Hating You, Loving You (Inked Hearts 4)

I start at his shoulders and work my way down. "We go to their place. He's got this chair set up to watch. I figure I should pay it forward, help the guy live out his fantasies."

"That a policy of yours?"

I look back to the counter. Chloe is staring at me.

There's something in her dark eyes.

The usual mix of I want you and I hate you.

It stirs something inside me. Just like when we were kids.

She challenges me. To be a better version of myself. To be more of myself. To just be more.

Nobody expects more from me.

I'm a good time, a nice tattoo, a wicked story.

But Chloe…

She saw something in me. She still does. It's hard to explain. She hates me because I'm the court jester. But she sticks around because she believes I'm more than that.

"Dean?" Randy asks.

"Yeah." I shake my head. Push my thoughts away. Chloe is working here. Not for long—Ryan and I are gonna have a talk about this—but for now. That means I need to get my head in gear. "Of course."

"What was your fantasy?"

"You gotta seduce me a little more before you get that." I pour more lotion. Slather it down his back as I pick up my story. "We started. She was purring. She laid back on the bed and looked up at me like I was the only thing she wanted. Like she wanted something deep inside me. She had these dark eyes. They were usually on fire with frustration."

"You knew her?"

Fuck.

What the hell is wrong with me? Chloe isn't distracting me.

We fucked seven years ago.

Now, we're coworkers.

Soon, we're ex-coworkers.

End of story.

End of this story. I'm not about to replay the night I took Chloe's virginity. Not for Randy.

Maybe tonight, when I'm alone.

No, definitely tonight. Multiple times.

I shift back to bullshit mode. "Yeah. We got going. But as soon as I was inside of her, her boyfriend freaked. He pulled me off her. Threatened to kill me." I grab plastic wrap and get to work on Randy's backpiece. "I ran out of there in nothing but a condom."

"No way."

"Way. The girlfriend was kind enough to toss my jeans and shoes out the window. My phone landed on the concrete. Shattered."

He laughs. "How often does that happen?"

I shrug.