Caesar pulls his arm out from my tight embrace, then throws it over my shoulder as he hugs me, holding me like he did in his sleep. “All right, kid,” he says, then kisses my forehead. “Glad you think so.”
I perch up and kiss him back. My body writhes against his, and I come to close to losing myself right there in the middle of the driveway. Before I tumble over the cliff, though, I manage to pull back.
Working together does sound nice, romantic in its own way. And if Caesar shows the way he cares by doing stuff for me, I want to show him how much I appreciate it by working on the machines.
“Wrenches in the garage?” I ask.
He nods and turns back to his bike. “Just holler if you need me.”
CHAPTERSEVENTEEN
CAESAR
I rollmy bike up to the bar, the quiet dive down the street from Blade. As soon as we stop moving, Drew hops off, excited.
He loves a motorcycle ride. Anytime I get close to forgetting about Mack altogether, something like that jumps out as a reminder, an echo of his old man and my past.
“Who’s going to be here?” he asks, the helmet under his arm. “All of your employees?”
I kick off the bike. “Stone. Billie.” I crease my brow, frustrated. Who the hell goes to this thing? “Red? I don’t know. I’ll introduce you inside.”
Drew grins. He’s back into one of his collared shirts, which he wears with the sleeves rolled up. Just the bottom of his tattoo sticks out, a spaceship and a shooting star. It makes me want to draw the ink down more, fill it out properly.
He looks handsome and even more when he rubs his jaw and gives me his eye.
“How do tattoos artist even talk to each other? Is everyone going to be grumpy like you?”
I throw my arm over his shoulder. “You’re lucky. I’m the biggest hardass you’ll have to deal with.”
Drew laughs. “What a dreamboat.”
I pull the door open, and Drew slips out from beside me. It feels good to have him there. Ever since he slept over, it’s hell to keep my hands off him. But I’m not a touchy person in public, so when we step into the bar, I resist the urge to pull Drew back by my side.
I don’t know what the fuck this is, whatever’s happening between us. But I know what I want, and that’s for Drew to stay at my side. If that means hauling my ass to the bar just to make him happy and get a little more time, no fucking problem.
“Aw, hell,” I mutter when I see the group from the shop. “It’s all of them.”
Billie, Stone, Joey, Red, and Rafael are all taking up space in the back, right by the darts. On top of a handful of part-time artists who come and go, they’re the core crew, and I hadn’t realized that the whole damn group got together for drinks.
“Back there?” Drew asks, pointing toward the heavily inked group, the biggest crowd in the small bar.
I scratch the back of my head. “Yeah, that’s them. You want a beer?”
“Something sweet,” Drew answers.
I order him a whiskey coke and get myself a pint, the only one I’ll let myself nurse that night, since I’m driving him home. Drew pops up on the stool beside me. He’s excited to meet the artists, and that’s enough to make me happy, but I didn’t really think through all the complications from dragging him here.
“Caesar?”
I turn, and Rafael is standing there, surprised. My apprentice is dressed in a T-shirt with UFOS flying across the front, and his thick-rimmed glasses are slightly crooked.
“Shit, is something wrong?” Rafael asks. “Is there, like, an emergency?”
I frown. “Emergency?”
Drew steps beside me. He and Rafael stare at each other. Then Rafael tilts his head to the side. “You were at the shop the other day. You’re the guy—”
“Caesar!” Stone walks up to the bar, Red behind him and the rest of the shop following. “Holy shit. Caesar, what are you doing here?”
