Tattooed Troublemaker - Elise Faber Page 0,44

to be.

Sixteen

Garret

I sat in the apartment over Tig’s shop, a pizza on the coffee table, a beer in hand, and one day off in front of me.

Funny how just a few days before I’d been looking forward to the time off, ready to go out and see the city, wondering if I could coax a certain spicy-tempered brunette to show me the NYC sites.

Now, my free day was turning out to be decidedly less enticing.

My fault.

I’d torpedoed that a couple of days ago, after the best sex of my life, after spending the best hours of it with Charlie, thinking she was a woman who I could put everything aside for. A woman who deserved no less than that.

But Tig was right.

I was messed up.

And . . . she deserved better.

So, I hadn’t called. I hadn’t chased her down. I’d started with giving her some space to sort out her head and ended with knowing I was the one whose mind was fucked and needed to continue to stay away.

Creating that distance between us was for the best, I knew. But fuck, it would be so much easier if I wasn’t dreaming about her every night, couldn’t still taste her on my tongue, feel her pussy clenching around my cock.

The best thing I’d ever experienced.

And I’d needed to let it go.

Well, whatever. I’d put in my notice with Tig. I’d finish out my current appointments and then in two weeks, I was heading home.

It was done now. I’d made my bed, and it was empty.

No going back, only moving forward . . . and that forward would be back to California. I’d booked my ticket home the night before.

There. Done. I was putting this chapter behind me, keeping plenty of space between me and Charlie so I didn’t do something stupid—like beg her to give me another chance.

I debated between getting my ass up and going to see the sights—I hadn’t even been to Time’s Square yet—but I couldn’t summon up the energy to do more than reach for another slice of pizza . . . only to find that the box was empty.

Fucking hell.

I was going to end up the size of Time’s Square if I continued eating entire pizzas at eleven in the morning.

Not to mention that I was on my third beer.

I picked up the TV remote, scrolled to something nonsensical on my Netflix account, and let it play, my mind drifting as I picked up the fourth beer from the six-pack next to the table.

But not even alcohol could numb everything that was going on in my mind.

Almost a week since I’d seen Charlie.

Almost a week since I’d talked to Lorna.

Almost a week since—

The knock at the door wasn’t exactly welcome, as much as it cut off the circle I’d been repeating for . . . well, almost a week.

Snorting, I pushed up from the couch and headed to the door, tugging it open. On the other side were two people I never expected to see in New York. My brother Lane and best friend Sam stood in the hall.

“Aw, fuck,” Sam muttered. “It’s even worse than I expected.”

Lane, my older brother by five years, gave me a gaze from head to toe, resting pointedly on the bottle held in my hand. “Eleven-oh-five. What number is that?”

“What?”

He rolled his eyes and pushed past me, dumping his duffle bag just inside the front door as he went. Sam held my gaze for a moment longer then followed him in, duffle landing with a thump on the hardwood floor.

“Come in,” I muttered.

“I was going to ask if you had time this weekend to touch up my ink,” Lane said, pointing at his right arm, where I’d been working on a landscape of the Sierra Nevadas, a beautiful and jagged mountain range that traversed a portion of northern California. “I think I’ll wait until you’ve had less than four beers.”

“Three and a half,” I muttered, following them inside and slumping down onto the couch where my brother and best friend had already made themselves at home.

Sam snorted. “That’s girl territory. Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on Lorna.”

“Fuck no, I’m not,” I snapped, slugging down a large gulp of beer, narrowing my eyes when Sam and Lane each helped themselves to the remaining two.

Lane flicked open the top of the pizza box and sighed. “Dude.”

“I’m not,” I muttered.

“When’s the last time you talked with her?” Sam asked.

I remained grumpily silent.

Lane rolled his eyes. “So, within the last week.”

I