“Yes, you are. You growl and curse a lot, but you also give people free tattoos for sentimental reasons. And you invited me to your house and gave me all that stuff. Even now, you say you’re mad, but you’re not walking away.” He leans forward. “I think you’re a big softie,” he repeats.
Shit. I don’t know how it keeps happening that I turn around and he’s got the upper hand again, but the kid has clearly gotten past feeling scared of me.
I growl, annoyed at how much I like this. “Think whatever you want.”
Drew’s face opens in a big smile. He’s not at all bothered by my growl, I guess. He glances to the door, the direction of his friend, and when he turns back to me, he throws back the last of his red cocktail quickly. “I think it’s probably time for me to go,” he says, which makes me relieved and disappointed at the same time. “Piper is going to come in and say something to embarrass me, and it seems like us being here kind of interrupted your night.”
“You didn’t…” I frown, cornered again and knocked silent by his soft smile, which curls up the corners of his mouth, suddenly sassy.
Fucking hell, is he flirting with me now?
“We have my next tattoo appointment, but I think we should meet up again before that,” he tells me. I open my mouth to object, but he talks too fast, and I can’t get a word in. “I know you kind of don’t want to, but I think you’ll say yes anyway.”
“You do?”
“There’s a pinball machine,” he says quickly. “It’s broken, but I think I can recover some of the components, hard to find stuff. The piece I most need is small enough that I can carry it in a bag, but I need to disassemble the machine first, and I don’t have any tools or anything.”
Drew gives me a hopeful smile, his lips pulled back and white teeth flashing. I notice that one of his front teeth is just a little crooked, edging over the other one.
I like it, and I fucking hate that I noticed it.
“Please?” he asks again, even sweeter. “I don’t know anyone else in the city who would have the tools, but I’m sure you do.”
Drew lets the seconds tick by. I’m gritting my teeth, trying to say no, but he keeps giving me that fucking hopeful look, and he’s got those goddamn hazel eyes, and the kid is impossible.
“Tuesday,” I tell him, like it’s an order. “You remember where my house is?”
His face lights up. “Tuesday,” he agrees. Drew laughs and leans forward, then kisses me on the cheek. It catches me totally off guard, and the sensation lingers after he pulls his soft lips away.
“I’ll come by in the morning,” he says, then glances back to the door. “Have a good night!” he chirps out and hurries away, like he knows better than to push his luck any more.
“A softie,” I grumble. “Who in the hell does he think he is?”
I stand there, leaning up against the table, frowning at the wall. Drew spins me around as bad as his old man did, and he’s left me hard and horny to boot.
There’s no way I’m going to enjoy a blowjob tonight, though, not from anyone who isn’t him. So after wrestling through feelings I don’t understand and glaring at the wall, I finally give up and just drive my bike home.
CHAPTERTEN
DREW
The morningI arrive at Caesar’s house for our pinball errand, he’s sitting on his front porch, legs spread wide while he drinks a cup of coffee. Grace sits at his feet, curled up, and Caesar slumps down to scratch the back of her head.
He doesn’t call out to greet me or even look up when I approach. But I don’t let that stop me from smiling. Something clicked when we were at the bar, and I’m seeing a totally different side of Caesar than I did when we first met. Sure, he’s a grumpy old man, but his actions are a lot louder than his grunts.
“Hi, Caesar,” I call out as I approach the porch. “Hi, Grace!”
Caesar leans back, hands on his knees, and grumbles something I don’t hear.
“What’s that?”
“Coffee,” he barks, then gestures to the mug waiting for me while he stands. “Let’s check out the tools, make sure I have what you need.”
He stands there, towering over me for a second, long enough for me to really take him in. Caesar is dressed in a pair of baggy cargo shorts and a long-sleeved black T-shirt with the name of a tattoo convention printed on the front. His stubble is grown out, and his silver hair looks even scragglier than usual, and when he takes a long sip from his coffee, his eyes crease in the corners.
He’s a cranky old man, and for some reason, I find that ridiculously hot.
I want to press myself to his much bigger body, feel his rough grip on my skin. I want to smell him and lick his hairy chest and do all kinds of filthy things that I really shouldn’t be thinking about right now, but I am.
