“Hey, Ride!” she grins.
“Hey, Cee Cee.” I clasp her shoulder in greeting before nodding to Owen. “Appreciate you letting us take over tomorrow night.”
“Are you kidding? You and your clientele are half my business most weeks.” Owen’s laugh is a deep rumble. “Plus, ten years is a big deal. You need to celebrate the right way.”
I slide onto the stool next to Jax, who pushes a beer toward me.
“Already ordered for you,” he says. “Figured you could use it.”
“Thanks.” I take a long pull from the bottle, the cold liquid soothing my dry throat.
“So,” Claire slides a paper across the table. “Here’s the final guest list. We’re looking at about seventy people.”
“Seventy?” I raise my eyebrows. “That’s more than I expected.”
“Well, we invited all the regulars, plus a bunch of former clients who moved away but said they’d come back for this.” She taps her pen on the paper. “And, of course, everyone is allowed to bring a plus-one.”
“Speaking of plus-ones,” Jax smirks. “You gonna bring your writer girlfriend?”
Claire’s head snaps up. “Girlfriend? What girlfriend?”
I shoot Jax a death glare. “She’s not my girlfriend.”
“Yet,” Jax adds with a shit-eating grin.
“Hold up.” Claire leans forward, eyes narrowed. “You’re dating someone? And I’m just hearing about thisnow?”
“It’s... complicated,” I mutter, taking another swig of my beer.
“Her name is Noia,” Jax supplies not so helpfully. “And she writes steamy romance novels.”
Claire’s eyebrows shoot up so high they nearly disappear into her hairline. “You’redating a romance novelist?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I growl.
“Just that she doesn’t sound like your usual type,” she says, echoing Jax’s previous misconception. “But seriously, a writer? That’s... unexpected.”
“She’s different,” I say, feeling oddly defensive. “Super smart and talented.”
Claire studies my face, her expression softening. “You really like this girl.”
“Yeah. I do.”
“Well, I can’t wait,” she says with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I need to meet the woman who’s finally managed to crack that titanium shell of yours.”
“Don’t go getting any ideas,” I warn. “None of ‘Claire’s Third Degree.’”
“What? I would never,” she says with mock innocence.
“Bullshit,” Jax coughs into his fist.
We spend the next hour going over final details for the party—the food, drinks and music. Owen is bringing in extra staff, and we’ve hired a local band for the first half of the night before we switch to a DJ.
“This is going to be awesome,” Jax says, clinking his beer bottle against mine. “The biggest party Skin & Ink has ever had.”
“Let’s hope nothing burns down this time,” Claire adds with a wink.
“Accidentally setting a trash can on fire does not constitute burning something down,” I say, rolling my eyes. “You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
