“Kay, you’re getting obsessed with those cards.”
“I’m so not.” I tuck a strand of my newly dyed hair behind one ear as the wind buffets us across the street. “I just like them.”
To be honest, I wasn’t quite sure what the cards were trying to tell me. There was the Five of Cups—regret, loss, despair. The Knight of Swords—action. And the Three of Pentacles—teamwork.
I assumed my help was needed, and something’s inexorably drawing me to Damage Control like a string wrapped around my wrist.
A rope called infatuation, Ev would say. A crush.
Ev is all talk. And it’s not true.
To avoid more discussion, I hurry to open the door of the tattoo shop. We enter into a wave of warmth, soft music and the smell of antiseptic, metal and some vaguely spicy air-freshener or cleaning product.
I don’t have a crush. And I’m not obsessed with the Tarot cards.
Okay, so I am a little worried about a certain someone. That’s different, right? There’s the dark spot that intrigued me from the start—that flat-out refusal to have his fortune told—and now his bad mood, the nightmare, his bruised chest.
And the accident. Someone rammed the back of his truck. Nothing too bad, he said. He’s okay.
But I want to see for myself. Because he’s slowly emerging from the void like a magic picture, the dark spots drifting, coming together, touching the golden, bright parts—of him laughing, catching me on the dance floor before I fell, taking me home, carrying me inside. Sleeping on the old armchair by my bed to make sure I was all right.
Letting me see layers in him I hadn’t imagined.
So… magic, intuition, or whatever this is, I had to come.
Two customers occupy the orange chairs near the desk, and Tyler’s tall, broad-shouldered form is a shadow behind it, his face cast in the light from the computer monitor.
He looks up as we approach and lifts a dark brow. He grins. “What have we here? Girls! We have girls!”
At his gleeful yell, I take a step back involuntarily. Amber flushes crimson. I notice the customers gaping at us and shoot them an uncertain smile.
I clear my throat and turn back to Tyler. “We’re here—”
“And a good thing you are.” He gets up, looming over me, dark eyes crinkling at the corners as he grins. Then he hollers over his shoulder, “Jesse Lee! Get your ass over here. Amber wants to see you.”
I fold my arms over my boobs. “And what am I, chopped liver?”
“You wanna see Jesse Lee, too?” Tyler gives me a long look under dark lashes. “Or someone else?”
Heat rises to my face. Tyler is always a tease, and I shouldn’t get flustered by it. Only there is someone else, and now I’m standing here, I hesitate to ask.
Jesse arrives, saving me from having to reply to Tyler who’s still staring at me, looking amused.
Crap.
“Hey, baby,” Jesse croons, grabbing Amber in his arms and crushing his mouth to hers.
Tyler whistles.
I look away, trying to decide what to do, if to admit what I’m here for, or walk out and forget about it. Stop obsessing, like Amber said, stop worrying for no good reason. He’s fine. He doesn’t need me checking up on him. Nothing has changed between us, not really.
Making up my mind to go, I turn back again to let Amber know that this visit was a bust—at least for me.
And then I see him.
Ocean.
Blue hair, dark brows, a gray T-shirt stretched tight over a strong chest and shoulders, low-slung jeans, combat boots. My gaze snags on his long neck, his sharp jaw, his mouth.