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“Ooh, a please from Mr. Coleman. Interesting development.” I put down my tattoo machine, which is being held in a finger-cramping death grip of frustration, flexing my fingers as I turn to her.
“Hattie. Please call her.”
“Okay, okay, don’t get your panties in a twist.” She walks out, presumably to get her phone, and I hear her talking a few moments later.Well, at least it seems like Lola answered.That’s good news, I guess. I catch the end of her conversation as I’m wiping the tattoo down, almost done, just looking for final touches and fixes that need to be done.
“Okay, cool. Let’s do drinks soon, yeah? I feel like you have a lot to fill me in on.” She’s smiling as she swipes her phone. “Lola says she’s fine, snug as a bug in her own bed. She emphasized that part—herownbed. She says thank you for your concern, but she’s very tired and going to sleep.”
Fire runs in my veins.
In her own bed.
She promised she’d head over when she closed, that we’d stay together while we confirm she’s not in any kind of danger.
I wonder for a split second if this woman knows how to do anything other than irritate people and stir the pot to get a reaction.
Air goes into my nose and out through my mouth as I attempt to keep myself under control, images blurring in my vision.
Of her in her bed. Of her face when I caught her cornered, of her crying in my arms as we danced. Of her coming on my cock. Of her stubbornness kicking in when she told me she would not be coming over tonight.
I’m going to strangle her.
And she’s going to like it.
Deep breaths. In, out, in, out, the rhythm a comfort as I formulate my plan.
First, I need to finish this piece.
“Thanks, Hat,” I say through gritted teeth. “I have one more appointment tonight, right? In an hour?” Hattie nods, snapping her gum.
“Yup.”
“When I’m done with this one, are you good to hold the fort down for a bit?” She smiles a devious smile I try to ignore.
“Sure thing. I feel like Miss Lola won’t be very happy with that, though.” And then she walks away, cackling as she does, knowing full well that I’m raging as I finish this piece.
When my client is done, pleased with the work and making an appointment already for his next, it’s like my veins are filled with electricity.
I cannot fucking believe this woman and the hold she has on me. She’s infuriating and reckless. Probably more trouble than she’s worth. But still, somehow, she’s all I can think about.
“Later, Hat,” I say, hands fidgeting in my pockets as I wave to her before heading to the door. “Lock the doors behind me.”
“Sure thing, big guy. Be nice to her, yeah? I like this one,” she says, her laughter following me down the hall. I don’t even respond. I walk to the back door, letting it slam behind me as I run up the stairs and try her apartment door.
It’s locked.
Of fucking course.
I check under her mat.
No key this time.
If I were in my right mind, I’d go across the hall and get my kit. But I’m sure she has the chain on, too. I can hear it when I jangle the old as fuck, flimsy door.
She needs a new one. A safer one.
My fist pounds on the door.
“Lola! Open the fucking door.” Silence. “Lola! Open this fucking door right now!” Nothing. “I don’t know why you can’t listen to one fucking thing I tell you.”
