“Did he show you his new tat?”
When I shake my head, she sighs. “What?”
“It’s a heart struck by an arrow on his chest. He thinks he’s in love with the tattoo artist of Under Your Skin. Ethan something.”
A heart? “Thinks he’s in love, huh? What if he really is?”
“Corey? No.” She glances at the door, as if expecting him to walk in on this conversation about him. “If he was, he’d have g
one back for another tattoo.”
Ah fuck. I chuckle to myself and turn my face away to hide it. “Right.”
If the fresh star tat on his leg is any indication, Corey can read Pax better than she can read him. At least, that’s my hope. He says she thinks about me—but what does that mean anyway?
What the fuck am I doing?
***
The soup is freaking delicious. Spicy and tangy, it explodes on my tongue like a firework. I swear I can taste color. My ears pop.
Son of a bitch, Corey. If he wasn’t gay, I’d seriously be scared of Pax choosing him over me on the merit of his soup alone.
“Man, this is….” I point with my spoon at the bowl, at a loss for words.
“Spectacular?” Pax supplies. We’re sitting on her bed with our bowls. She has a tray on her knees.
“Yeah. That.” I scowl at him. “Don’t let it go to your head.”
Corey smiles. “Me? Never.”
“Oh no,” Pax mutters in a false baritone. “Me? Never. Ever.”
“Pax.” Corey laughs. “She always does that.”
Yeah. I noticed. I snicker as I inhale my soup, feeling strangely...comfortable. At ease in my skin.
Happy. Yeah, that word again.
I let their banter flow over me, wind around me, warm me up to my soul. I need her. Have to find a way to tell her who I really am, who I was, without frightening her. My past is my past. I have put it behind me, and even though my present isn’t a huge improvement, well...At least my job’s not illegal. That counts for something, right?
And if I could...Christ, if I could, I’d leave the agency in a heartbeat. If the money wasn’t needed for Kyle, I’d never had joined in the first place.
“Riot? What do you think?”
“About what?” I blink, the spoon in my hand, halfway between my mouth and the bowl. The empty bowl.
Damn, spaced out.
“About cooking together next week. I should be fine by then.”
Meet with friends to cook. Like normal people do. Cook with my girl and my girl’s best friend.
Only she’s not mine.
She’s not mine, and I’m not hers. I belong to everyone. To anyone with some bucks to spend for the night.
I take my bowl and get up. “Have to go now. Thanks for the soup, Corey.”