When Henley asked me to take her to get a tattoo, I almost said no. Not because I didn’t want to or because I thought Con would get mad at me. I didn’t want to take her because I knew he’d get mad at me if I took her to anyone but Went.

Wentworth Fiorella.

My ex-boyfriend.

Even though that’s what he is, I still deny it when he tells Henley about us. That we saw each other for more than six months. He stops just short of telling her the whole truth. That he dumped me.

I like you—I really, really like you. Fuck, Tess, I might even let myself love you if I thought there’d ever be a chance of you letting your guard down and loving me back.

That was three years ago.

Right around the time Declan started seeing Jessica.

I don’t think too much about the timetable of it all. If I do, I have to admit that I used Went to make myself feel better about the fact that the guy I was in love with was with someone who tormented me every chance she got.

So, yeah.

Went dumped me after a few months and a year later, Declan put a ring on it and Jessica’s been flashing it in my face ever since, while I pretend that marrying her isn’t the worst form of betrayal. That I don’t give a shit when in reality, every time I see them together, I have to talk myself out of walking into traffic.

Okay, that’s a little over dramatic but you get what I’m saying.

That shit sucks balls.

I’m sitting on a hard plastic chair in the waiting area of Went’s shop while he goes over aftercare procedures with Henley for her new tat. I can see it from where I’m sitting, inked into her back, between her shoulder blades, beneath a thin layer of Aquaphor. It’s practically identical to the one Went slapped on Con’s chest a few years back, save for the fact that it’s smaller, there are daisies woven into the Claddagh’s crown and she had some weird number added to the inverted heart.

Con’s got a thing for numbers.

When Henley pulls out her wallet, Went laughs. “Put that thing away,” he says, shaking his head at her.

“But—” She shakes her head back at him before shooting me a puzzled look over her shoulder. When all I do is shrug at her, she turns back to him and sighs. “I have money,” she tells him.

“What a coincidence.” He folds his thick, tattooed arms over his chest and gives her a bland smile. “So do I.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds. Long enough for me to wonder if Went has finally met his match when it comes to thick-headed stubbornness. Finally, Henley, sighs and puts her wallet away.

“Thank you,” she says, her tone so formal and polite it’s like nails on a chalkboard. “It’s lovely.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he tells her, his tone just as formal. “If you have any aftercare questions, please don’t hesitate to call.”

Henley dips her chin and I swear to Christ she’s about to curtsey. If I ever needed proof that rich people can sniff each other out, this is it.

“Well, if the two of you are through measuring bank accounts, I’d like to leave,” I say, standing. “Because unlike the two of you, I actually have to work for a living.”

Went lifts his dark eyes to meet mine. “When are you coming in to let me finish your sleeve?” He asks, which is his way of shutting me up. I haven’t been in for work since he dumped me.

“As soon as I get the money together to pay you for it,” I say, giving him a sweet smile. Before he can give me the same, I’m as rich as God routine that he gave Henley, I latch a hand around her arm and drag her out the door.

“He seems nice.”

I look away from the passenger-side window and give Henley a non-committal shrug. “Went?” I say, even though I know damn well that’s who she’s talking about. “He’s okay.”

He’s more than okay.

If I weren’t so obviously in need of psychiatric help, I’d still be with him.

Sweet and attentive under that gruff, tattooed exterior. As big as a mountain. Hot as hell. Spectacular in bed. Wentworth Fiorella is damn-near perfect.

When she doesn’t say anything, I look away from her. “He dumped me,” I tell her because I’m in a mood and she’s being entirely too polite. “Said he couldn’t be with me because I’m still hung up on Declan.”

“Are you?”

This time I don’t look at her. “Yes.” It’s the truth. I am. If I can say it out loud to anyone, it’s Henley. Once upon a time, the two of us were close. As close as Con and I are now. The problem is that I can’t talk to Con about this stuff without him freaking out on me.

“Have you considered telling him how you feel?” She’s choosing her words carefully, like she’s picking her way through a minefield. “Maybe he—”

“Can you take me home instead of back to the garage?” I say, cutting her off completely. “I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to wear to Cari’s opening and I need to scrape off about nine layers of engine dust if I’m going to have even a hope of looking and smelling like a human woman.”

“Sure.” She bobs her head before flashing a tight smile in my direction. “Actually, I have something that might help.”

She doesn’t say anything else for a few minutes. Long enough for her to pull up in front of my building. When I get out, Henley pops her trunk and climbs out with me. Before I can ask her what she’s doing, she lifts her trunk lid and I see it.

“No way.” I shake my head and reach up to grab the lip of the trunk so I can slam it shut. “There’s no way I’m going to—”

“Yes you are,” Henley says, slapping my hand away from her trunk. “You want to know why?” She reaches into the space and lifts out the large gift-wrapped box and bag from the floor of it, stacking one on top of the other. “Because I want to see that bitch’s face tonight when you walk into Cari’s opening wearing this dress.” She shoves both at me, giving me no choice but to accept them.

“Henley—” I shake my head at her, feeling helpless. “This dress cost three grand.” I lift myself onto the toes of my boots and peer into the open bag. “And shoes? Jesus Christ, why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you.” She slams the lid to her trunk closed. “I hate Jessica and I want very much to watch her swallow her own tongue.”

I can’t really argue with that. Henley might actually hate her more than I do. Still... “Hen.” I shake my head, prepared to push my salvation back into her arms. “I—”

“Declan is going to be there with her.” She pins me with a look that stops me in my tracks. “She’s going to look gorgeous and hang off his arm and make shitty, back-handed comments about the rest of us while she simpers and coos at him like he’s a fucking lapdog.” This isn’t polite, formal Henley anymore. This is the girl I grew up with. My best friend and she’s fired up. “So you’re going to take one for the team and put on the dress because if I have to watch and listen to her narcissistic bullshit for five more fucking minutes, I might actually kill her and then I’ll go to prison.” She shakes her head at me, pointing a finger at her freckled face. “Look at me, Tess—there is no way I can pull of correctional facility orange with my complexion.”

It takes her mouth twitching into a smile for me to realize she’s kidding.

“Fine,” I laugh, shaking my head at her. “I’ll take the dress, but I’m going to figure out a way to pay you back and when I do, you’re taking my money.”

She stares at me for a second before she gives me a nod, like the matter is settled. “We’ll jump off the bridge when we get to it.”