“Do you have a pen?”
The second one is handed over, he starts scribbling something down on a scrap of card. “Here,” he says, passing it over. I stare down at the number scrawled across it and wonder if it’ll ever be one I call. Probably not.
“No pressure, but I’d love to see you again.” He smiles almost shyly, and it makes him look so endearing. I wonder for a brief moment if it’s really him or just an act he’s pulling to try to get what he wants. Hell knows, guys have done worse to get a girl into their bed for the night.
“Thanks. Well, I’m gonna…” I point over my shoulder and he nods.
“Until next time.”
I walk away, wondering if that’s a wish or a promise.
I guess only time will tell.
Chapter Four
Corey
I roll over the next morning with a faint pounding behind my temples. It’s much less than I deserve after the amount I drank with Austin once she left last night, but I can’t say that I’m not relieved.
Cracking my eyes open, I stare at my phone on the bedside table, knowing that her number is sitting in it, courtesy of a very drunk and handsy Bailey. My fingers twitch to send her something, anything that might convince her to see me again. One dance and one kiss with her was nowhere near enough.
It’s just because she turned you down, a little voice says in my head. I must admit, it doesn’t happen all that often, especially not after the way she was moving her body against mine on the dance floor.
My cock swells as the memory of her arse moving against it resurfaces. Fuck, it felt so good to have a woman in my arms again. I can only imagine how it might have felt to get her into my bed. I look around the room I’m currently in. Okay, so maybe not my bed, but hers. Or any other, to be fair.
I drop my hand under the covers and wrap my fingers around my length. I pump a few times, her dark eyes, light pink lips, and sinful curves filling my mind as I do. The tingles she caused within me last night reappear, and in only an embarrassingly few minutes later I come to the memory of us locked together in our kiss.
Fucking hell, my dry spell is turning me back into a damn teenager again. Jacking off to a fucking kiss. Pussy.
Jumping from the bed, I ignore the boxes around me and go straight for the shower. It’s late and I need to be at the studio, not sitting here dwelling on what could have been and if I should call her. I already know the answer. She wasn’t interested. I shouldn’t call her, despite what her best friend drunkenly slurred at me before Austin and a couple of their coworkers successfully got her in an Uber.
“She’s scared, Brit boy. She needs someone to chase her because she won’t hand herself over willingly. Me, on the other hand…” She ran her hands up my chest, but she didn’t get very far before I physically removed them. She might be attractive, but I had someone else in my sights.
I don’t bother walking into my kitchen—it’s pointless. Instead, I head straight out once I’m dressed. The diner a few doors up from the studio has quickly become my second home.
“Morning,” Laura, the owner, sings as I walk through the entrance, making the little bell chime. “You want the usual?”
“Please,” I say with a smile, hopping up onto one of the empty stools at the counter as she calls my order through to the kitchen.
“So, how’re things?” she asks, pushing my first mug of coffee toward me.
“Same as.”
“My brother still giving you shit?” She laughs as she grabs a cloth and starts wiping down the already spotless counter. Laura is hot, there’s no denying that, but seeing as she’s one of my artists’ little sisters, she’s totally off-limits. It’s a damn shame, but still, the little daily flirtation we partake in almost makes up for it. I tell myself this every morning, but I’m still yet to believe myself.
“When isn’t he?” That’s not true. Oz, or Oscar to his family, is possibly the best fucking artist I’ve ever seen. Managing to convince him to come and work for me—for Zach, really—was the biggest achievement I’ve had since taking over here. He’s got an amazing reputation, and he don’t half help bring the clients through the door. His on-and-off girlfriend who came with him, JJ, doesn’t put them off either. She’s a part-time model, part-time artist, and almost every guy in LA wants her leaning over them as she inks their bodies.
We chat away about nonsense, the weather, the busy summer season, all the usual mundane stuff that completes my morning routine right now before my first coffee is empty and Laura passes me my sausage, egg and bacon roll and a large takeout coffee. This breakfast is my little bit of home, and aside from family and friends, probably part of the only thing I miss. A proper full English fry-up. I might love the Californian sun, but I can’t get on board with waffles and pancakes for breakfast. It’s just not happening. I need grease a-plenty to set me up properly for the day.
I walk out with my cup and roll in hand and make the short journey to the studio. I open up, seeing as I’m the first here, and drop onto one of the sofas in the reception to enjoy my breakfast in peace before the guys arrive.
There are four of us, or three and a half seeing as JJ is only here part-time. Sledge is the only original artist from before Zach took over. The place was on the verge of going under, and it was purely by chance that I found it when I came here last year to get away from home for a few weeks when things were getting on top of me.
It was my last night here, and I had the urge to add to my ink to finish the holiday off right. Austin had mentioned this place previously after Rylee had told him about visiting, so I took the chance. And fuck am I glad I did. Sledge and I hit it off immediately, obviously helped by our joint passion, and Sledge was soon explaining how he was about to be unemployed as the owner was selling up. The idea hit me immediately, and I was on the phone to Zach as I walked out after getting my latest ink. The rest is history, I guess. He bought the place almost there and then. He didn’t even fly out, he just took my word for it being the perfect place for him and jumped in head-first.
Although the idea had floated around my mind about me relocating to run this place, I didn’t think it would happen. I was needed in Manchester. That was my studio after I escaped London the year before, but the second the call came from Zach to ask if I’d move here, there was only one answer I could give. And that’s how I found myself here, living on the sunny Californian coast as far away from my troubles as I could get. Just a shame it’s impossible to leave my nightmares behind me for good. Those motherfuckers will haunt me no matter where I am on the planet, it seems.
“Morning,” Oz sings as he joins me with his own coffee in hand, courtesy of his sister.
“Morning. Your better half not with you today?”
“Ugh,” he grunts, rolling his eyes. “Don’t. Just don’t.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “Ah, domestic bliss. It’s a sight to behold.”
“Fuck off,” he barks, disappearing out to his room.
Much like the studios in both London and Manchester, each artist has their own room to work in. Zach has had the place fitted out in exactly the same way as all his other studios, so his Rebel Ink branding is strong despite the differences in location.