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“I can. I do.” I laugh and pull my hand away. “I have loads. I’ll show you later.”
“Pinky promise?”
“Yeah, cross my heart.” I sit at the table, trying to sort through my thoughts. “Hey, how well do you know the Damage Boyz?”
“Know? I wouldn’t say I really know them.” She slinks into the seat across from me, and my memory superimposes Jesse’s long, muscled body over hers for a moment, until I blink. “But I do know a few things about them, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it is. Like…” I tilt my mug, stare at the dregs. “Ev told me a few things. Zane took some of them on as apprentices.”
“Yeah. He and Rafe took them in off the streets.” She gives a one-shoulder shrug. “The boys were homeless. Zane saw a talent in them, and he and Rafe decided to give them a chance. For a future, know what I mean?”
I nod. “So they were homeless. But what about their families?”
“Micah’s an orphan. I don’t know about the others.”
A leather band. A toy. A mystery. “I’ll ask Ev.”
“You do that.” Kayla squints at me. “Are you in love, Amber Walsh?”
“Oh God.” I climb to my feet and put my mug in the sink. “What now, you saw a change in my heart line? Or maybe you’ve read my horoscope?”
“Don’t be silly.” She swirls her coffee. “Didn’t have time to do that, and how can I see your heart line from here?”
“Then what?”
“Jesse was here, and now you’re looking for a leather band that has to be his, and trying to find out more about him. Elementary, my dear Amber.”
Chapter Eight
Jesse
The morning’s unusually warm and humid. My T-shirt sticks to my back as I walk down the street and stop in front of Damage Control. I’m early, today being my cleaning shift, and I fumble with the key while rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Staying upright after a long, loud night at Jackass and Co.—which would be my apartment—is tricky.
Is it my apartment if I share it with three jerks? Do they even count as people?
Fucking tools. I’d be more lenient, but lack of sleep is getting to me. My eyes are itchy, my skin feels stretched too tight over my bones, and my brain is sluggish. Next, hallucinations, if memory serves—this isn’t my first encounter with insomnia. Boy, so looking forward to that.
And on top of the exhaustion, I’ve got to work, and Zane’s on my back to take on my first solo ink. Under his watchful eye, I’ve completed parts of tats on real skin, but doing it all on my own…
Dammit.
The key drops from my fingers, and I bend to get it. When I straighten, someone is standing right in front of me, and I jerk back.
What the hell, why the fuck should I be hallucinating Seth standing there with a dark frown on his face?
“Hey,” Seth says, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “Um. Whatcha doing here this early, J?”
“Oh, you know.” I straighten, key clutched in my hand, digging into my palm, my mouth on autopilot. “I like to come in early and jerk off on the reception desk.”
The hallucination in the form of Seth lifts a dark brow but doesn’t look too impressed. Damn. I have to try harder.
“Have you ever noticed how Zane’s tattoo gun looks like a dildo?” I wag the key at Seth. “Have you ever thought to try—?”
“No.” The Seth hallucination winces. “No, dude. Seriously?”
“No, not seriously.” I sigh, try the key again, and, miracle of miracles, it slides into the lock. “What do you think? It’s my cleaning shift.”
“No, actually, it’s not.” He follows me inside.
