The air-conditioning hums as I step into Inked Hearts.

The door swings shut behind me.

Wes's laugh fills the room.

He's at the counter with Ryan. Making some joke.

Wes leans into the counter. "Em, sweetheart. You give any thought to that whole sloppy seconds thing?"

"I don't want to break your heart, Wes, but I like quiet guys." Her eyes flit to me. Her cheeks flush. Her chest heaves with her inhale.

Fuck, it's obvious there's something between us.

It's practically written on our foreheads.

Somehow, Ryan doesn't notice.

"You're here till seven, right?" he asks me.

I nod.

"Meet me in the office after your last appointment. We'll sign your paperwork." He extends his hand.

I take it. Shake.

A lightness spreads through my limbs.

This is happening.

I'm working at Inked Hearts.

I'm kissing Emma.

I'm figuring out my shit.

Fuck, it's hard to believe.

I want to prove I deserve this gig.

To prove I'm worth her trust and affection.

I can't do that overnight.

But I can commit to making it happen every fucking day.

Ryan shoots Wes a cutting look. "If she reports you for sexual harassment…" He shrugs there will be nothing I can do.

"Would you do that, Em?" Wes asks.

"Haven't done it to Dean yet," she says.

"So there's a record for me to break?" Wes's blue eyes light up.

She laughs. "Yeah, if you want to get fired."

"Or killed," I add. "You've seen her brother."

"Yeah." Wes meets my gaze. "Brendon is bulging—"

"Oh my God, we're so not doing that." Her nose scrunches in distaste.

"But he's a softie, deep down. Besides, what's he gonna say? 'You can't date my badass little sister even though I'm two years older than you, dating a chick two months younger?'" Wes asks.

"Since when do you date?" Ryan asks.

"Since Em." Wes winks at her.

Ryan shakes his head I've had enough of your nonsense—and that means all of you—then heads to his suite.

"Gotta use polite language in front of the lady," Wes says.

"I'm not a lady," Emma says. "If you want any chance, you should realize that."

He presses both hands to his heart. "Baby, I love the way you hurt me."

"We've spoken twice in the last ten years," she says.

"It's more like three or four times," he says.

She laughs, charmed.

He has that effect on people.

Maybe I should be jealous—he is flirting with her.

But it's obviously a put on.

Besides, she's not kissing him.

She's kissing me.

I turn to my brother. "What are you doing here?"

He pulls out his cell. Shows off a screenshot of a drawing. "This look familiar?"

It's the piece I've been working on all week. For the guy with the empty Instagram who desperately wanted something on his bicep.

Fuck—"You're—"

"Could it really be anyone else?" he asks.

Of course it's him.

He's supporting me in the most obnoxious way possible.

That's pure Wes.

And this…

Well, if he's gonna fuck with me, I'm gonna fuck with him.

"Sit down." I motion to the teal chair in my suite. "Gotta make sure I find the most painful needle possible."

"Good." He winks at Emma. "Want you to know how much punishment I can take."

"Is someone spreading a rumor about me being a Domme?" Her eyes flit to me.

I shrug. I wouldn't be surprised if Dean was spreading a rumor like that, though I don't really see it.

If anything, Emma needs to let go. To let someone else take control.

But if she insisted on tying me to her bed—

I certainly wouldn't turn her down.

My cock stirs at the thought.

I need to fuck her.

To taste her.

To make her come.

Tonight.

Right now, I need to keep my blood in my brain.

Wes's tattoo is going to take all my concentration.

Wes takes a seat. Blows Emma a kiss.

I get everything I need from the office. Pull a stool over. Prep him for the temporary tattoo.

"She's into me." He motions to Emma, who's not doing anything to hide how much she's staring.

"You think you're cute, huh?" I ask.

He grins I'm adorable.

"You can act as asinine as you want—"

"Slow down with the vocab quiz, Hunter. I didn't get sixty days to read and talk about my feelings."

"You wouldn't last two minutes in rehab."

"You're talking about that?"

I should.

I should be able to tell people hey, I don't drink 'cause I used to have a problem like it's not a big deal.

"If you can use your inside voice." I press the transfer paper to his skin. Wet it with a cotton ball. Hold it in place.

"What was that, Mom?" He makes a point of raising his voice.

All right, that is the kind of thing Mom used to say. Back when she gave a shit. "Shut up or I'll write I love Dawson Leery on your arm."

Wes cringes. "At least give me Pacey."

"In your dreams."

He shudders.

"Still can't believe you dressed up for Halloween."

"Did you see how hot that chick was?"

"And how she went straight to the guy dressed as Pacey?"

"Fuck, how am I supposed to know Joey ends up with Pacey? I mean, if I'd seen the show, it would be obvious. Because who would want to be with a sentimental fucker with a Peter Pan syndrome, but—"

"Not that you ever watched."

"She liked playing it while we were making out."

"Uh-huh."

He makes a point of holding up his crossed fingers. "Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Stop moving." I peel the paper from his arm.

Fuck, it looks awesome. Lyrics on a scroll that's curving around a thorny rose.

I grab the mirror and angle it so he can see.

For a second, his poker face falls.

His blue eyes fill with wonder.

And nerves.

He blinks, and he's back to the poker face. "Fuck, when did you get so good at this shit?"

"Had sixty days of—"

"Lifting from the looks of it."

I chuckle. "Helps clear my head."

"Fuck, dude, I thought we discussed the feelings."

"You know Dean works here?"

"You're right. And he's got that smoking hot apprentice too." He makes a show of standing and looking around the shop. "Where'd she go?"

"They're at lunch."

"Damn. She's got a nice ass."

"She'll kick yours."

"So I hear."

I push him into the chair.

He shoots me a look. "Didn't realize you were into that shit." His gaze shifts to Emma. "How's she like it?"

"Thought you were angling to get in her pants?"

"Can't be sloppy seconds unless someone has gone first."

I wet a cotton swab with rubbing alcohol. Clean off the temp tattoo. Pick up the stencil. "Never realized my self-destructive streak rubbed off—"

"Do not need to hear about you rubbing off."

"You're nervous."

"No." He shrugs his shoulders.

"Stop moving." This time, I pin him to the chair.

Wes clears his throat. "Nervous you're gonna fuck it up."

That's fair. It's not true, but it's fair.

"You afraid it's gonna hurt or that it's forever?"

"Just told you."

"Some bullshit."

Again, he shrugs.

"You keep doing that, I am gonna fuck it up."

His eyes flit to Emma then to me.

I have my back to her.

But there's a mirrored wall in front of me.

I can see her standing in front of the computer. Her chipped nails on the keyboard. Her teeth sinking into her lips.

Her makeup is all worn off.

That's the pink of her lips.

She looks up from the computer.

Through the mirror, her eyes catch mine.

Her blush is positively coquettish.

Like she's a school girl and I'm the teacher she's dreaming about.

And, fuck, now that idea is in my head.

A tiny plaid skirt hanging off her hips. That long hair in pigtails. Those soft lips—

"Fuck, dude, get your rocks off later." For a split second, all the playfulness drops from Wes's voice. Then he shrugs and it's back. "I'm paying by the hour."

"This one is on me."

"Fuck that. I'm not gonna owe you shit. I'm paying and I'm leaving a fat tip."

"You shouldn't announce that. Then Emma won't be incentivized to flirt."

"Girl doesn't need an incentive. Look at me."

I chuckle. "You ready or not?"

"I was born ready. You?"

That's a tough question. A long time ago, Chase did Wes's first tattoo. I did the second.

The crooked crescent moon is still there, on his wrist.

He's still proud of the battle scar.

I get it. I feel the same about my first few tattoos. They're shitty as hell, but I wouldn't trade them for anything.

I guess…

Well, it's actually really fucking sweet that Wes loves something I gave him.

Not that he'd ever admit it.

"All right." I press one hand to his shoulder to hold him in place. "On three."

He nods.

"One." I turn the needle on. "Two." I press it to his skin.

He mutters a curse. "Asshole."

"Always works."

"You're still an asshole."

"No arguments here." I trace the first letter. It's a thick, blocky font. A lot of ink.

But Wes takes it like a champ.

"You realize your girl is watching?" he says.

I keep my eyes on my work. "She's not my girl." Whatever this is, it's none of his business.

"Looks like she wants to be."

"Yeah."

"And you're turning that down?"

"What are you doing here, Wes?"

"Fuck, this the thanks I get for supporting my brother in his new place of employment?"

"You're right. It means the world to me that you're supporting me. In fact, I think I gotta turn off this gun so I can give you a hug."

His groan is pure agony.

My laugh hits me everywhere.

Wes is so… Wes.

I still can't believe that he's here.

That shit is okay.

"Listen, Wes—" I finish the first word. Move onto the second.

He groans. "Fuck, this spot isn't supposed to hurt."

"It's a needle on your skin."

"I know it's a fucking needle. This is my job too. Jesus." He uses his free hand to brush the dust from his jeans. "Why am I surrounded by know it alls? God, it's only gonna get worse working here."

"Been thinking—"

"Never a good idea."

"Can't help it."

"This about rehab again?"

"It's basically two months to turn over your mistakes."

"Fuck, you know how bad I want to shudder right now?"

I laugh. "Yeah." I move onto the third word.

Wes mutters a curse.

"Take a deep breath."

"I hate to break it to you, Hunter, but you're not a lithe chick with a yoga ass."

"Fuck. Really?" I make a show of reaching for my ass. "Feels pretty firm."

His nose scrunches in distaste. "Not gonna listen to your advice on how to breathe."

"But you go to yoga classes?"

"Well…"

I laugh. Has my little brother always been this girl crazy? "What was her name?"

"Claire and she was hot. And, fuck, that sweet voice. I could listen to her say anything."

"How about 'Wes Keating is a pig'?"

"I heard that." He laughs. "Around—"

"Date three?"

"I tried to tell her I don't do commitment."

"Uh-huh."

"All right, maybe it slipped my mind. But I thought she—"

"You're an asshole."

"Yeah, but I'm here." He sighs as I pick up the gun. Curses as I move onto the next word.

"Halfway done."

"Really?"

"With the words."

He nods like he doesn't mind the pain. "Been thinking about being here."

Me too.

I want my brother here.

I want someone in my corner.

But—"That will fuck shit up with Chase."

"I can handle Chase."

"I can rescind the job offer."

He shakes his head. "Already sweet talked Ryan."

I arch a brow.

"What do you think I was doing here early?" His voice is honest. "Signed my paperwork this afternoon."

"Chase is gonna kill you."

"Yeah, but he's gonna kill you first."

Maybe.

Or maybe there's forgiveness somewhere in his heart.

Stranger things have happened.

"Now, you gonna tell me about the hottie in the short skirt or not?" he asks.

"How many times I tell you not to talk about her like that?"

"More times than you offered details."

"You know, I admire your optimism." I move onto the next word. "No matter how many times I say no, you keep asking."

"I'm tenacious."

"Annoying is another way to say it."

"Still not hearing details."

"We're friends."

"Uh-huh."

"Cross my heart and hope to die." I finish the first line and move onto the next.

"It's sweet, that you'd swear on that."

"I try."

"There's only one thing?"

"Yeah?"

"You're still wearing her lipstick."