Tattooed Troublemaker - Elise Faber Page 0,14

and tossed my own burrito bowl into the trash can then washed my hands in the one sink that was working.

Tig wasn’t ready to let the conversation go. “I’m serious.”

I sighed. “I get it, okay? But I meant what I said. No women. Not now, not for the foreseeable future.” I crossed my arms, leaned back against the wall opposite him. “And when I say no women, I mean no women in both a temporary-one-night-stand way as well as a relationship. I’m well-aware of my fucked-up-ness. Why do you think I’m here in the first place, huh?”

Tig studied me closely for a long time but eventually nodded and said, “Okay, I get you, man.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

It was a muttered-out response because I’d been able to forget for a bit. Sparring with Charlie, listening to the banter over lunch, and simply appreciating an attractive woman had made me forget about Lorna and the mess she’d made of my life . . . the mess I’d made of my life.

And how I’d been hiding from it for almost a year.

Now, though, that was all fresh and in the forefront of my mind.

Cool.

I pushed up from the wall, started to head for my workstation.

Tig snagged my arm. “Garret, I—”

A shake of my head. “I’ve got to go get ready for my client.”

More studying, but shorter this time. After a beat, Tig nodded and let me go. I moved to my space, started getting my shit together, since while the client was a convenient excuse, I still did have things to do so I’d be ready for her.

Notebook out.

Ink reloaded.

Transfer paper at the ready.

At least I could get lost in the work and forget that Lorna had taken a sledgehammer to my life, my family . . .

My heart.

“Okay,” I said, wrapping the final inches of my client’s arm. I’d just put the finishing touches on the outline for her full sleeve. She’d need to heal up for a couple of weeks and then we could finish the color and shading.

“Do you think we’ll be able to finish it before you leave?”

I slid her T-shirt sleeve down gently. “I’m in, if you’re in.”

She grinned. “Well, I’m also in to taking you out to dinner sometime if you’re up for it.” A beat passed and she glanced up at me.

And I got to see another girl’s face fall.

She only faltered for a moment. “When you’re not jabbing me with needles, that is.” Her laugh was tinged with embarrassment.

Shit. Say something.

“Umm.” I dropped my gaze to my tray.

Preferably something charming.

“But no pressure,” she said. “I figured you’re new in town and just might need someone to show you the good spots.”

“I—” The rubber bands came off the gun in a tangle, and I kept my gaze on them. “Thanks for the offer. You’re a beautiful woman, but I don’t actually date clients.”

Oh, thank you, Jesus. At least, that was a reasonable thing to say.

God, I used to be smooth.

Before Lorna, I’d had at least a little game.

Now? Fumbling. Every time.

“Oh, sure,” she said. “That makes sense.” I glanced up and saw she’d handed me her credit card and though her cheeks were a little flushed, her tone evened out and she scheduled her follow-up appointment.

There was that at least.

Sighing, I locked up behind her then spent some time cleaning up my station. But when I moved past the storeroom to put my equipment in the sanitizer, I saw that Charlie was still working. The entire wall had been opened up, several neat squares of sheetrock stacked against the cabinet she’d moved the previous week.

“You just can’t help it, can you?”

Help stopping and looking at her? No, I couldn’t.

I had found plenty of excuses to walk slowly by and watch her work. It was a hell of a view, albeit a dangerous one.

Especially, when she was looking up at me with blue eyes sparkling fire.

“Hmm?” She put her hand up to her ear. “I can’t hear you.”

“Hear what?”

“How you wield all of that charm,” she said. “Panties must be melting all over the place.”

I sighed. “I don’t date clients.”

She lifted a brow.

Fine. She had me there. “I don’t date them anymore.”

“Hmm.” Charlie turned back to work on the pipes.

A spark of annoyance shot through me. “Well, at least my life doesn’t revolve around stroking pipes and busting balls.”

Blue eyes flicked to mine. “Really?”

I shrugged. “Just calling it like I see it.”

“And here I thought you were a semi-reformed asshole.”

“And here you thought wrong,” I said.

“Well, clearly.” A beat