Page 39 of Playboy’s Purgatory

I eye Graycie, “Snake let you carry this? It’s kind of heavy. Why are you even giving this to me?”

The secretive smile on her face is enough. I stop and then look down again, ripping the card from between two candles. Before I open it, before I confirm what I already know, I take a quick inventory.

There are two robes, both of them soft, two towels, more than a couple of face masks, nail polish, and salts for a bath along with bubble bath. It’s a spa basket for me and my daughter.

My eyes sting and I don’t like it.

The card has my name on it in that unhurried script again.

You ladies deserve a little pampering.

J

That’s it. No grand declaration. No big apology.

Just a simple gesture and a simple note.

I’m not sure why it pisses me off, but it does.

This whole thing is ridiculous. Why is he making an effort now? Because he feels bad?

I’m not sure if that’s enough of a reason for me to entertain his little redemption parade he’s throwing for himself.

I want this to end.

No more inserting himself where he’s not wanted.

No more talking people into being his messenger. He knows I won’t take it out on them. He’s right and it only pisses me off more.

I’m fuming, the edges of the card curling slightly in my grip.

“Woah,” Graycie breathes out, “you look pissed. Did the card say something mean or insulting?”

She looks genuinely bewildered. All I do is hold up the card like evidence. It’s not.

The card is sweet.

Still, I’m getting angrier with every breath I take. I watch as the confusion on Graycie’s face deepens. My feet start moving without realizing it and without warning.

“Where are you going?” Graycie calls out after me, but I don’t stop.

I don’t explain.

It doesn’t take me very long to march my ass over to Ridge Tattoos. I have no idea if he’s there or not, but it’s a damn good place to start.

The moment I swing the door open, Playboy looks up from an area that I can only guess is his. Flooring color and furniture mark out the spaces while not making it feel cramped or closed in. There are four large chairs throughout the space and a hallway toward the back that leads…who the fuck knows where.

I march right up to him, anger still steadily pumping through my veins. His chocolate brown eyes are wide as he looks at me. I’m sure I look like a fucking mess considering I walked the distance between our two shops like a fucking Viking on the warpath.

For the first time since I gave into my anger, I’m forced to consider if I’m overreacting. I mean, clearly, I am, but how much, really?

I’m going to roll with it.

“I’ve had enough,” I bite the words out while pointing at him.

“Enough of gifts which are both sweet and practical?” He asks the question innocently.

I only narrow my eyes even further at him and hiss out some sort of response which is hardly coherent and barely human. To his credit, Playboy holds up his hands.