Tattooed Sweetheart

That drink certainly didn’t seem like something an equally tattooed and muscular man would get, but Ryder surprised me a hell of a lot, so there was no telling what the man was into.

He stopped tattooing, maybe feeling my stare, that dark brow arched again. “What?”

I slowly shook my head. “Nothing. Iced chai latte. Got it.” I was barely restraining my amusement.

“When are you going to just grow a set and ask her out already?” My body tightened as I processed Ryder’s question.

I didn’t respond, just stared at him. He was dead fucking serious.

“Ryder—”

“I’m just saying, you stare out the front window so damn hard—-and daily, I might add—like a puppy hoping the next kid will buy you so you have a home for Christmas.”

I clenched my jaw and still stayed silent. I couldn’t deny it. I didn’t even try to hide it.

“If you don’t hurry up and ask out whatever girl works at the coffee shop, someone is gonna beat you to it, man.”

I was pretty sure he knew what woman I wanted, but he either kept his mouth shut because he could see I was on a wire edge right now, or he wasn’t going to be an asshole and air my laundry out to every fucking Joe Schmoe he tattooed.

“I mean, maybe I should ask her out…”

Yeah, he knew who I wanted, and he was treading really fucking close to the beast’s cage saying that shit.

My hands were curled into fists at my side as possessive jealousy moved in me. It didn’t matter this was Ryder and one of the only people I considered a friend. Any male who even thought about Flora put me in a blind rage.

“Oh, man, those sisters that own Just One More Cup… shhhit, gorgeous. Both of them. Wouldn’t mind taking the oldest out and getting to know her, if you know what I mean.”

I watched how Ryder’s client’s eyes widened, saw the perplexed expression in Ryder’s face, and finally heard the low, animalistic sound that filled the shop.

A growl. From me. Because I felt so fucking jealous and possessive, enraged that anyone wanted anything like that with Flora. Because she’s mine, even if she doesn’t know it yet.

“What the hell?” Ryder looked at his client. “Yo, Dougie, I believe you don’t want to say anything about the oldest coffee shop sister, because it looks like Malkolm placed his claim on her and went all lion-mode on your ass.”

Dougie looked between the two of us, his bushy white eyebrows pulled down low. “No shit?” He held up his hands. “No harm, no foul, my man. Didn’t mean any disrespect. I had no clue she was yours.”

I huffed and scrubbed a hand over my face. I was losing my damn mind. I mumbled something under my breath, maybe a curse, maybe that I’d be right back. I couldn’t even be sure, because I was in a haze right now.

I stepped outside and exhaled, trying to get rid of that territorial jealousy that was still coursing in me. The wind slammed into me as soon as I was outside, and I zipped up my jacket before shoving my hands into the front pocket of it.

I made my way across the street, seeing the square of Sweetheart start to come alive in the morning. By lunchtime, it would be busy and packed. I knew tattoo parlors weren’t usually open in the mornings, but my two reasons for having these hours were: Sweetheart was an early riser, and because I’d kept hours that jived with the town, my business had increased.

But the main reason I liked having the place open so early… was because of Flora. I wanted to be able to see her every chance I got.

I’d gotten prime realty three years ago for my place, Broken Hearts Tattoo. Right in the city center, it just also happened to be across the street from Just One More Cup.

It had been a risk opening up a tattoo shop in one of these little mountain towns, but I was all about breaking the mold and taking risks. Come to find out, there were quite a lot of people in this tight-knit community who wanted a little bit of ink for themselves. And I was just the guy to give it to them.

And three years later, I was still inking up residents of Sweetheart.

I pulled open the front door of the coffee shop, the immediate scent of vanilla and cinnamon, and the pungent aroma of rich coffee beans, slammed into me. I’d learned about Just One More Cup as soon as I realized my obsession for all things Flora wouldn’t dim. Not in the fucking slightest. It had grown, in fact.

Flora and her sister’s coffee shop was known for their unique and artisanal coffees and unusual flavor creations. It’s why it was so popular. It wasn’t like the run-of-the-mill coffee chains that were scattered all over the country. It was a hidden gem—if you liked coffee, that was. Although I wasn’t into that choice of beverage, I could appreciate how badass the place was.