“You’re just saying that because he’s the baby.”
“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.”
I smoothed my napkin back over my lap, staring hard down at my hands, how they were shorter and more square than my brothers. Knowing we resembled each other in so many ways, but not all of them. And that was okay.
That was good.
“Anyway.” Finn knocked the edge of his glass against mine. “When do we get to meet this tattooer of yours? Hunter said he would get my name tattooed on his ass, and I want to do it before he changes his mind.”
CHAPTER 22
RIGGS
Between appointments on Saturday afternoon, I coordinated a date with Smith. He sent me his address, and I promised to pick him up at eight. I finished my last appointment at seven, which barely gave me enough time to run upstairs, shower, and change. I didn’t love the idea of showing up with still-damp hair, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I also didn’t know whether I should wear it down or up, in the end opting to tie it half up.
Smith lived in an industrial style townhouse in Larchmont, and it was the most surprising thing about him. Considering his love of historical architecture, I hadn’t expected to find him in a place so modern. But after he opened the door and ran back to put his shoes on, I changed my mind and decided it was the most Smith townhouse that could exist. He was a sharp contrast to everything inside, bits and pieces of his interests poking through in the accents without being overbearing. The place was bold in its design but understated.
Just like him.
“Ready?” he asked, coming back to find me in the entryway. He had on a pair of dark denim jeans, white sneakers, and afloral short sleeve button-up. He tugged the bottom of the shirt, cheeks turning pink. “I wasn’t sure what to wear.”
I gestured to my own outfit, jeans and a t-shirt. “I’m not a dress up kind of guy, in most cases. I hope that’s not a problem.”
Smith smiled shyly at me. “Haven’t found a problem with you yet.”
The double meaning of his statement wasn’t lost on me, but the only response I could offer him was a jerky nod.
“How was dinner with your brothers last night?” I asked.
He made a dismissive noise. “Dinner was fine, if not a good reminder to the whole bunch of them that I’m not a teenager anymore.”
I beckoned him closer, pressing my fingertips against the purple hickey on the side of his neck. “I am sorry about that.”
“You shouldn’t be.” He held my wrist. “I liked it, and as much as it pains them sometimes, I’m my own man.”
I stared hard at him, some unfamiliar emotion burning in the center of my chest. He let go of my wrist, and I let go of him.
“You certainly are,” I rasped.
After locking up, Smith followed me downstairs. I opened the passenger door to my car and let him in, and once I was in the driver’s seat, he glanced over at me and laughed under his breath.
“What’s funny?” I asked.
“I have a confession.”
I chuckled. “Let’s hear it.”
“I saw you before I came in for the appointment,” he said. “I was wandering. I do that sometimes, to look at architecture. I saw your shop, saw you on your bike.”
I dropped my head against the headrest and turned to the side, studying his profile as he spoke. God, Smith was young, but he was handsome. So nervous about his confidence.
“Were you expecting a ride tonight?” I asked, another double entendre hovering in the air between us.
“No!” he almost shouted, eyes going wide. “No, I mean…not like…no.”
He was even more good looking when he was out of sorts, I decided. But it was cruel to leave him in such a state, so I reached across the console and brushed my thumb against his cheek. At the first touch, Smith went still, a quiet whimper building in the back of his throat that would have taken another man out at the knees.
“I’ll take you for a ride after dinner,” I promised.
