I put my phone behind my back.
“The more you hide it, the more she wants to know,” Hunter says.
She looks back to him. “And you don’t?”
He shrugs. “It’s Wes.”
He doesn’t have to spell it out. It’s Wes. He lives for bragging. He’ll tell us eventually.
Usually, that’s true.
With Quinn, it’s different. Personal.
Emma and Hunter exchange a look. Then another.
I have no idea what it means, but it’s clearly communicating something. That secret language couples have.
My brothers and I used to have that.
A long time ago.
Now…
We work in the same shop, but we barely communicate.
It’s not my beef. It’s Hunter and Chase. Chase hasn’t forgiven Hunter for lying about getting sober.
Neither one of them has an issue with me.
In theory, everything should be normal between me and Hunter.
But it’s not.
It’s too close to the shit I keep locked up.
I’m not finding the key.
I’m not opening my heart.
I’m not getting hurt.
Quinn and I are going to have fun.
Period.
The end.
“Okay, Wes, I respect your privacy.” Emma’s smile is serene. “If you’d like to keep it to yourself, do that.”
I shoot her a really?
She shrugs who me?
Hunter chuckles. “Baby, that’s not the most plausible.”
“When have I ever got into anyone’s business?” she asks.
“When has anyone at Inked Hearts ever minded their own business?” he asks.
“Me. Every day,” she says.
“Don’t you have work to do?” I motion to the computer behind the counter. It makes my position a little too obvious, but I’m running out of patience here. Quinn is arriving in less than ten minutes. I need them disinterested now.
“Yeah, but I can do it when Hunter’s appointment gets here.” She takes a seat at my station. “You can entertain me until then.”
I drop to one knee. “Baby, if you want entertainment, I’m happy to oblige.” I take Emma’s hand. “But I’m not sure your boy toy is going to like it.”
Her smile widens. “This is juicy, huh.”
I nod. “You know I’ll make you—”
“You won’t. And ew. ‘Juicy’? That is not hot.” She turns to Hunter. “Right?”
He nods. “Not at all.”
“You’re usually better,” she says.
“You want me to go?” I offer.
She shrugs. “If you’re even capable.”
My heart thuds as the door swings open.
But those aren’t Quinn’s dainty footsteps.
They’re sure, steady ones.
Griffin spots me and shakes his head. “This guy giving you a hard time?”
“I’m trying,” I say.
Emma laughs. “Oh my God. That was terrible.” She presses her knees together. Stands. Smooths her dark jeans. “You’re really obsessed with—” Her eyes flit to my cell, even as I slide it into my pocket. “A girl, right?”
Griffin chuckles. “She didn’t cancel?”
Emma’s eyes light up. “Westley Keating, you’re holding out on me.”
“You’re the one begging for dirty talk.” I shrug like I’m completely disinterested in the subject at hand.
“Oh?” Griffin raises a brow. “You not getting enough at home?”
“Jesus, Griff. Wording.” I motion to Hunter. “He’s right there.”
“He should know,” Griffin says.
Emma laughs. “No, I get plenty. I think Wes was more… trying to prove something about how hot he is.”
I pat my stomach. “No need to prove shit.”
“Keep your shirt on, Romeo.” Emma crosses to the counter.
Hunter pulls her into his arms. Leans in to whisper something in her ear.
She whispers back.
Yeah, they’re adorable and happy and in love.
Enough with that already.
“You know Griffin won’t tell you,” Hunter says.
Emma makes a show of pouting. “Wes, I’m counting on you to deliver here.”
“Baby, if you want me to satisfy you—” I motion for her to spread her legs.
She sticks out her tongue gross.
Hunter’s eyes flit to me.
He’s not bothered by me flirting with his girlfriend.
He’s amused.
He knows I’m trying desperately to shake their interest.
Griffin lets out his typical hearty chuckle. He pats me on the shoulder as he makes his way to his suite.
Then he sits in his chair, the picture of contentment. And mystery.
The guy has been my best friend for half a dozen years and I barely know anything about what he’s hiding behind his dark eyes.
He talks about his trysts, sure. He has a hell of a dirty mouth. He doesn’t realize he has a thing for his friend Juliette. (His very engaged, very unavailable friend).
But he never dives into what really makes him tick.
Not that I can talk.
No one knows how bad shit is with Mom.
I try to find a comeback. Something to convince the entire room to leave me the fuck alone.
The ringing door stops me.
It’s not another tattoo artist.
Or a customer.
It’s Quinn.
And, fuck, she looks good enough to eat.
White dress. Demure smile. Thick glasses.
“Hey.” I keep my voice even. “You want to talk here or somewhere else?”
Her hazel eyes go wide as she takes in the room. “Maybe somewhere… more private.”
My balls tighten.
But I keep my poker face. “There’s a coffee shop down the street.”
“Sure.” She hugs her purse to her chest.
“First cup’s on me,” I say.
She offers me a nervous smile. Nods.