Bad Boy Ink (Get Ink'd #5) - Ali Lyda Page 0,12

me that would get me what I wanted. Sure, I could play the part. But being able to act the role well didn’t mean it was easy.

It was hard.

And it was lonely.

But there were benefits to being alone. I didn’t have to share. I could do whatever I wanted. And I absolutely couldn’t get hurt or betrayed.

Still, as I went back to circulating amongst customers, I couldn’t help but think...if I were to risk a relationship, I knew exactly the kind of man I’d consider. Someone tattooed. With blond curls and to die for tattoos.

5

Bryce

Wake up, brush teeth, scramble to get to school on time (complete with coffee in hand). Lecture, lecture, lunch, lecture. Study and frantically do homework. Get to Get Ink’d. Don’t fuck up anyone’s tattoos. Rush home. Study some more and hopefully remember to eat. Toss in a few pushups and crunches. Pass out.

Rinse. Repeat.

You’d think I’d be fucking exhausted, but I wasn’t. Computers were such a fucking joy. Computers never judged me. They couldn’t kick me out because they disagreed with my choices. And getting to learn about them again, earn good grades working with them, taking steps toward getting a job wreaking havoc behind a monitor?

All the energy of my people cheering me on, of learning, it kept me going better than an energy drink. Too bad my group partner didn't seem to share my enthusiasm. Which I just couldn’t understand. I mean, he was as gung-ho about being in this class as I was, right? We were both ambitious and had an endgame in sight. I totally understood that we were competing for the same job, but that didn’t account for the level of vitriol Bryan seemed determined to spit at me whenever we were within five feet of each other. When I could get within five feet of him.

We'd be getting our project assignments that day in class and I was raring to go, but Aiden was doing his level best to avoid me the few times I’d tried to flag him down on campus since our last class together.

So when I saw him walking with Bryan on campus, I knew I should take the opportunity of having Bryan as a buffer to approach Aiden.

Walking up behind them, I moved my body between the two of them, throwing my arms over their shoulders. Bryan didn't even flinch at my touch, but Aiden jerked away, almost tripping in his need to put distance between us.

“What the hell, dude?” Aiden’s eyes were wide and full of anger. “It's called personal space for a reason.”

I just flashed him a grin, hoping to diffuse the situation. It was hard as fuck to read the kid and find some common ground. Apparently “touching” could go on the list of “Shit Aiden Doesn’t Like”, along with “Crowds” and also “Everything.”

“Relax,” I said. “It's no big deal. You need to learn to loosen up.”

Aiden’s pale skin flushed an angry red and he shook his head. Fuck, I was digging a hole with him lightning fast, and I didn’t know how to stop it.

“You’re so full of yourself, Bryce. Get the fuck over yourself,” Aiden snapped.

Before I could come up with a witty response, Aiden was already stomping away from us, taking my chance to talk to him about our project with him. I turned to Bryan, knowing my face was awash with incredulity. “What is with that guy? Why does he hate me so much?”

I didn't expect an answer, but Bryan just shrugged and said, “I imagine it has something to do with the job.”

“The FBI one? What the hell for?” I suddenly felt unsteady, like my sense of balance was being knocked ever so slightly off-kilter. Obviously we were both gunning for the job. And the more I dreamed of that badge—the closer I got to it—the more I thought about all the people like my grandmother I could save. And I could atone for my own misdeeds.

A clean slate doing something I loved. It felt so deeply necessary.

How could Aiden possible feel more strongly about the job than I did? And I was willing to be civil—friendly even!

But Bryan just nodded. “Yeah, he really needs that job.”

Aiden needs the job? I thought about the clothes that I always saw Aiden in. He was always dressed in designer labels and his hair had a hundred-dollar cut. Everything about him screamed effortless wealth—unlike me, who even with a TV contract, and a successful chair at a popular tattoo shop, and