What I wouldn’t do to have his confidence.It’s justified too. He’s a freaking tattoo god.
“Alright, sit down,” I say, after we’re done cleaning Kaden’s station and my new tattoo’s been wrapped in plastic. He cracks his neck and rakes a hand through his hair as he walks over to the waiting area, dropping down on one of the Chesterfield couches.
I flop down behind him, rubbing my hands together before I place them on his wide shoulders and start kneading his back and neck. He groans loudly when I hit the spot on his shoulder where he’s usually super tense. And it makes it hard to concentrate, but I’m basically used to it now.
I’m not trained in this, but I’m a touchy-feely person and since Kaden never takes a proper break to stretch, I once offered to give him a backrub. Which was so stupid of me because he actually accepted my offer and liked it. And now I get to touch him from time to time, and even though touching him is something I dream about, it’s also something I shouldn’t be doing. Because I like it far too much.
Kaden’s phone pings, and he reaches for it in his pocket.
“Your mom?” I ask, because she usually invites him over for dinner on the weekends.
“Tara,” he says.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, she just wanted to know when I’ll be back.”
They don’t live together—yet. But they might as well. Whenever Kaden’s not with me, he’s with her.
“I think we’re getting serious,” he mumbles then, and I stop dead, eyes going wide.
“Yeah?” I say, but my usual hoarse voice sounds thick and weird. I try to swallow down the jealous beast trying to claw its way up before I plaster on a grin. “That’s awesome!” I add, wishing the ground would open up and swallow me. Or for an apocalypse to hit.
Anything to take me away from here.
I swallow again. “I’m happy for you, man.” It’s not a lie; I am happy for him. I want what’s best for him, and if that’s Tara, then I’m good.
Well, not good, but… I’m fine. I’llbefine.
When I get home, I walk straight into my bathroom and turn the shower on. Leaving my clothes on a pile on the floor, I make sure the covering on my new tattoo is solid, then step in under the spray. I close my eyes, rest my forehead on the wall and let the water pour over me.
I know Kaden can never be mine. I fucking know that, so why does it hurt so much? It’s not the first time he’s had a girlfriend and every time hurts. But I like Tara. I know she’s good for him and that’s what hurts the most.
Because that can never be me.
When I’ve spent close to half an hour in the shower, feeling sorry for myself like the pathetic piece of art I am, I sober up. I step out, fix my platinum-blond hair, put on a plain white Jacquemus tee, black, baggy Diesel jeans, and my Atlas sneakers. I take one last look in the mirror, shaking my headat what I see, before I grab my phone, my keys, the last of my dignity, and walk out.
When I get to the club, there are people everywhere. Some remix of “Habits” by Tove Lo is blasting as I make my way around grinding, dancing, mostly half-naked bodies, and foggy gazes. The air is vibrating with the smell of sweat, sex, and cologne.
There’s flashing lights, and the music’s so loud, I can’t hear my own thoughts.
Which is why I come here. This is what I do. Every time.
See, this crush I have on my best friend comes and goes in waves. It’s constant, yes, but mostly, I can control it.
Yes, I’m super attracted to him.
Yes, he really is everything I’ve ever wanted, but mostly, I can keep it on the downlow.
But sometimes—when it really hits me it’ll never be me and him—it aches. And I want to numb it.Iwant to be numb. And for that, I need something to make the ache go away.
I walk over to the bar, order a drink and lean back against the counter. Looking around the club, I search for something—someone—who can help me forget. About Kaden and his green eyes, and perfect, shiny hair. About Tara. About my tragic self. About—
“That looks tasty,” someone says in my ear. I turn around and my gaze lands on a guy with dark blond hair in a slicked-back ponytail. He’s a few inches shorter than me and his brown eyes travel down my body before a smile stretches across his face.
I glance down at the drink in my hand. “Uh, yeah. It’s a Negroni.”
“I wasn’t talking about the drink,” he says, winking at me.
