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This isn’t love.
“You don’t love Brad.”
“Love has nothing to do with a relationship, little sis.”
“Then what does?”
“Mutual understanding. Respect. Mutual goals.”
“And do you and Brad have any of that?”
“I’ve got to go. I think he’s back.”
A bad feeling grips me. “Allie, I want to come visit you. This week. Please say yes.”
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. Kay, I have—”
“I’m coming over. Friday. Even just for coffee. Love you.”
As she hangs up, her words whirl through my mind like spinning tops.
This isn’t love.
Brad doesn’t do for her what Ocean does for me. Things you do when you care for someone. Like he cares for me, and I’m…
Oh no.
No frigging way. I’m not in frigging love. Not for a guy who won’t talk to me, won’t open up and who insists he’s bad to the bone. I mean, who am I to argue with that? What if he’s right?
And even if deep inside he’s a good guy and cares for me… I already know how this ends. He’ll break up with me like he did with every other chick he’s been with, and I’ll sink in heartbreak and despair, like my sister, and my parents, and everyone I watched doing this dance as I grew up.
***
When I drive over to Damage Control the ne
xt day, it’s not even midday, and I don’t expect anyone to be around. Anyone but Amber and Ev, that is, with whom I want to talk about setting up our stand for the tattoo convention.
But the place is crawling with people, preparing for said convention, since it’s taking place tomorrow.
Duh, Kay. Logical.
Still I don’t expect to see Ocean there—don’t know why, really. Just wasn’t counting on it. Wasn’t prepared.
I’m still not prepared when I enter and find him right in front of me. He’s carrying a complicated-looking gadget while Micah and Shane move a bench to another part of the shop.
He’s a spot of color in the chaos of the shop, his blue hair mussed, his muscular arms bare in the sweat-drenched green tank top he’s wearing. His jeans hung low on those narrow hips and tight little ass, and oh boy, is it getting hot in here?
His gorgeous face is haggard and tired when he turns around. Then it goes white when he sees me, and two red spots bloom on his cheekbones. A flash of something hot and bright goes off behind his eyes, something like joy.
“Kay.”
I shiver. I’ll always shiver when he says my name in that deep, raspy voice.
“Hey. Wow, this place sure looks different. All ready for the big event?”
Because, oh God, I’m not ready. I’m not prepared to talk to him.
“Getting there.” He wipes his face on the back of his forearm, flashing me the small tattoo of the angel. He looks straight at me, meeting my gaze, deep blue sucking me in, studded with stars like space.
