Josie looked around her shop. “I should stay and stock things for tomorrow. Go back to work, and give someone a kickass tattoo.”
“No.”
“I have things to do.”
“They’ll still be here tomorrow.” She frowned, and I stepped closer. “You had a shitty day.”
Her shoulders sagged.
“You don’t have to be tough tonight.”
Her eyes met mine, and something soft passed through them.
Then she sighed. “Okay.”
I kissed her forehead.
“Good. Let’s go home.”
An hour later, Josie was sitting on my back deck in one of my T-shirts, and I knew I was completely fucked.
The shirt hung off one shoulder, and the hem hit the middle of her thighs. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy knot that looked like it was seconds away from falling apart, and her bare legs were tucked beneath her in one of the deck chairs, with a beer bottle dangling from her fingers.
I stood at the grill and flipped burgers while trying not to stare at her. Failed.
“You know I can see you staring at me.”
I smirked. “You know I don’t care.”
Josie rolled her eyes. “You should.”
“You look hot as fuck.”
“I look like I got dressed in the dark.”
“You look like you stole my clothes.”
“I did steal your clothes.”
I pointed the spatula at her. “And I support it.”
She laughed. The sound was quieter tonight. Not fake, just careful. Like she was still carrying around the hurt from this morning.
I hated that.
I hated that somebody had managed to crawl inside her head and scratch at old wounds.
I flipped a burger and glanced at her. “You okay?”
“I know it shouldn’t bother me.”
“It should.”
Her eyes found mine. “I don’t want it to.”
“I know.”
She picked at the label on her beer bottle, and tiny pieces fell onto the deck. “When I was younger...” She stopped, took a breath, and then started over. “Bruce used to say things.”
