The only person in the entire world I trust.
The only sliver of light in most of my days.
No fucking way I’m risking that.
I force my voice to steady. “I gotta go. Congratulations, Pen.”
“Thanks. Ryan, I—”
I end the call before she can finish her thought.
Chapter 3
Leighton
Even with the beach breeze blowing over my shoulders, the July heat is oppressive. Sun beats down on my back. It warms my hair. Fries my tender, just bleached scalp.
The six-block walk to the shop—it’s a miracle I found parking this close—is enough to get my dress sticking to my chest.
The bell rings as I press the Inked Hearts door open.
Fluorescent light replaces the glow of the sun.
The warm air dissipates. It’s freezing in here.
Then my eyes catch Ryan’s, and the coolness disappears. Heat spreads to my fingers and toes.
He looks so good.
He always looks good, but it’s been an entire day and a half since I’ve seen him.
He really is that beautiful. Those strong shoulders and inked arms aren’t figments of my sexual fantasies. They’re all him.
“Hey.” He nods hello from his suite, the one on the right, next to the window.
“You’re here early.”
“I’m always this early.”
“No. Just usually.” I pull my arms over my chest. How can I be hot and cold at the same time? It defies explanation.
His eyes find mine. “You want my hoodie?”
My toes tap together. My tongue slides over my lips. Ryan offers his hoodie almost every day. And I always say yes.
But not because I’m cold—my cardigan is in my purse, and it looks a hell of a lot better with this outfit.
Because it smells like him.
Because it’s his.
He bends to pull it from his backpack. His fingers brush mine as he hands it over.
It’s black, of course.
His entire world is black—his jeans, his t-shirt, his backpack, his car, his sketchbook, his pens, his attitude toward humanity.
You’d think the whole constant brooding, still not over his ex thing would be enough to convince me to stay away.