Page 5

Chapter 1

Kieran

"You know the drill, Kieran. Drop your pants and get on the bed."

I freeze. Then I slowly turn around to Evan, lips tugging into a smirk, wider than a fifteen-year-old hearing the number sixty-nine or the perfect chance for a ‘that’s what she said’ joke.

"Sure.” I playfully roll my eyes, let out a dramatic sigh, and mumble under my breath. “You let a guy invite you to mini-golf for your eighteenth birthday and he expects you to drop your pants for him whenever he asks twelve years later."

"Shut the hell up." Evan laughs and bundles together a piece of paper to throw it my way. It misses me by about a mile. "You're the one who wanted me to tattoo his ass."

"You should be honored I let you anywhere near my ass." I tease him back, but already unbuckle my jeans. "Do you need my underwear off, or will my jockstrap do?"

"It will do with the placement you picked." He doesn’t even look up from rustling around in the trolley he keeps his tattoo supplies on.

The bed sheathed with cling wrap creaks as I climb onto it and plop down on my stomach, chin on my folded hands. To annoy him, I kick my feet and stare at the giant mirror right in front of my face.

It provides me with a great, stalker-y sight over his entire studio. From the wooden countertop with his computer right by the front door, to the images of tattoos he did lined up on the wall and the glass display case of piercings in a corner.

"Are you ready?” He turns around and promptly freezes. “Jesus." He whistles through his teeth. "Damn, Kieran. You got caked up. No wonder you got all those followers."

"Jealous?" I glance back over my shoulder and flex my butt, watching one of my oldest friends shake his head with a smirk.

"The visuals? Yes. The gym routine? Hell no." He chuckles, sits down, and rolls his chair closer, a marker in his hand.

"Are you sure all you want is the smoke? You know, those are going to be a bitch to cover up if you ever change your mind."

"Yes, I'm sure. Thanks for checking in, Dad." He slaps my ass, and I yelp. What a dickhead. At least he picked the side he’s not tattooing today. "Hey! Do you treat all your clients this?"

"Only those who had their tongue down my throat," he says around the cap between his teeth and begins sketching along my leg. His fingers are warm on my skin as he pulls it or turns my leg for better access, the tip of his pen a pleasant tickle.

Evan did all of my tattoos. Every smoke cloud snaking up my torso, neck, and arms. Now it’s time for my legs.

Initially, I wanted to get the entire thing out of the way, even if it meant spending a whole day with my chin digging into the black plastic bed. Then Evan reminded me what a bitch the healing phase would be, not being able to turn to one non-hurting side to sleep and all. So begrudgingly, I agreed to only do one leg and one side at once. For both our sanity.

The two of us might not have worked out as a couple, but he has been the only constant in my life for the past thirteen years.

"So, do you regret moving to Bumfuck, Nowhere yet?" he asks absentmindedly as he draws another line up my thigh.

"Hell no!" I shake my head and fold my arms under my chin. "Moving here is the best decision I ever made."

"Really?" I don't need to turn around to know his eyebrows are shooting high up on his forehead. "I gave it a year until you'd get bored here. Or changed your mind to find another job in the city."

"How can I get bored with a golden retriever in puberty?" I shake my head. “And why would I try to find another job? Not to brag, but I’m more or less set for life. My house is paid off and I’m a frugal guy; I could wing it.”

“The freaking mansion you live in would beg to differ.” I lift my chin and push my middle finger against his cheek, earning me a soft slap on the back of my thigh. "Keep still."

"Okay." With a pout, I settle my chin back on the back of my hands.

“Seriously, though, Kieran. Do you think you could do it forever?”

“Absolutely not.” The urge to shake my head is strong, but I remain still. “Time is not on my side, and neither is the ever-changing algorithm. But I promise I’m smart about it. And if push comes to shove, I can always sell my bathwater or something.”

“I know you’ve got a smart head on your shoulders, Kieran. I still worry.”

“And I love you for it.” I really do. Some days I think he might be the only one who does. “Worst case, I’ll beg you for a job as your assistant.”

“Which is exactly what I’m worried about.”