Singe (Men of Inked Heatwave #8) - Chelle Bliss Page 0,28
I never get played. You couldn’t find someone I’d never met to do this with me? Why her?”
“Why not her?”
“Because she’s pretty and we know each other.”
“Sometimes you have to beat a man at his own game for him to see a little more clearly.”
“My eyes are fuckin’ wide open, babe. Wide fucking open. You’re not playing fair, and neither is Arlo.”
“You catchin’ feelings?”
“No,” I snap.
“You are.”
“I spent a little over five hours with the chick. I don’t catch feelings in five hours.”
“Meh,” she mutters. “Feelings happen, and there’s no reasoning why or how long until they do.”
“There’re no feelings, cousin. I caught attraction.”
“Whatever. This is good.”
“Good?” I ask, pulling the phone away to stare at it. “What do you mean, good?”
“Arlo isn’t looking for a relationship.”
“Wait.” I sit up. “You set me up in a fake relationship, to figure out why I can’t be in a relationship, with a chick who isn’t looking for a relationship?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“What the fuck, Lil? Do you hear how fucked up that is?”
“It’s safer for you both.”
“Safer?”
“Neither of you is ready for feelings or relationships, but I needed intel and Arlo is the best one to get that. She’s putting herself out there, even in a fake way, because she feels safe to do so.”
“Safe?”
“Not my story to tell, honey.”
“What?”
“I’ve got to run. It’s getting late. Arlo will text you soon.”
“Like tomorrow or tonight?”
“Don’t know. She only said soon.”
“Fucking hell.”
“Sucks having to wait for something you want, doesn’t it?”
“You’re an asshole,” I tell her.
“I learned from the best, li’l cousin. Love you.”
“Love you too,” I grumble before the line goes dead.
Pike: Tomorrow night beers at the Cowboy. We need a night out.
Mammoth: I’m game.
Tamara: In.
Gigi: So ready.
Nick: We’re in too.
Jett: Us too.
Rocco: We could use a night away from the kids. Mello, you in?
Me: I’ll fucking be there.
Mammoth: Grouchy bastard.
Me: Fuck off.
Mammoth: I take it the bitch didn’t call?
Tamara: Say that again. I dare you.
Mammoth: I stand corrected. I take it the lady hasn’t called?
Tamara: Better.
Mammoth: Forgot we were among ladies.
Gigi: Where’s ladies? I remember hearing Tam slobbered on your knob pretty fucking quick. That doesn’t make a lady but a…
Tamara: Asshole, you literally left a bar with a man you didn’t know, let him sink into you for almost a week, ghosting us, and then ended up with his ring on your finger. You do not get to judge.
Me: Y’all are giving me a headache. I’m out.
Jo: Go get her, big man.
Nick:
Jo: What? He’s big.
Nick: Jo baby, you better brace yourself because I’m about to show you a monster.
Gigi:
I hit close on the text thread, letting them go back and forth with their bullshit without me being a party to their insanity.
I swing my legs over the bed, ready to get up and get the fuck out, when my phone rings.
“Hello.”
“Mello.” Arlo’s voice washes over me, knocking me backward.
“Hey, Arlo.”
“Sorry I didn’t call earlier.”
“No worries,” I lie. “I wasn’t expecting you to call so soon anyway.”
“I haven’t done much besides read, trying to keep my mind busy and off the pain.”
“That bad?” I ask, genuinely curious and concerned. Two things I usually am not about a chick.
“Just tender and I can’t get comfortable.”
“Have you been cleaning it?”
“Yeah, I’m following all the directions.”
I’m sure she is. I don’t even know why I asked. If she’s anything like my cousin, she’s following each step carefully.
“You in the mood to go out?” I ask her, never shy and always upfront about what I want.
“No,” she sighs. “I’m too sore for that, and it requires me getting dressed and putting on a bra.”
My mind instantly fills with naked Arlo, wearing her glasses and nothing else, curled up in her bed, turning the pages. Nerdy-girl shit that, for some odd reason, suddenly drives me wild.
“Want company? I can pick up some takeout and bring it to you. Check your ink while I’m there, too.”
God, I’m lame and I’m fishing, trying to make up reasons why she should say yes. I’ve never worked for a chick’s time, and this one has me begging.
Get your shit together, man.
“I’d be down for that, but only if you bring Chinese and don’t mind me looking like a total train wreck.”
“I don’t think that’s even possible, Arlo.”
“The Chinese or the mess?”
“The mess, babe. I’ll make the Chinese happen. Text me what you want, and I’ll be there within the hour.”
“I’ll do that, but be prepared for a messy bun and no makeup.”
“Are you wearing your glasses?” I ask.
There’s silence for