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“Lovely,” I groan, getting up to clean up after myself. “Think he’s at the shop today?”
“Where else would he be?” Draven asks, falling into step as we begin walking.
“Guess we’ll stop by and then keep running afterward,” I sigh.
“Yes, drill sergeant,” Ciaran chuckles, pushing himself into a jog once we’re on the sidewalk.
“It’s going to eat at me if I don’t ask,” I grumble.
Emil is keeping Zayn after school, and Noor might stay with us if everything goes well tonight. Though, is there something wrong with having sex with the mother of your child in a hotel room? See… I’m overthinking everything and I fucking hate it.
Our son has a point. We aren’t treating her like ours, but as if we’re auditioning for the job. Being scolded by him is making me hyperfixate on every little thing, even if he’s too young to understand the impact he has on his old man.
“It won’t hurt anything to ask,” Ciaran says.
We get a few glances as we jog, but we’ve been around enough that we’re able to blend into the flow of foot traffic around us.
The tattoo shop is slammed as I push open the door, and my jaw drops as I see the varied clients.
“We’re a little busy if you’re trying to find a walk-in spot,” a woman says with a rueful smile at the desk.
“Ah, no,” I say with a smile.
“Ink not your thing?” she laughs.
“It is, I just wanted to see if Arran was free. It doesn’t look like he is,” I reply, shrugging.
“Alistair!” My head turns to find Arran waving me over.
I point in his direction and glance at his receptionist who waves me away. It’s clear that she’s in control of the chaos here. I don’t want to piss her off.
Ci, Draven, and I walk back to Arran, where he’s working on an arm piece for someone. The client is dressed like he’s part of a motorcycle gang, though he’s half asleep in the chair.
“Don’t mind Magnus. He’s had a rough week,” Arran says, his lips twitching. “I’m keeping the shop open till nine tonight because we’ve been so slammed. All of my artists are getting some extra time in their chairs.”
“Wow,” I mutter. “Is that why Zayn is with his grandfather tonight?”
“Nah, those two are planning Christmas gifts together. Isla started decorating already, and I’ve been up and down ladders to hang things for her. I about tanned her cute little ass when she said she does that shit herself every year.”
“She gets on a ladder?!” Ciaran yelps. “Fuck, that came out wrong. She’s fully capable—”
“Alone,” Arran snorts. “You mean well, but you have to remind her when things are fucking safe. I wouldn’t want any woman up on a ladder in that house. Her grandfather came over to tattle on her, and rightly so.”
“She’s full of piss and vinegar, that one,” Magnus yawns. “There’s nothing wrong with independence, but falling and breaking your neck doesn’t help anyone. I’m sure the house looks great.”
“The inside of the house is just about done. I’ll be doing lights as soon as there’s a break in my schedule. It’s like everyone scheduled appointments this week,” Arran snorts.
“Close the shop one day and then you won’t have that problem,” Magnus says. “The holidays are always busy, and you always complain about it. Schedule in your time or shut the fuck up.”
I hide my smile, sensing this is normal bickering for them.
“You look like you three have something to say,” Arran says, his eyes on his work. “Talk.”
“We’ve been taking up a lot of Isla’s time. We just wanted to make sure that’s, ah, not a problem,” I say, wincing.
“She’s her own person,” Arran says, smirking. “As you can see, the shop keeps me really busy. Between the four of us, we make a very attentive boyfriend.”
“A harem of men!” Magnus crows. “I’m proud of the girl.”
