Fuck. He’s got me there. Despite my Hollywood status, the production company’s budget doesn’t include a fancy rental—not that there is one available anyway—and I definitely don’t want to be driving back and forth from some dive motel every day. The shooting schedule is going to be grueling enough as it is.
“Fine,” I grumble, stabbing at my food with more force than necessary. “But if I run into her and she tries to murder me, I’m holding you personally responsible.”
Logan chuckles. “She’s not going to murder you. Maim, maybe. But not murder.”
“Thanks. I feel so much better now.”
My jerk of a best friend just laughs.
After breakfast, I help clean up, then head to the bathroom to take a shower. As I stand under the hot spray, I try not to think about the fact that in a few hours, I’ll be signing a lease for an apartment directly above where Lizzy works. Every day, I’ll have to walk past the shop, knowing she’s right there—so close, yet so far away.Jesus. That’s about as cliché as it gets.
“You’ve really stepped in it this time,” I mutter as I towel off.
By the timewe pull up outside Skin & Ink, my stomach is in knots.
The tattoo shop is housed in a two-story, renovated brickbuilding with large windows across the front. Through the shops window I can see a few people moving around inside.
Jax is sitting on one of the leather couches in what looks like their waiting area, sketching, and a woman with shoulder-length purple hair is talking to a client at the front desk. When my gaze shifts to another heavily tattooed man, Ryder looks up and jerks his chin at us in greeting through the glass.
The shop smells of antiseptic and ink, with faint traces of essential oils, while an indie rock song I don’t recognize thumps subtly through the mostly open space.
“Hey,” Ryder grins as he approaches, offering his hand. “Good to see you again.”
“You too,” I reply, taking in the impressive artwork covering the walls. The place is clean, professional, and surprisingly upscale for a small-town tattoo parlor. “Nice place.”
“Thanks.” Pride flashes across his face. “Jax and I built it from nothing a little over ten years ago. Now we’re booked out a year in advance.”
Logan claps me on the shoulder. “Told you this place was legit.”
“Ready to check out the apartment?” Ryder reaches under the counter and pulls out a set of keys.
“Yeah, that’d be great.”
He leads us through the shop to a door at the back that opens onto a small courtyard. A metal staircase zigzags up the side of the building to a landing with a sturdy-looking door.
“Private entrance,” Ryder explains as we climb the stairs. “No one will bother you here. You can come and go without having to walk through the shop. Though there is a private entrance in the shop as well. With your celebrity status, you’re welcome to use it if you ever feel the need.”
He unlocks the door and pushes it open, stepping aside tolet us enter. As we head down a hallway, we pass another door, which I assume is probably another apartment.
When we reach a large door at the end of the hall, which is only about ten steps away from my potential new neighbor, Ryder unlocks it and heads inside.
The apartment is stunning—all exposed brick and massive windows, with high ceilings and original hardwood floors. Industrial-style pendant lights hang over a kitchen island that separates the cooking area from the spacious living room with its shelves full of books and comfy-looking leather couch. A massive TV hangs on the far wall.
“Holy shit,” I murmur, taking it all in. “This is amazing.”
“Thanks,” Ryder grins. “Designed it myself.”
I walk over to one of the windows that overlooks Main Street. I can just make out the sparkling water of the lake in the distance. “Seriously, man. This is perfect.”
“Bathroom’s right through there,” he says, pointing to a door on the other side of the room. “Full shower and a soaker tub. Staked washer and dryer in the closet by the kitchen. Bedroom is this way.”
I follow him into the bedroom. A king-sized bed sits against a brick wall on top of a large area rug, with a closet along the wall on the other side of the room.
As I wander around, checking out the space, I can already picture myself living here. It’s exactly what I need—private but central, with enough space to spread out my notes and storyboards.
“What do you think?” Logan asks, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“I’ll take it,” I reply with a grin, turning to glance at Ryder. “How much?”
