Three figures stood by one ofthe cars.
Even though my adrenaline was surging, I could see there weren’t any signs of dangerous levels of fire. An older guy approached us with a wave, and the other two followed behind him.
“I’m so fucking sorry,” he said the moment he came within range. “I’m Owen, the owner. My employee called when the alarm sounded.”
“Pretty normal protocol,” I joked.
The guy standing behind Owen emerged, and relief slammed full force into me.
August Jones.
Holy shit, he was safe. My shoulders relaxed, even though I hadn’t realized they’d been hiked up.
“Drake, is that you?” he asked as he closed the distance. The urge to crush him to my body and claim those gorgeous lips, rose up fast and fierce inside me. His blond hair was swept to the side, and his meandering saunter was so damn attractive, like he was never in a rush.
“What’s going on with the fire?” Hannigan called out. “We’re not here to chat.”
Fucking asshole.
Owen clutched his nape and ducked his head. “Fucking dumbest reason. I was sneaking a smoke too close to the alarm.”
The woman slapped him on the shoulder. “No one’s going to criticize you for struggling. Stop being all furtive and shit.”
“Furtive is his modus operandi, Nyx,” August joked.
I breathed easier. “So, no fire?”
“No fire,” Owen said. “I’m so sorry for wasting all your time. I’ll donate extra at the next fundraiser.”
Dooley let out a bark of a laugh. “No need to apologize. I’d way rather be here for a mistake than a huge ass fire. You guys do good work. My grandma got her first tattoo with you.”
August stepped closer to me, and even though there were only a few feet between us, it felt like miles. I ached to reach out and wrap him in my arms, to touch him in some way, but we were in front of our coworkers. I wasn’t even sure what he wanted at this point—or what I even wanted.
All I knew was that the draw to him had become so magnetic, I hadn’t been able to stay away.
Even if I’d left more of my sister’s questions unanswered.
“Two fires in a month,” I teased August. “Better put you on a warning registry.”
“Look, the kitchen fire might’ve been my fault, but this wasn’t,” he said, lifting his palms up. “I wasn’t the one secret-smoking in the back.”
“I’m assuming I’m never going to live this down,” Owen muttered.
“Mostly because a. you should know better, and b. none of us are going to give you shit for having a stressful week and caving.” The other tattoo artist passed him a rueful look as she shook her head.
“I’m going to wait in the truck,” Hannigan said, being a brat as he stormed off. Because he couldn’t be professional for a hot second.
“What’s his problem?” the chick asked.
“Existence?” I shrugged. “He’s been a little bitch all day.” Dooley snort-laughed.
“I’m guessing you didn’t get my text?” August asked.
“You guys know each other?” Owen asked, glancing between us, a discerning look in his eyes.
“Uh, yeah,” I said, not knowing how to fill in the blank. “We’re concert buddies.”
“That what they calling it nowadays?” Dooley muttered under his breath. I elbowed him in the side. He’d caught me texting August a few times and had interrogated me. Mostly because he was a nosysonofabitch. I might’ve caved because Dooley was a good fucking friend, and I needed to talk to someone about this shit.
