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Billie looked over at my daughter. “She’s beautiful.”
So are you, I wanted to say. She really was, uniquely beautiful. Though she wore heavy makeup, I somehow knew she’d be even more beautiful without it.
“But it must be challenging raising her on your own,” she said.
“Thank you. And yes, I hadn’t ever held a baby before my own.”
“That’s wild.” Billie looked at me like she expected me to elaborate. But this wasn’t the time. I didn’t want Saylor to overhear.
I got lost in Billie’s eyes for a few moments. They were a deep brown, like the color of coffee beans. Then Saylor slurped on the last of her apple juice and broke me out of my trance.
“Did you choose a design?” Billie asked as we walked back over to her.
“This one!” She pointed to the most ostentatious rainbow unicorn.
Billie cracked up. “Well, I’m happy to ink that on him, if your dad’s okay with it.”
“I might have to think on that one. I always say there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for my daughter.” I waggled my pink fingernails. “But that crazy-looking unicorn might be the first exception.”
“Well, if you reconsider, just say the word. Or if you want anything else, I’ll do that, too.” She winked. “Unless it’s a rose.”
I nodded. “I think I need a bit more time. If last night taught me anything, it’s not to rush into such an important decision.”
“I definitely agree.” She smiled.
There wasn’t much reason for us to stay, and I didn’t want Billie to have to kick us out, so I turned and patted Saylor on the back. “Say thank you, Saylor. We have to go upstairs.”
“Thank you!” My daughter reached out and hugged Billie.
Billie closed her eyes as she received the embrace. “You are so welcome, pretty girl. Come back and visit again soon. I always have Goldfish and juice boxes.”
She walked us to the door.
Before we left, I turned around one last time. “Hey, Billie?”
“Yeah?”
“That ex of yours is an idiot.”
Her cheeks reddened. Maybe it was because of what I said. Or maybe it was because I’d just sneaked one more look at the cleavage peeking out of her corset.
CHAPTER 3
Colby
Tuesday after I left the office, I slowed on the sidewalk as I passed the tattoo parlor, hoping to catch a glimpse of the owner—otherwise known as the woman who had been haunting my dreams the last few nights. It was fucked up. I very rarely dreamed—or at least I very rarely remembered my dreams—but three nights in a row now, I’d had the same goddamn one. I was in Billie’s shop, lying in her tattoo chair while she inked a black-and-white picture of a bridge onto the skin over my right pectoral muscle. It would have been innocent enough if it stopped there, but of course it didn’t. Halfway through my tat, she pressed the pedal on the floor and lowered the chair. Then she leaned over and licked her way up my abs… It always ended the same way: Billie in the chair with her legs over my shoulders as I drilled the shit out of her.
Lovely, isn’t it? The woman is sweet to my daughter, and I repay that kindness by having a recurring erotic fantasy and jerking off to the memory every morning. Just thinking about it made me feel like a dirtbag, so even though I wanted to pop in and spend a few minutes with Billie, I didn’t really deserve to.
So, I decided to leave it up to fate. If I happened to see her in the window, I’d stop. If not, I wouldn’t. Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on my side tonight, and the only person I saw was the receptionist. Oh well. It was probably for the best. Billie had obviously just come off a bad breakup, which meant the timing wasn’t right—not that she would likely go out with me even if the timing were perfect.
I passed her door and continued to the main entrance for the apartments, walking straight to the elevator. When the doors slid open, my buddy Owen stepped out.
“Hey,” I said. We did a quick fist bump and one-arm-shoulder-hug thing. “What’s going on? I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Yeah, I’ve been really busy. My assistant left to go on maternity leave, and one of my agents quit without giving any notice, so I’m shorthanded.”
I looked down at what Owen had in his hand and grinned. “A toolbox? Are you going to a costume party or something? Because I know you don’t have a damn clue how to use one thing in that box, dude.”
“Bite me, asshole. I’m not incompetent. I just prefer not to get my hands dirty.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, I heard your manicurist gets upset if you develop a callus.”
I was busting balls, of course, though Owen really did get manicures. Out of my crew of four, he was definitely the one who called people to fix shit, rather than having people call him.
