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She didn’t have one flashback—not of Mike and not of how Kid tore ass out of her room the night before. She kept her head in the game. Pride flourished in her chest.

Righting herself, she reveled in her newfound strength and smiled.

Kelsey approached her, carrying a bottle of water. “You okay?” She cracked the cap and offered it.

Nodding, Carrie accepted the drink. “Honestly? Better than I’ve been in forever. My feet hurt and I’m covered in other people’s hair, but I’m alive and kicking.”

As she took a gulp of the cool water, her friend’s gaze swept over her.

“Did you want to get a late dinner?” Carrie asked.

Kelsey shook her head. “I can’t. Meeting with the troupe, but maybe lunch tomorrow?”

Carrie returned the cap on the water as she recalled that her best friend moonlit as a makeup artist at the small playhouse. “What show is it this time around?”

“Well, it’s spooky season.” Kelsey grinned widely. “So, Rocky Horror Picture Show it is.”

“Oh, I love that movie,” Carrie practically squealed. “Do they need help with hair?”

Kelsey frowned and shook her head. “They got Alfonso.”

“Ah.” Carrie knew him. He did good work. “I think I’m ready to get back into that. So, if you can, drop my name for the next one?”

“Of course,” Kelsey said with a wink as the door chimed.

Their attention swiveled to the entrance as a woman in her fifties entered with a younger woman beside her.

“That’s me,” Kelsey said, patting Carrie on the shoulder. “Bridal consult.”

As her friend walked to the front of the salon to greet her customers, Carrie glanced at her station. She had no more appointments. In theory, she could wait around in case any walk-ins came through the door, or she could cut out early and grab some food.

As she busied herself with tidying her vanity, she considered a third option that her counselor and best friend would advise her against. Well, if they knew the full story they would. She’d kept the details about what happened between her and Kid to herself and allowed everyone around her to believe her setback had everything to do with someone else’s actions and not her own.

Which wasn’t lying. No one asked her outright if she and Kid had engaged in any sort of hanky-panky. She merely chose not to talk about it. There was no need. The skills she used to process the event were the same. So, there was no reason to get into dirty details of her throwing herself at Kid, only to freak him out by panicking. Broom in hand, she swept up the piles of hair around the chair and allowed her mind to wander.

Getting over last night would require closure. If she scared him, repulsed him, or something else, she wanted to know. Then she could apologize. After what he’d done for her, the last thing she wanted to do was have him uncomfortable around her.

While not completely cleaned, her station was satisfactory. She could do a better job tomorrow. Right now, an urgent matter took up occupancy in her brain. She wanted to move past this.

Carrie tossed a wave and a goodbye over her shoulder to Kelsey and her co-workers as she snagged her purse and marched toward the door. Determination had her holding her head high. It squashed the hesitation nibbling at her insides.

Waiting a couple of days would be wiser. Maybe even texting or calling him would be a better idea. Kelsey would advise that, but Carrie wanted to nip this in bud. Thankfully, within walking distance, only a few doors down in the strip mall, was Inkjection.

Taking a deep breath, she reached for the door. All she wanted to do was talk—air things out. Apologize to him. She wasn’t there to cause a scene. Setting the record straight was her goal. Hopefully, if they spoke, they could rectify the situation.

What did that mean?

Hesitating at the entrance, she realized she hadn’t actually figured out what she wanted to accomplish by talking to Kid. Clearing her name? Apologizing for making things awkward? Sure, that was obvious, but why?

What did she want to happen once the air was clear?

For him to come home?

Pursing her lips, she dropped her hand and stepped away from the tattoo studio.

Carrie had lived alone for a few years now. Moving into her apartment had been one of the best moments of her life. She considered it to be her first step toward being a grown-ass independent adult.

Her place was small. Barely three rooms—a living room with a kitchen connected to it, bedroom, and a bathroom. The space wasn’t a lot, but she didn’t require more than that. She loved her tiny home.