Tyler (Inked Brotherhood 2)

“Really.” Because the way she’d asked the question earlier could have fooled me. “You’re friends with Ash.”

“No. With Audrey.”

I wince. “Right.”

She shrugs and picks at her sleeve. “I barely know Asher. He seems like a decent guy. And I barely know you. I thought, I don’t know. Maybe you had your reasons for what you did.”

“Maybe.” Bad reasons, all of them.

“We all have our reasons for what we do,” she says, and it sounds somehow ominous.

“Like your reasons for helping me out now?” I don’t mean it seriously, but her blue eyes narrow and she shifts from foot to foot.

Oh, I see. She isn’t doing this out of the goodness of her heart. Why should it surprise me? I go on copying the notes, waiting for her to say her piece.

“You, um.” She gives me a sidelong look. “You’re good friends with Zane.”

It’s not a question, so I wait some more. I finish up, gather her notes and hand them back to her.

“Do you think you could get a word in for me?”

“To Zane?”

“Yeah. I’ve tried and tried, but he just won’t do it.” She throws her hands into the air, her eyes flashing with frustration.

“Do what? Go out with you?”

Her face flushes. It’s a slow process, pink and then red spreading from the roots of her hair and her neck up to color her cheeks. “For a tattoo.”

I pause and let this sink in. “You want me to put a word in for Zane to ink you?”

“Yes!” She jumps up and down. “He knows the tattoo I want, and only he can do it. But he won’t.”

“You’ve already asked him, then. And he said no.”

She calms down and nods.

“Maybe he has his reasons, too.”

She flinches. “Maybe he’s mistaken.” She lifts her chin.

Her meaning is clear. It’s a challenge. She thinks Zane is mistaken, like I was. She wants me to fix one wrong to balance another.

Or maybe I’m the one seeing it as a challenge. Make this right, if you think you can, Erin. Go on. Do your best.

I huff a sigh. This is crazy thinking.

Stuffing the photocopies into my bag, I head toward the door. “I’ll see what I can do.”

***

On my way to my car, I almost plow into someone. A high-pitched squeal alerts me to the fact it’s a girl, and then I get another clue when she says, “Hey, Erin! How was your weekend?”

Tessa. She’s dressed smart, as always, in a designer gray dress and high black boots, a fine charcoal woolen coat wrapped around her. “Fine. Came back this morning.”

“Jax okay?”

“He’s fine.”