Wrecked

Chapter Three





“You got company.”

Keelie stood in the doorway, watching him with a disgruntled look on her face.

“Why don’t you handle it?” he said, looking back at the bills spread out before him. They might be partners, but she couldn’t do numbers. The one time he’d made her handle the bills for the month, she’d paid two vendors twice and hadn’t paid the water or the electric bill. Since then, he’d handled the paperwork. But he made her do more of the housekeeping shit. He figured it was fair.

“Because Abby doesn’t want to talk to me,” she said with a smirk.

He stood so fast, he knocked over the lukewarm coffee that he’d meant to dump earlier.

“Son of a bitch!” he snarled, rescuing the bills from the spreading puddle.

“Suave, man. You’re so suave,” she said with a smile. She came over and tugged out the towel she kept tucked in a back pocket, using it to sop up the coffee. “Good thing you already drank most of it.”

“Thanks.” After they’d dealt with the mess, he shot a look at the clock. It was creeping up on nine—almost closing time. This time of year they didn’t get too busy during the week, so he didn’t keep very late hours on weekdays.

He didn’t know why Abby was here, but maybe they could get a bite to eat or something.

“Are you ever going to tell her?”

He glanced up at Keelie. “What?”

A grin twisted her lips and the piercing just above the right corner of her mouth winked in the bright lights of the office. “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I know the symptoms of the lovesick.” She shrugged and turned away. “Just wondering if you’re ever going to do anything about it.”

“Ah . . . it’s complicated,” he said softly. Of all the people to see it so clearly, why did it have to be Keelie? She was the one most likely to tell all the wrong people. As in . . . Abby. “I can’t just go and blurt it out, Keelie. It’s too . . . complicated.”

“So is life, but you’re out here living, aren’t you?”

It’s not that easy. He could tell her that. It’s none of your business. Yeah. That would work, too. But in the end, he didn’t say anything. Didn’t see the point. He knew what he was doing. As much as he’d like to tell Abby how he felt, considering she only saw him as a friend and wasn’t interested in anything else, well, he’d rather at least have her as friend. There was no way he was going to risk losing that much of her.

This way, he could still take care of her, as much as she’d let him.

It sucked and didn’t do anything to fill the hole in his heart, but not having anything would leave a bigger hole.

He headed out to the main area of Steel Ink and found Abby standing in front of the main design wall. Her back was turned and for a second, he let himself just stand there, staring. She’d straightened her hair, that incredible curly mass of hair, and it hung down her back in a smooth, straight banner of deep, dark auburn.

Back when they’d been entertaining the world as Kate and Nate, her hair had been a brighter shade of red. She’d been around fourteen when it had started to darken and the studio hotshots hadn’t liked it. Since they hadn’t liked it, her bitch of a mother hadn’t, either.

Which meant she’d been forced to deal with having her hair dyed, keeping it that carroty shade for the next two years. Then they’d gotten the word that the show was being cancelled.

It had been one of the worst days of his life—at the time.

But he knew it had been one of the best days of hers. Right up until she realized what it meant to her mother.

Because he couldn’t think about Blanche without wanting to spit nails, he made himself cut that line of thought off. “Hey, sugar,” he drawled, watching as she spun around.

The flippy little skirt she had on sent his blood pressure soaring somewhere into the stratosphere and he could feel the oxygen in his brain dwindling away. The nervous smile on her face caught his attention and even as he found himself thinking, F*ck, she’s beautiful, he narrowed his eyes and speculated just what in the hell she was up to.

Abby didn’t show nerves.

She felt them. He knew that.

But she didn’t show them.

“Hey, Zach.”

She glanced down and he followed her gaze, saw that she had the journal he’d picked up for her. “Did you bring that here to beat me up with it or something?”

She laughed. “Well, there is something about an unexpected action . . .” Then she shrugged. “Nah. I actually figured out a plan. It’s a weird one, but I’m here to ask you to help me do one of the things on the list.”

“Okay . . .” He hooked his thumbs in his pockets and waited.

“I want a tattoo.”

Zach closed his eyes. Reaching up, he rubbed his right ear and then said, “You want what?”

“A tattoo.” She wiggled the book . “I wrote it down and everything. I did it last night and I’ve thought about it all day and I’m sure I want to do it, so stop looking at me like I’ve lost my mind, okay?”

“You wrote a plan that includes getting a tattoo,” he said slowly. His mind was churning at the very idea of it and his blood was boiling. Putting his hands on her . . . focus on the issue at hand, Barnes! “And you want me to do it.”

“Well . . .” She grinned at him and the dimple in her chin winked at him. “The tattoo part is in the plan. And who else would I ask? You’re my best friend, right?”

He pressed the heel of his hand to his eye. “You sure about this, sugar?”

“Yes.” She tapped the book against her leg, looking around. “Ah . . . does that mean you’ll do it?”

“Like I’d let anybody else,” he muttered. “Do you know what you want?”

She shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought it through that far. I was kind of thinking you could help me figure it out.”

He shoved a hand through his hair and glanced around. The parlor was empty. “When did you want to do this?” He could take some time to think up some designs for her. Take some time to get a grip and—

“Now.”

So much for taking time to get a grip.

“Okay.”

* * *

Bent over the table, she watched as he sketched out another image. Keelie had left, locking up the front door and lowering the blinds. Zach seemed completely focused on the task at hand. “You got any idea where you want to put this?” he asked.

“Ah . . . well, I was thinking that I’d rather have one that doesn’t really show. It’s for me, not anybody else.” She scooted back from the desk and went over to the design wall, studying some of the pictures. The back of her shoulder seemed innocuous enough, but this was something she was doing for herself. Not to show off and she wanted it personal. Completely personal. She saw one woman’s picture—the woman was pretty damn clearly showing off—she was sexy as hell, Abigale had to admit, but did she really have to have her jeans open like that?

Although one thing was clear. She wasn’t about to have him doing it on her hip like that. She’d have to all but pull up her skirt. Considering the way she was having trouble thinking clearly around him just now . . . ? Yeah. Not happening. “I guess my lower back.”

Glancing down at her skirt, she frowned and turned around to find Zach staring at her. His gaze dropped back down to the sketchbook in front of him. “Will this skirt work okay for this?”

“Yeah. You’re fine. You wanna take a look at any of these?”

She crossed the floor to study the designs and frowned. They all looked so . . . simple.

“What’s wrong?”

“Well . . . they’re pretty, but . . .” She glanced at the vivid color on his arms, the intricate detail, and then back at the sketches. “Aren’t they kind of plain?”

“Sugar, you’ve never had a tattoo before. Trust me. You want simple. They hurt. And the more intricate it gets, the longer it takes.”

“Oh.” Well, technically she realized it wasn’t going to feel good. But having it pointed out to her made some of the nerves inside her flare to life.

A warm hand brushed down her arm and she turned her head, found Zach watching her closely. “You know, this isn’t anything you have to do,” he said quietly.

“Yes, it is. I want to.” Tearing her gaze away from his, she looked at the designs. One in particular had caught her eye the second he’d drawn it. Simple or not, it was lovely. The stylized dragonfly made her smile. It was pretty, fantastical, and silly.

“I think that one is just about perfect,” she said, tapping it with her finger.

“Okay.” He checked the clock. “I need some time to get this ready. Don’t suppose you feel like ordering us in some pizza or something, do you? You can put a movie in while I do this.”

“Sure.” She tugged her phone out and then glanced at him as he pushed back from the desk. “I . . . ah, well, I didn’t know it was any more complicated than you just doing it.”

A grin tugged at his lips. “Well, if you had the design in mind already or brought one with you, we could move a little quicker. But yeah, it takes a little while.” He gestured down the hall. “The number for the best local pizza place is hanging on the fridge in the break room if you want to use them, or we can use Rosatti’s.”

* * *

Once she left the room, Zach dropped his head down on his desk and groaned. He had to do this. He knew he did. And he wasn’t going to deny a very huge part of him wanted to do this—wanted it so bad, his hands were shaking from it, but how in the hell was he supposed to handle this without losing his damn mind?

“By doing your damn job.” She came here because she wanted some ink. So that was what he was going to do.

As he pushed back from the desk, he kicked the chair she’d dragged over and her purse fell. The journal slid out as he scooped up the purse. He went to dump them both back on the chair, but found himself flipping through the journal. She hadn’t done much of anything.

But then he stopped.

One page held her neat writing.

She’d titled it. That was typical Abby, although it made him a little nervous. Wreck this life. What the hell . . .

But the first few goals had him smiling. Tell off Roger. Cool. Flip off the photographers? He’d been telling her to do that for years. Stop worrying so much. Wonderful.

The tattoo . . . yes. She was serious.

But the last one had the blood draining out of his head.

Fffffuuuuccckkkkk . . .

Snapping it closed, he dumped the book on top of her purse and shot upright. Have a f*cking affair? What the hell?

Thunder crashed inside his head. At least it felt that way, although more than likely, he was having a stroke or something. His feet seemed to get in the way as he turned around and started for the door. They needed to talk.

Abby had just broken things off with that prick she’d been engaged to. She was upset and feeling a little lost, needed to do something crazy. He could understand that, he thought. And while he was completely on board with her learning to live a little, the idea of her having a f*cking affair with some guy who wouldn’t give a damn about her made him want to chew glass and break things. Lots of things.

Still, that journal was her personal property and he hadn’t had any right to go rooting through it. He hadn’t expected to find anything like that and how could he explain that he’d read it? He couldn’t lie to her. But did he tell her that she needed to think this through?

Damn it.

Following the sound of her voice, he stopped in the doorway and made himself close his eyes while she finished placing the order.

Breathe, man. Gotta breathe. Gotta think. Gotta be calm.

First he had to explain just how he’d managed to see it in the journal. He hadn’t exactly been prying . . . well, he had, but he was her best friend and he was nosy, and she knew that, and . . .

Feeling the weight of her gaze, he lifted his lashes, not looking directly at her. Not yet.

But Abby wasn’t looking at his face.

She was eyeing his arms. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she tugged on the soft curve and he almost went to his knees at the sight. A second later, she glanced away, but then she looked back.

The thunder that had been crashing inside his head grew louder and louder.

Have a torrid affair.

Damn it, if she was dead set on that idea, she could have an affair with him, he decided.

Even as the idea slammed into him, he tried to brush it aside. He’d kept what he felt wrapped up and buried deep for years. Spilling it now?

Just wondering if you’re ever going to do anything about it.

It’s complicated . . .

Hell. He was lecturing Abby about living life and letting go, and here he was, afraid to grab on.

The woman he wanted like he wanted his next breath was standing right there and he was afraid to even make a move.

She turned away as he stood there, still wrestling with the very thought of it, need burning in him and twisting him into tight, hungry knots. Damn it. Damn it. He needed to do this—

“It will take about an hour or so,” Abby said.

I’m thinking longer—

“They’re pretty busy.”

“What?” Distracted, he dragged his eyes away from the curve of her ass and focused on what she was saying.

“The pizza place. They said it would be about an hour or so—asked if they should come around to the back and I told them yes.”

“That’s fine.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Ah . . . I need to get back to work.”

“I was thinking about going to grab some wine or something.”

Good idea. Wait. “You can’t.” He turned around and headed back into the main area of the shop, found the consent forms he needed. Abby was behind him, although he hadn’t heard her. When he turned around, she was just a foot away and the scent of her went straight to his head and Zach had to wonder just what in the hell he’d done to get this kind of torture thrown into his life.

“I can’t go get wine?” A smile curved her lips as she tipped her head to look up at him.

“I can’t do the tattoo if you do—I won’t put one on anybody who has been drinking. Saves me trouble later on. And you need to read through the consent form and sign. Make it all nice and legal.”

“Ahhh . . .” She took the paper and moved over to one of the seats, crossing her legs as she started to read. “I guess I should be totally clearheaded. Otherwise, I could end up having arms like yours.”

“Nah. I might try to talk you into having Forever Nate’s tattooed on your ass, but that’s it.” He gave her a strained smile and turned around. Distance. Serious distance was needed here so he could get back on track.

As he headed down the hall, she called out, “Yeah, sure. I’ll do that when you have a heart with Kate somewhere on you.”

Once he was in his office, he rubbed the heel of his hand over his chest.

What in the hell would she do if she knew he already had her written on his skin?

Not Kate, of course.

He hadn’t fallen in love with Kate.

He loved Abby and always had.

He’d loved her when she ran away from California all those years ago . . . and he’d waited until she stopped running, so he could follow.

He’d loved her when she came to him and told him she was getting married . . . to a man who didn’t deserve her.

And now she was laying out a plan to go and have a torrid affair. With who?

Curling one hand into a fist, he crossed back to his desk.

“Why in the hell not me?”