Is she keeping tabs on me? If so, I don’t mind. Our unexpected reunion has the first rays of sunshine breaking through the murky cloud that’s been hanging above my head the past nine months. I even feel capable of sucking in an entire breath. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt this way.
When Justine coughs, prompting me that I’ve failed to answer her question, I say, “I’ve been floating in and out of states. I’m about to head home for a couple of days this weekend as well.” Her unique aquamarine-colored eyes widen when I unexpectedly add, “We should catch up?”
“Umm… sure. That’s sounds good.”
She doesn’t sound eager, but I pretend not to notice. “Do you have your phone on you?” Nodding, she pulls her cell out of her clutch purse before handing it to me. I’m not surprised to discover she doesn’t have a lock code. She’s lived a sheltered, naïve life.
When she drinks in my tattooed hand as I punch my details in her contacts, I gabble out, “My nonna warned me to keep my body art to an area only the privileged get to see.” With a hidden smirk, I mutter, “It’s theonlyregion on my body not inked.” The way I say ‘it’s’ leaves no doubt about what I’m referencing. Excluding my cock, I have tattoos from my ankles to my jawline.
Like all teens craving a rebellion, I did the opposite of what I was told. I didn’t keep my mutiny to a tiny bicep tattoo on my eighteenth, I had my entire back done. My artwork has grown substantially since then.
I wait for Justine’s cheeks to flame to their full potential before muttering, “Do they bother you?” I’m not surprised when she shakes her head. Even hundreds of miles from my hometown, I heard rumors she was getting around with a tattoo artist during summer break. “Do you have any?”
Her nod switches to a shake. “I’ve not yet built the courage. I’m not a fan of needles.” Her cheeks whiten as a tiny shudder racks through her body. “Or blood. Brax tells me I have nothing to worry about, but how can I be sure he isn’t giving me the line he gives all his clients?”
That’s the name I’ve heard thrown around with the rumor—Brax.
“Is Brax your boyfriend?” That came out way more possessive than intended, and I’m not the only one noticing.
While accepting her phone, Justine does a nervous twist on the spot. “No. It’s not like that.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than me. “We’re…friends.”
My lips furl at the way she stammers out friends. With how low her tone dipped, she should have said fuck buddies.
Although I have no intention of calling her out on her ‘arrangement’ with Brax, I can’t help but move forward with a plan that suddenly popped into my head. Knowing she isn’t as innocent as her brothers make out will progress things along nicely.
After popping open the umbrella I grabbed to act chivalrous, I commence guiding Justine to the car I’m certain is hers. It’s the only decent one in a lot full of shit boxes, and even then, it would be an effort to fetch a few thousand for it at auction.
My intuition is proven spot on when Justine stuffs a wonky key into an outdated lock a few seconds later. Once the latch pops up, I open her door for her. She’s surprised by my chivalry but also pleased about it.
I wait for her to place her bag of groceries onto the passenger side seat before saying, “We should do dinner.”
“Dinner?” She swallows her spit before she chokes on it, then wrings her sweater with her hands, torn on if she should act excited or play hard to get. We’re doing dinner either way, so she can act however she likes. “Umm…”
“Come on, J. A girl has got to eat.” Her brother’s infamous nickname will get me over the line long before my wolfish grin. Maddox is the only one who calls her J, and he’s the apple of her eye. Reminding her that we are ‘friends’ will do me more good than harm. “I heard the Petrettis signature dish is still to die for.”
“It is. Maddox and I were there only last month,” she replies, her smile matching mine. After sliding into the driver’s seat of her bomb, she raises her eyes to mine. “Maddox and Demi have a casual thing going on. We could always do a double date with them?”
“That might be a bit awkward.” When confusion blasts through her eyes, I mutter, “Trust me, Maddox won’t enjoy his meal if he’s forced to watch his sister exchange spit with hisfriend.” I air quote my last word like a pompous, no-dick prick. My dealings with Maddox extend further than friendship, but its best to keep that between us for now. “I never did when riding shotgun with Ophelia’s dates.”
The lust firing through Justine’s eyes shifts to sorrow. “I heard about her accident. I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Prove it. Share a meal with mewithouta tagalong.” Using my dead sister to get a date is wrong, but if it gives me a chance to get back my daughter sooner rather than later, I’m willing to go there.
Although shocked about my eagerness, Justine falls for my ruse. “I only have Thursday and Monday free.”
“Thursday works. I’ll arrange for a car to collect you at seven.” As domineering as I am cocky, I close her car’s door, spin on my heels, then walk away, stealing her chance to reply.
I can’t have her driving to our date in her car. Not only will it weaken the authenticity of my ruse, but her shoddy engine gives her an excuse to back out of our date. I’ve heard all the lines before—I have to wash my hair, my car broke down, I’m engaged to another man—and every one of them came from Audrey.
Chapter Two
Roxanne
As I drag my mouth away from my boyfriend’s kiss-swollen lips, goosebumps break across my skin. It’s cooler today than usual for this time of the year, but the drizzly weather isn’t to blame for the icy chill shuddering through me. Not even Eddie’s hand tracing the seam of my panties can be held accountable. There’s a weird sensation in the air, like more than an inappropriate hook-up location is set to cause trouble.
Eddie and I have been dating for two months. Even being in my second year of college won’t see my nanna bending the rules when it comes to boyfriends. Until we’re in a ‘solid’ relationship for six months straight, I can’t bring boys home. Hence the reason Eddie and I are getting frisky in the alleyway between the movie complex and our local grocer. It isn’t the ideal location, and a mattress would be more comfortable than a brick wall, but beggars can’t be choosers.
When the prickling of the hairs on my arms grows to a point I can’t ignore, I shift my head to the side. Since it’s late in the day and stormy, I can’t see out of the alleyway as clearly as normal, but there’s enough light to unearth the reason for my body’s odd response.
