“Yo, Jack-o, good, you’re here.” Grath poked his head out from behind the glass separating the artists’ stations from front reception. “That baby’s starting to cry and fuss again. You gotta get your ass back there, bruh. Babies are not good for business. Go deal, man.” He slapped my arm and retreated to his station.

This explained the coffee drop and home-visit intervention, then—light dawned.

I popped back a couple—okay, three—pills, took a long chug of water, and headed back. I’d make this quick. Whoever she was, she was not my problem. I’d already decided, and that was that.

The crying got louder as I got closer, but fantastically stopped just as I arrived at the door. I heard the woman heave a deep sigh, then strode in.

The first I saw of her was the back of her head, her long wavy blondies held up high in a ponytail, with a whole lot of them escaping around the edges. It looked soft and pretty, and kind of messy—which I loved, usually—but not this time.

My mind was already wracked to figure out who she was. I usually went for brunettes. The blondes I’d been with in the last year or two were few and far between. Still, that wasn’t really important; women changed their hair colors like it was a required ritual. But if she was claiming that I was her baby-daddy, then I’d have to have met her before. Ha!—understatement.

But seriously, from this angle, I got nothing.

She had, appropriately, seated herself in one of the two chairs facing my desk. The other was covered with her stuff. She’d come loaded down, her bags exploding with blankets and baby paraphernalia. Somehow, she had avoided the hell of the typical baby crap—that being all the Easter-egg-colored eyesores—and had opted for basic black, white, and red. Cool chick. I took note of the good taste, and filed it. Maybe this woman was rational. Maybe this would be quick. It gave me hope.

Best to make this fast. Still standing at the door, holding it open for her, I went for polite first. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but you got the wrong guy, lady. Time for you to go. Get the fuck out of my office.”

Chapter 2

Ellie

Tired and butt-sore, my arms heavy with little Peter, I was just breathing a sigh after getting my little fuss-bugger to latch on and relieve us both: him, of his hunger, and me of my capacity-packed mammaries.

I loved that I could breastfeed this guy, but it was not the easiest thing to do in public spaces. I was still learning how to adjust, and comfort was not always attainable without the huge nursing pillow, which was way too big and awkward to carry around outside. So I held him as best I could, with a light blanket draped from over my shoulder to shield the view, should Jack ever deign to show up.

Damn it, I knew I should have called first to see if he was here, but that wasn’t really an option, seeing as I was currently coasting without a phone. But once I had made the decision that today was the day, I had forced myself to go through with it. So I waited, uncomfortable as it may have been. I was finally doing this.

Truth: I wanted to do this. I wanted Peter to be known, to have more in his life than just me. To have a man to look up to. It was fair, and it was right. And Keith would have wanted it, too. I hadn’t known Keith very well, but that much I knew in my heart.

God, I hoped Jack was as good a man as Keith had made him out to be. I was really starting to have my doubts. The way the people in this shop had looked at me and Peter was not friendly-like. And I could feel the smirks all around, even though I had placed myself so I didn’t have to see them.

They, in turn, couldn’t see my discomfort, either. I hoped they saw only an awesome new mommy and strong woman. That was what I was attempting to put out anyway—strong spine, strong gaze, and totally in charge of all chaos that is baby.

The front area of the shop had been warmly lit with huge windows welcoming in the morning sunshine. On the right was a large glass cabinet-countertop, featuring assorted piercing rings and gauges and stuff you’d find in head shops the world around. To the left was a seating area with a black leather sofa, loveseat, and armchair set, and coffee and end tables topped with ink mags and huge, overstuffed, three-ring portfolio binders.

The walls were covered in tat art, too. It wasn’t a huge space, but it looked like the shop went deep. A window-topped partition wall divided the front from the workstations inside, to which a glass door served as entry. It was pretty much what one would expect of any decent tattoo parlor; not noticeably fancy, but also not a shack.

Tags: Zoey Parker Romance
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