Holding Her Hand (The Reed Brothers 9)

Tatted Bombshell: I’ll give her your number. Now go away. Bye.

I have two tattoo appointments this afternoon, so I can ask Friday again in person. I really want my cap back. But even more than that, I want Lark’s number. And I can’t figure out why. She’s not my kind of woman. Not in any way that counts.

Ten minutes later, I get a text from an unknown number.

Unknown number: If you ever want to see your baseball cap alive again, meet me at the Italian restaurant near Reeds’ at 8 pm.

I chuckle to myself.

Me: Why?

She sends me a picture of my cap tied to a string, and she’s dangling it over the balcony of her apartment.

Unknown number: I’ll drop it. I will. You have ten seconds to make your decision. Meet me or the cap gets it.

Unknown number: 10

Unknown number: 9

Unknown number: 8

Unknown number: 7

Unknown number: 6

Me: Okay okay. I’ll meet you.

Unknown number: Good. Then your cap is safe. For now.

Me: I’ll see you AND MY CAP at 8.

Unknown number: Don’t be late or the cap will pay the price.

Unknown number: And you’re buying.

I add her number to my contacts and give her a name: Pretty Cap Thief.

Then I delete it and add a different one: Hot Cap Thief.

Then I delete it again and use: Lark McCapSnatcher

I catch myself smiling like a fool and swipe a hand down my face. Then I make another sandwich and go back to work. Still smiling like a fool.

Lark

I knock on my sister Wren’s bedroom door and wait for her to call out to me so that I can enter. She doesn’t answer. I know she’s here. Her purse is on the hall table. Then I hear the creaking of her bedsprings and I step back from the door.

Wren has been in a steady relationship for a couple of months now, so the sex happening isn’t what bothers me. It’s who she’s with. I hate him with the fire of a thousand suns. He’s not good enough for her, and Wren is the only one who doesn’t know it.

The sex part doesn’t bother me. Hell, when Finny lived here, there was a constant parade of one-night stands in and out the door. Beds creaking gently was the smallest worry. It was usually the wall-banging, screaming, and then a grunted orgasm that got to me. But not the way a casual observer might think. Actually I was jealous as hell.

When I told Ryan I was a tattoo virgin, that was the least of my admissions. I am a twenty-three-year-old real life virgin. My chastity belt is the scars on my arms. I can’t get comfortable enough with a man to take my gloves off, and I hate the idea of being intimate with someone to whom I can’t show all of myself.

Ryan saw more of me today than anyone I’ve ever met. Well, aside from my sisters, and our parents Marta and Emilio. They adopted all of us, and I was twelve when they got me. They adopted us all at the same time.

“Five little girls all at once,” Emilio would grumble when he was frustrated by us. “What the fuck was I thinking?” Then he would grin and pull out one of his many instruments and we would start to play with him. He would forget all the bad shit we did, and we would bond over Led Zeppelin and White Snake covers. He would forget that our long hair clogged the shower drain, or that the downstairs bathroom overflowed with feminine hygiene products.

Wren’s door opens and she slips out. Her boyfriend nods at me and I flip him the bird in response. He doesn’t stop to talk, but he goes out the door.