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That's his shaggy blond hair.
His broad shoulders.
His strong back.
His bright blue t-shirt.
I wrap my arms around my chest.
Suck a breath between my teeth.
Seven years, and Dean Maddox still fills my stomach with butterflies.
He still sends ever
y bit of my sense packing.
No amount of reasoning—he taunted you, fucked you, then threw you away—helps.
I force myself to adopt a casual stance. Hand in pocket, hip tilted to one side, smile replacing my resting bitch face.
"Hey," I call to no one in particular.
Steps move closer. Not from Dean's suite. From the back.
Light surrounds Ryan in an angelic glow as he steps in the cozy main room.
He holds his hand over his eyes, blocking the glare.
Half-smiles as he nods hello.
Ryan's black-on-black Converse squeak against the hardwood floor. He extends his hand. "You're early."
I take it. Shake. "Always."
His chuckle is soft. "Not this early." He runs a hand through his wavy coffee brown hair. "Leighton won't be in for a while, but I can take you through her routine."
"Sure."
"Have to finish some shit in the office first. I'll be a minute." He motions to the black counter. "Feel free to set up."
He's a man of few words. It's one of the things I like best about him.
Ryan and I are the same kind of weird—too serious, closed off, always in black.
We spar with anyone but refuse hugs from strangers.
I was surprised when he offered me a job at Inked Hearts. Without an interview. All he knew about me was that I was as serious about aikido as he was. And as desperate to find a place to apprentice as anyone has ever been.
I lay my black backpack on the counter. Pull out my thermos. Find it empty. I drank my London Fog on the way here.
There's a Keurig in the lobby, right above one of the teal benches, but there's no sign of a kettle or a fridge.
Damn. I need that easy hit of comfort. Tea from a pod… no thank you.
Strong, steady footsteps pad the floor. "You miss me?"
Dean.
