Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84407 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 422(@200wpm)___ 338(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
“No one.”
“So, you always have random guys calling you, threatening you, at all hours of the night?
“Drop it,” she says, her voice firm. “You’re opening soon. Show me what to do.”
Her attempt at diverting the conversation is pitiful, but I let it go. For now. We set the shop up together, and I’m impressed when Logan takes it upon herself to look at the schedule, taking note of who has clients first, and sets up our stations accordingly. With two people opening, it goes by a lot quicker, so I find myself with a few minutes to spare.
I’m hunched over the front desk, making a quick revision to a sketch for a client that’s set to arrive in an hour or so. My neck is killing me still and I stretch it side to side, rolling my shoulders. I lean back over my sketch, and then I feel two soft hands on my shoulders. I freeze, not expecting the touch. I’ve never been a particularly affectionate person. I chalk it up to being starved of it growing up. Hugging, touching, hand-holding, snuggling…it’s all foreign to me, and I go out of my way to avoid unnecessary physical contact.
Logan either doesn’t notice my discomfort or doesn’t care, because she keeps kneading, and eventually, I relax into her touch. She presses her thumbs together, sliding upward toward the base of my skull. I groan at the feeling, my dick pressing against the fabric of my jeans. I drop my head down, letting Logan continue her magic on me. She moves back down to my shoulders, and I feel the tension slowly seeping out of me at her touch.
“Feel better?” she asks. She shifts closer, and I feel her tits on my back as her hair falls forward, brushing the side of my face. She smells like cherry Chapstick and vanilla.
“So fucking good,” I mumble. Before I can think better of it, my hand reaches behind me, gripping the back of her thigh. She goes still, her hands pausing on my shoulders, and I let my hand fall. It wasn’t even a conscious decision to touch her, but now I’ve made it weird.
The door chimes, and we both snap into motion, putting some distance between us. Adrian walks in, looking between us with raised brows, but says nothing about our not-so-subtle behavior.
“New employee?” he asks.
“What, stalking me at home wasn’t enough, you had to do it here, too?”
“I got bored. You didn’t come home last night.”
“Maybe I didn’t come home because I needed some fucking space.”
Logan laughs, bringing both of our attention to her.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. You two just sound like an old married couple.”
“He’s not my type,” Adrian says, completely unfazed by her comment. “You, on the other hand…”
“No harassing the employees,” I cut in.
“Right. I’ll leave that to the boss,” Adrian says with a smirk. Logan doesn’t seem to be offended by his insinuation. “I just came by to let you know I’m going back to Cactus Heights tonight. Don’t look so sad,” he says at my relieved expression. “I’ll be back soon.”
“Can’t wait,” I say in a flat voice, unenthused. “Get a hotel next time.”
“Why, you don’t want to cuddle again?” he asks, his face turning down into a fake pout. “I bet your girl will keep this Arizona boy warm at night.”
“Only if you put out.” Logan grins, playing along, ignoring the fact that he referred to her as my girl.
Adrian’s eyes widen, and then he throws his head back and howls with laughter. Loudly. “Oh, shit,” he says between laughter. “I think I just found my soulmate.”
“Don’t encourage him.”
Once Adrian leaves, we’re alone again, but the moment is gone. Cordell and Matty show up shortly after, and soon the shop is busy as fuck. I hear Logan’s phone ring a couple of times, only to see her reject the call both times with a distressed expression on her face. I assume she silences her phone, because I don’t hear it ring again. I tell myself to mind my own business. She’s not my girl—not my responsibility. This girl is obviously complicated. The last thing I need is to involve myself in someone else’s mess. Dealing with my own shit is a full-time job.
I spend the whole morning on mindless tattoos—butterflies, hearts, matching BFF tattoos, and bullshit like that. One guy came in and got his daughter’s name. I don’t have anything against those kinds of tattoos, but they don’t exactly get my creative juices flowing. My neck is still fucked, made worse by hunching over clients all day, so it’s probably a good thing that I don’t have anything too detailed on the schedule. Logan does her job well, making sure everyone is taken care of and everything stays clean. I try to ignore the way her ass looks in her tight jeans and the way everyone’s eyes seem to follow her every move.