It’s a replay of almost three weeks ago as I rush down the street to MadInk. My stomach is rolling, from the MAX and the nausea that’s been plaguing me all day. I’m nervous, hands sweating, stumbling on the small heels I shouldn’t have even bothered slipping into, but they were the first pair I could find when I made my decision.
It’s been two weeks since Braxton took me home. Two weeks where we’ve had long conversations at night, him occasionally stopping by, bringing me dinner and putting on a television show that I inevitably fall asleep to within ten minutes of it starting. Two weeks where he then wakes me up, and I groggily get ready for bed while he prepares the pull-out sofa. Two weeks where he kisses me tenderly, tells me good night, rests his palm on my stomach and says good night in a way that makes my insides flip and flop in a delicious way as he speaks to our baby. Two weeks where I feel myself falling for him more and more every time we spend time together. He’s been caring and kind. I catch his lingering glances on not only my slowly growing stomach and swollen breasts in a way that isn’t simply protective, yet he hasn’t done anything more than kiss me tenderly and take care of me.
My hormones are off the charts insane on the days I don’t feel like puking every minute of the day, which, in all honesty, has been quite rare. Even with the antinausea meds, I’ve still been puking almost nonstop from the time I wake up to late afternoon, and today, I believe I’ve finally figured out the cause.
The food trucks that are parked from morning to afternoon in the parking lot behind my apartment. I don’t even have the windows open and don’t need to in order to inhale the mixture of chicken and tacos and seafood and beef and the gyros…good Lord, just the thought of the smell of lamb almost sends me careening down the alley outside MadInk.
I push through and settle myself for a brief moment before I pull open the door and enter Braxton’s tattoo parlor.
The bell rings obnoxiously, but this time, I don’t hesitate, walking quickly to where Stella is perched in the same spot she sat the last time I was here.
“Hi, Stella. I’m Cara.”
“Know who you are, sugar.” She snaps her gum while smiling. “Also know when you want to make a mess, you go all out. Took me hours to get the smell out of Braxton’s office last time you were here.”
She winks like she’s teasing me, but I’m not feeling it today. If I’m not lucky, we’re going to have a repeat. How humiliating would that be? Plus, the shining ring she has pierced through her upper eyebrow is blinding me, sparkling and flashing whenever she moves her head.
“Uh, is he here? I need to speak to him.”
“Yep. He’s finishing up a client though. He’ll be out in a few minutes. Want to sit and wait?”
“Yeah, thanks.” I wring my hands together. I haven’t told Braxton about the puking. I’ve been letting him think it’s becoming more rare because I know the minute I tell him the truth he’s going to insist on me moving in with him again.
He’s mentioned it a couple of times in passing, but he hasn’t pressed anything.
But I’m sick of being sick, and at this point, I’ll try anything. I’m desperate, and while my midwife assured me I’ll start feeling better around fourteen weeks, which is next week, I highly doubt it will happen unless I get out of my apartment.
I’m also too nervous to sit like Stella suggested. I’m so tired I might pass out. My gaze is drawn to the glass cases Stella is perched behind and I look at all the metal rings and bars, where there are also sets of colored balls on the ends. There are hoops with jewels on them, which I assume are for belly rings, tiny jeweled pieces that look like standard ear piercings. And then there are other metal loops with balls on them that remind me of a bull with a ring through it’s nose. Stella has something similar in hers.
“You have anything pierced?” she asks, leaning forward.
“Uh, no.” My cheeks heat though, because I once heard about this certain kind of personal piercing and I’ve always been curious.
“Ah, but you want something pierced.”
She must see me blushing. It’s probably hard to miss.
I shrug, and keep looking at the bits and bobbles, my chest burning every second.
“Oh, come on, tell me what you’re thinking about. A girl like you, I’d imagine a belly button ring.”
I lift my head. “What do you mean, a girl like me?”
“You know.” She throws her arm out and waves her hand in a circle motion in front of me. “Classy. Probably well-mannered and polite and all that shit.”
I laugh, but I’m stunned, at not only how well she can read me but why it seems to irritate her. “Is that bad?”
“I don’t really care as long as you’re good to Brax, but that don’t mean I think you’re good for him.”
The heat inflaming my skin is replaced with a chill so quickly I shiver. “Why would you say that?”
“Because he might live in a high-rise and he might have money, but that don’t mean you two come from the same world. You’re someone who went slumming, saw a hottie with inked arms and went for a walk on the dark side and now you’re faced with the consequences of it. Don’t mean you won’t wake up someday and decide to go back to the life you’re supposed to have and when you do, I doubt you’ll be wanting to parade Braxton around country club galas when you make that walk.”
I can’t even process the things she’s saying and the vile way she’s saying them. I was just dreaming of a clit piercing, for crying out loud, and now I’m having to defend my choice to be with Braxton?
But have I even made that choice yet? I certainly haven’t told him.
Ugh. This is a mess.
Still, it gives her absolutely no right to talk to me like this. Lowering my voice, I lean forward, curling my hands around the glass counter. “Braxton told me about Irvin.” At that declaration, Stella’s jaw drops. I don’t care why it surprises her. “He’s told me how you two clung to that man, and I’m sorry for your loss. Irvin sounds like an incredible man. He’s also told me about the…difficulties…he’s had in school and how he not only thinks he can’t run this business without you, but how important you are to him. I’m guessing he wouldn’t like the things you’re saying to me right now.”
“You gonna tell him?”
“No.” I push back and drop my hands to the side. “You might not like me, but you also don’t know anything about me to make the judgments you’re making right now. And I don’t really care. I still like the fact that it sounds like even though Braxton grew up in a really shitty situation, I’m glad he has someone looking out for him.”
She reminds me of Jimmy. I can only imagine how big of a dick he’d be to Braxton right now if the roles were reversed and he were alive. God, I miss my brother. I’d also take him to task for being a dick as I know Braxton would to Stella if he knew what she was saying.
There’s no point in causing trouble between them for the sake of trouble.
“Thank you so much!” A giggling feminine voice calls and snags my attention from Stella, who’s glaring at me.
“You’re welcome.” It’s Braxton’s voice that follows her and soon, a bombshell of a woman is walking through the doorway. I stumble back a step at the sight of them.
And all my confidence from defending what Stella spewed all over me unravels to the floor.
This woman is a Marilyn Monroe look-alike with a rocker bent. She has curling platinum-blond hair and a body filled out with gorgeous curves. She has a tattoo sleeve up one arm covered in brightly colored flowers and vines. They haven’t seen me gawking at them yet and my jaw drops to the floor as she pulls out her shirt from her chest and shoves it down past her boob. All over her large breast is a white bandage.
She grins up at Braxton and giggles again. “I can’t believe you just did this for me. It’s going to be beautiful.”
My hands curl into fists as I watch her literally shoving her breasts into his face. And…that means he just had his hands all over her chest. Probably her stomach, her ribs. Who knows where he had to touch this woman who’s inked like him and has a few piercings like Stella. She is someone who looks much more like they belong with Braxton than me.
Shit.
“Thanks for coming in,” Braxton says. His hands are in his pockets. His eyes are on hers. In fact, I don’t think he’s looked down at her boob once since she yanked it out for him. “Stella here will—” He looks to Stella, catches me, and pauses, and as he continues speaking, his eyes don’t move from me. “Stella will finish up with your aftercare instructions. Thanks again for coming in.”
“You’re so welcome,” she croons.
And I no longer care about her. I’m already walking to Braxton, intent on doing something I’ve been wanting to do for weeks.
I’m not entirely sure if it’s because of the crap Stella said, the strange burning sensation in me at the sight of this woman that makes me want to set her on fire, or if it’s just because Braxton looks completely freaking edible right now with his black hair, his unshaven scruff lining the front of his throat, the ink on said throat and down his forearms, exposed beneath his navy blue T-shirt.
Hell, it’s probably a combination of all of it, and right now, I’m determined to put Stella and this unknown woman in their place.
“Hi,” I say when I reach Braxton.
“Hey…what are you—”
I don’t give him time to finish the question. I wrap my hands around his biceps, lift to my toes, and press my mouth to his.