Page 3 of Save Me

I snort. You’d think summer in Ohio wouldn’t be that bad, but we have enough humidity to drown even a preacher in hell.

Chad and I fall into easy conversation as I get my things set up. He shows me the spot on his upper arm where he wants the tattoo, and I size the stencil and get to work. Chad is as chatty as I am and relaxes into me as I work, hitting my flow state, talking, tattooing, and laughing while rock music plays in the background. I can’t help but notice he’s kinda cute, with good cheekbones and defined muscles, and he smells like mint gum. It’s nice, not everyone smells good. I’m sure they have their reasons, but I do appreciate the mint.

While I’m shading Satan’s balloon knot, Chad leans into me and does a conspiratorial snort.

I look at him, then glance to where he’s looking. At some point, Ronan must have come back out because now he’s sitting beside Logan, watching him work with his hand on Logan’s thigh.

I glance back at Chad, who raises his eyebrows. “Fucking gay.”

I laugh. They are pretty gay. It’s cute.

“I had some dude hit on me once at the Gray Goose.” Chad keeps talking, and I’m only half listening to him, distracted now by the weird tightness in my chest. My ex, Josh, used to do the whole hand on my thigh thing. He did it up to and all the way through cheating on me.

“Fucking faggot.”

That startles me back into the present. What did Chad just say? I jerk my gaze up at him. He just looks at me.

“What?”

“Yeah, he tried to hit on me!” He snorts. “Can you believe it? Do I look like a fag to you?”

There’s an odd, fuzzy sound, like the music platform has lost its internet connection. It takes me a second of just staring at the butthole I’m tattooing before I catch up with what Chad said.

He was making fun of Logan and Ronan, and not in an affectionate way.

Because of course he was.

My cheeks feel hot, which quickly changes to my gut twisting. Then irritation rolls through me. This happens all the time, but why does it still bother me?

Then my phone buzzes in my pocket, and the radio kicks back on. Suddenly, I can hear everything in alarming detail. The buzzing of Logan’s machine, the incessant chatter from across the room, and even Chad’s wheezy nose.

I can pretend like this didn’t happen. I always do.

Except the one time I didn’t.

Briefly, I consider that option, and my muscles hum with a quick burst of energy. But just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone.

What good is hurting him going to do? It won’t change his mind.

My phone goes off again, and I put my machine down and pull it out.

It’s a message from the pet sitter app.

Maddox: I might be able to help.

CHAPTER THREE

“They’re on the counter!”

I glare at the kitchen counter piled high with coffee tins, empty grocery bags, a bucket, and a wrench. I’m fairly certain the protein shakes aren’t there, but I’ll look again. I hesitantly hover my hands over the items to make sure I haven’t missed them. As I do, something darts out with a clatter, and I leap back a step.

The multicolored blur darts into the living room and disappears. For a moment, adrenaline sharpens my senses, and I’m hit with the overwhelming scent of cat urine.

A cat. Just a cat.

I suck in a breath. I haven’t seen that one before. I’ve seen the orange, gray, and black one, but that one looked like a tabby.

Fuck. Heart racing, I walk back to my client’s room, and as I do, my shoes stick to the floor. Ah shit, I forgot to look where I was stepping. The cats pee everywhere, despite having clean litter boxes. I keep telling my client they probably need to go to the vet, but he doesn’t listen. Which makes me unreasonably angry. The rage that bubbles in my chest makes me want to shove Mr. Parker’s door hard enough that it slams against the wall. Makes me want to demand that he take care of his animals since he has all the money in the world to do so.