Page 65 of Hooked on Trouble

My pulse revs. “You heard that?”

“Part of it. You didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t push. But I’ve been worried. I know how much pressure you put on yourself to walk a narrow line.”

The bottom half of her dark hair has sunk into the water. I push it aside and press my face into her neck. Her damp-soft skin envelopes my forehead. “Twice,” I say. “Twice, I almost gave Alessi the go-ahead. Actually said yes the first time he asked, and I’m sick about it. Makes me want to punch a wall.”

She twists her head to kiss my temple, runs her nose over my ear. “You’re just a man, Nico. Only human. You almost made that choice because you love your brother, not because it served you or your job, or because you were going to score cash. No one is perfect.”

“But I need to be. I’m the example. The one who models right from wrong. And I was ready to break the law. I’m a fucking coward.” That last word sucks the air from my chest.

“No, no, no.” She squishes closer to me. “You’re as honorable as they come, but life isn’t as neat and tidy as you’d like it to be. I took that fall for my friend in high school because I thought it was the right thing to do. Sometimes we let our hearts drive our choices. There’s no shame or cowardice in that.”

Wish I could agree with her, but I know the thoughts going through my head today were wrong, and I don’t like that she lied to the cops, even back then. But Raven knows better now, and her calm acceptance has my limbs loosening. We breathe in time—her upper back rounding into my pecs, my abs cradling her spine. My lungs and heart fill with all things Raven. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

I press my toes on top of hers. “For understanding. For not judging me.”

“Isn’t that what couples do? Support each other? Us against the world.”

“Us against the world. I like that.” Warm water and suds and Raven are a remedy I could live on. I just wish we’d stop fighting about Rose. Wish my family wasn’t so damn fragile. “Not sure what I’d do without you.”

Sinking lower in the tub, she sighs. “Good thing you don’t have to find out.”

Twenty

Raven

“This place is a hole.” I wrinkle my nose at the dark stains on the floor, each gathering of blotches shaped like constellations. The walls are filled with plug-in beer signs and sports memorabilia yellowed with age. Even worse is the country twang screeching from the jukebox. “Why on earth do the guys hang here?”

Shay rubs the tabletop with her napkin before setting her elbows on it. “It’s a bromance thing. They’ve been coming here since they were teens.”

“I think it’s cute.” Lily plays with the ring on her necklace. “And the bartender was sweet. He told me all about his rose garden. This place has character.”

Only Lily could find charm in a rundown dive bar. The boys are at the back, playing pool, sipping beer, and cracking jokes. Three buddies. Our boys. Nico was right—I like being his, knowing he’s mine. Every inch of his towering frame at my disposal. And it has been disposed. If last night were a statutory holiday, I’d name it: National Thoroughly Fucked Day.

The ache between my thighs echoes what we shared, aftershocks still tingling. Nico let loose, unleashing all the power he keeps locked up. He pounded into me, and I took it, trading pieces of ourselves. He also offered me his vulnerability. My strong, powerful man whispered his fears into my skin. But he didn’t tell me he loved me. Not that I confessed, either.

I couldn’t risk hearing silence in return.

Pushing the thought away, I focus on my girls. “The website looks great. Can’t believe it’s live.”

Shay sips her beer. “I’m still not sure about the logo, but for the most part, I’m happy with it. We’ll add content later.”

Our different strengths have facilitated our start-up business. Shay designed our logo and decided on content, Lily used her computer skills to make it happen, and I worked the layout and found stock photos. Expanding on that is my forte. “Once we do our first event, I’ll choose shots to include. Maybe have separate pages—some black-and-white, some color. A mix of artistic and candid stuff.”

Today I ran my solo photo session like a champ. The client, Ashley, was shy at first, hesitant to show me her flower tattoos and the scars beneath. But I came prepared with the music she liked and talked to her about my ink. Before the hour was up, she hugged me, happy tears threatening to fall. My favorite image is of her beneath a cherry blossom tree. The blooms are long gone, the fall leaves amber and orange and gold. Ashley’s bare back is toward me, bark and leaves crisscrossing her inked scars in a tapestry of hope. She’ll have that image because of me, just like the future clients of Over the Top Events.

Shay taps her nails on the table, timing each click to the shrill country tunes. “I guess we have to get ourselves a job.”

We stare at one another. We hum. We sip our drinks. When a solution doesn’t present itself, I say, “Please tell me this won’t be a repeat of the carwash.”

Shay’s mouth drops open, as though I claimed the earth is square. “The carwash was the best.”

“If we were auditioning for a slutty mud-wrestling show, maybe.”

“I’m with Shay on this one,” Lily says. “It was a blast. We should do it again.”

Or not. After I set fire to Gord Dwyer’s barn, the girls suggested we raise money. I was upset, and my community service wasn’t going to help him rebuild his stalls. Unfortunately, the day before our planned carwash, it rained hard enough to strip paint. Shay’s brilliant idea: Pour muddy water on the clean cars parked at the Freshco, then set up our carwash at the exit. I got overeager and tipped a bucket of mud over Lily’s head. She hurled hers at me. In minutes, the three of us were doubled over, dying of laughter, muddy bubbles squirting from our noses.