been together over a year, and I love her like a sister. She pulled Reid out of depression so deep that we never thought we’d see our true brother again. She saved him.
“Do you have a death wish, Rhys?” she snaps.
“Not after today, I don’t. I plan to live a long, long life.”
“And what changed today, brother?” Reid asks as he rounds the corner, walking up to me and giving me a hug. He’s about my height and size; we’re both massive guys in height and width. Kinsey is a tiny little thing, and I love to give him shit about how things work logistically for them.
“How’d you know Kinsey was the one?” I ask out of nowhere, once our embrace has fallen. Reid’s eyes automatically float to Kinsey, a smile toying at his lips as she tucks a strand of her dirty blonde hair behind an ear, her cheeks blushing a pretty pink.
“I just did. It felt like my life was jump-started. She brought me back from the dead, my heart finally pumping in my chest again, my eyes clearer, my life intertwined with hers in a way that I can’t put into words. You’d know if you felt it. The world shifts under you when you find your person.”
“Find your queen.”
“Yeah.”
Kinsey eyes me suspiciously but Reid doesn’t take notice. Instead, he opens the door to the large fishbowl room where he tattoos clients, and I follow him back.
“Shirt off, you big baby, let’s finish your back.”
“Nah. There’s something else I want today.” I pull my shirt off over my head, resting back in the chair and pointing to the only blank space on my chest, right above my heart. I tap my finger across the area, knowing it’s the spot I’ve left bare for a reason, and that only one thing belongs there. “Right here.”
Chapter Six
BRISTOL
Blake is standing in a crisp suit, his ankles crossed, leaning back against the counter when I walk into the house from Amberwood. He immediately looks up from his phone, his hand dropping to his side as he stands up taller.
“Where have you been?” he snaps, making me flinch. “We have reservations.” Confusion washes over me until I realize what he’s talking about. So, Blake really expected me to accompany him to a schmoozing dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Douche-canoe after all. Fuck my life. As if a bucket of ice water is dumped over my head, the high of my day is immediately extinguished.
It was a long week. Blake and I didn’t see much of each other, so I did my best to fill my time with work. Every night, I went to sleep alone and woke up the same way. Some days, I wasn’t sure if Blake ever came to our bed or if he just slept in his office. A reminder of the plans for tonight would have been incredibly helpful, or I don’t know, telling me the plans were official to begin with instead of a mere suggestion in passing.
“I was at the shelter in Amberwood all day, remember? I can change quickly, don’t stress!” I tell him, trying to defuse the situation, as I quickly kick off my sneakers and jog down the hallway to our bedroom. I remove my scrubs and underwear, toss them into the dirty laundry hamper, and rush into the shower, not bothering to wait for the water to heat up. With the speed of an F1 driver, I race through washing a day of being with animals off my body and quickly get out.
After drying, I slip on my favorite pair of denim jeans, wiggling them up over my rather voluptuous ass, and pull on a cashmere wrap sweater Blake got me for my birthday that I’ve yet to wear. I reach for my Converse but know Blake would be appalled, so I reach back in my closet to pull on some wedges that don’t kill my feet.
I’m a casual girl through and through, and boy, does it show anytime I try walking for too long in a pair of stilettos. I look myself over in the mirror one more time, dreading every moment to come tonight, but feeling good in my outfit choice if I have to go.
“Bristol, you about ready? You know how I feel about being late,” Blake asks, his voice carrying through the house.
“Yeah, just about,” I reply as I turn to catch him entering our bedroom. It also gives me the unfortunate privilege of seeing his initial reaction to me. My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. I reach for my hands, threading my fingers together and twisting.
“Something wrong?” I ask nervously.
“I thought you said you were almost ready. You aren’t even dressed to leave. We need to go. How much longer do you need?” I look down at my outfit and then studyhis face. His eyebrows are pinched together as if he’s in physical pain, his lips pursed in annoyance.
“Blake, I am dressed and ready to go. I just need to change out my purse.”
“You aren’t serious, Bristol,” he chuckles, but I don’t miss the condescending tone of it. “Quit playing and change.”
I watch as he reaches into my closet and pulls out one of my dresses. This one is blush pink, with cap sleeves, and hits just slightly above my knee. I hate how I look in blush pink, and it’s why I haven’t worn it out yet; it washes me out with my fair skin tone.
“This one looks good on you. Wear this, yeah? This restaurant doesn’t exactly welcome jean attire. And how about some makeup? I bought you that nice set and you haven’t used it.” My fingers are probably white from how hard I’m squeezing them as I chew on the inside of my bottom lip. I should have known this wasn’t going to be a casual dinner based on his suit, but then again, when is Blake not wearing a suit?
“Oh. Uhm. Sure. Just give me five, and we can go. I’ll be just a moment,” I tell him, but his head is already downcast at his phone, checked out of the conversation as if he didn’t just crush my confidence.
I never pegged myself to be the type of woman who would lose so much of her voice that she couldn’t even defend her outfit choices to her partner, and I honestly don’t know why I don’t speak up. Somewhere along the way, I’ve shrunk myself to fit inside the box Blake created. I hardly recognize myselfbecause of it.
