When she awakens, she’s probably going to feel abandoned and hurt that I left. And it’s a dick move considering what went down between us. But the alternative, dropping onto the mattress and wrapping my body around hers so my face is the first thing she sees in the morning, isn’t possible.
Not with a ghost and my guilt an indestructible wall between us.
Chapter Eight
Eden
“Just sign here.” The UPS employee extends her scratched-up electronic pad toward me, and I accept it, smiling as I scrawl my name across the screen with the stylus.
“Here you go.” I hand her tools of the trade back to her and force myself not to rub my hands together in glee at the two large and one medium-size boxes in front of my desk at the tattoo shop. “Thanks.”
“My pleasure,” she says. But instead of leaving and returning to her illegally parked, brown and yellow truck, she tucks the pad away and tilts her head to the side, her gaze flicking down my T-shirt covered chest and ripped skinny-leg jeans.
Hold up. Did she just check me out?
I blink.
“I’m just going to say it,” she says, returning her eyes to mine. “You’re gorgeous.”
I blink again. Okay, this is a first. And I have to admit, I’m a little flattered. Even that dung-brown, curve-obliterating uniform can’t hide her lean, toned figure. With her light brown hair pulled into a high ponytail, her hazel eyes, and chestnut skin, she’s a stunner. And the appreciation glowing in that pretty stare boosts my Knox-battered-and-bruised pride. For the second time since seeingWonder Woman, I’m kind of bemoaning being strictly dickly.
“Thanks,” I reply. “That’s sweet.” I can’t prevent the blush that rushes up my neck and into my face. Compliments aren’t my thing. Growing up, I’d very rarely been on the receiving end of them. And even though there hadn’t been a shortage of them from Connor, I’d never become comfortable hearing them directed at me.
“If someone isn’t telling you that often enough, then shame on them.” She reaches into her shirt pocket, removes a white card, and holds it out. I accept, glancing down to catch her name and numbers. Katrina James. “Call me. I’d love to take you to dinner.”
I almost give her my usual answer: I’m widowed and not really looking to become involved with anyone, but thanks anyway.
But at the last moment, I stop myself. Not because I want to accept her invitation; no matter how attractive Katrina is, I just don’t swing that way. No, I swallow the words down because I’m no longer defining myself by my marital status and life circumstances and using both as excuses to not live.
Maybe that decision happened the morning I woke up naked from the waist down, whisker burns abrading the inside of my thighs, and alone except for the memories of Knox with his head buried between my legs. Maybe it happened weeks before that when I made the decision to move out of Katherine and Dan’s home.
I can’t say for certain, but I’m determined to move on.
Even if I have to kick my own ass to do it.
“Thanks,” I repeat, tucking the business card in my back pocket.
Nodding, she smiles one last time and, turning, leaves the shop. Still a little bemused, I watch until she climbs into the truck and pulls off, disappearing into the busy, Saturday traffic.
“Damn.” Hakim whistles from behind me. I lean back against the desk, resting my elbows on the top. The Taye Diggs with dreads lookalike props an arm on the frame of his cubicle wall and grins. “That was hot as fuck. You should bring her to my party tonight.”
Bent over a client, Shana shakes her head and snorts. “You’re such a man.”
“Hey,” Jude yelled from his workspace. “I take offense to that. I wasn’t picturing Eden and the UPS chick naked and sweaty.”
“Shit, I’m a woman, andIwas picturing Eden and the UPS chick naked and sweaty,” V drawled, rolling backward in her chair, her grin wicked and teasing. She wiggles her eyebrows at me, the silver ring piercing the right one dipping up and down.
Snickering, I push off the desk and round it. “Hakim, help me with these? Can you take them to my office?” “Office” is being a bit generous, since it’s barely bigger than a closet. But it’s mine, and I love it.
“For you? Anything.” He strolls over, plants a smacking kiss on my cheek, and hefts one of the two larger boxes in his arms.
I follow him with the medium package, and moments later, I’m taking a pair of scissors to the cardboard containers. I can’t suppress the pleased sigh that escapes me as I pull back the flaps and stare down at the array of black hoodies. Pride swells within me. The artwork—two fists with HARD KNOX tattooed across the knuckles, and INK underneath—was my idea. The fists pay homage to and capitalize on Knox’s MMA background, while the lettering clearly states what we are.
We. It’s true. Even though I’m not an artist and don’t know how to wield a tattoo gun, I belong here. I have a second family here, and I’m needed. In this shop, I’m not the drunk’s daughter or just Connor Gordon’s wife or widow, or even Knox and Jude’s sister-in-law. I’ve found my calling as shop manager, and after years of wondering what I would do with my life, I’ve discovered I’m damn good at business management. And as boring as it might sound to some people, I find all of it—the organization, paying invoices, ordering supplies, marketing, and promotion—exciting. I can never thank Knox enough for giving me free rein with his shop. He trusted me, and I can never repay that.
Even if our relationship is forever changed because of what’s been happening between us, I’ll always appreciate him for offering me a chance most businesses would never extend a college dropout with zero experience.
“Yooo, these are dope,” V praises, kneeling next to the box of hoodies. I’d been so lost in my own head, I hadn’t even heard her stop by or walk into my office.
