My walk to meet the girls for brunch is a hazy blur of tattooed muscles. Sweaty, tattooed muscles. Straddling a half-naked Nico—the sky above us bleeding passion, his hands on my hips, his lips devouring mine—nearly short-circuited my brain. And that wasn’t just any kiss. It was an apology and a promise and a prelude. Another second and I would have licked every inch of salt from his body.
Instead he shared an intimate fear with me.
There’s just something about Nico. His quiet presence maybe. His deep voice and sincere questions. He’s trying to ease the gap between us. A gap I’m nervous to close.
I step into the cramped café and squish my elbows to my sides. This place is beyond tiny. Tables are crammed together, barely enough room for servers to get around. The walls are covered with picture frames of newspaper articles and celebrity photos. There’s no sign of Shay or Lily, but I spot a free table in a back corner and try to catch someone’s attention. Both waitresses glance my way…and ignore me. When a group of four push into the place, I take matters into my own hands.
Two strides toward the table, someone says, “Those tattoos don’t scare me. Seat yourself, and I’ll have you doing dishes.”
I spin around, squinting at the waitress with the snarky tone. “Excuse me?”
Her hair is in two blond braids, her ripped jeans and faded Mickey Mouse shirt not exactly professional. She winks at me. “I don’t like it when girls rush me. I’m all about the slow burn.”
The patrons laugh, as if it’s just another Sunday and I wasn’t propositioned by their server. I stand my ground, unsure if I should return to the door or take a seat.
Shay pokes her curly head through the waiting customers and waves. “Rave!”
Mickey Mouse Girl says, “Stop taking up space. Sit your asses down already.”
More laughter. More confusion from moi.
Lily and Shay join me, neither of them fazed by the nutty service. Once we’re seated, I cross my arms. “The food here better be insane, or I’m leaving.”
Shay waves a hand in the air. “It’s what they do, like their shtick. They harass the customers.”
“And people pay for this?”
Lily slings her purse over the back of her chair. “Sawyer brought me here my first week. When I ordered sausage with my eggs, the waitress asked if I could handle all those inches. Sawyer, of course, told her I’d had lots of practice.” She blushes so pink telling the story, I can’t imagine how she looked that day.
I relax into my chair. “That sounds more my speed.”
“Plus,” Shay says, “the home fries are amazing.”
A few patrons glance our way, probably thinking we make an odd bunch. We’ve always been a mash-up of music genres and styles. Shay in her trendy platform shoes, skinny jeans, and fitted pink T-shirt is our Pop girl. Lily looks as though she walked off the cover of one of her hipster CDs, flowy lace top, jean skirt, ankle boots, and all. My black outfit and inked skin scream old school punk. The three of us are as different as different gets, but they’re my closest friends, and I need their advice.
Attention focused on their menus, they don’t notice me twisting my hands on the table. Probably best to blurt it out. “I kissed Nico.”
Their heads fly up at once.
“What? When? Why? I thought you hated him,” Shay says.
Grinning, Lily leans forward. “Details, please.”
I never told the girls the Aspen specifics. I’d never even told them I’d met my grandmother, let alone the fact that she’d passed. Skilled at bulldozing my emotions and masking the wreckage with sarcasm, I cracked jokes and teased them about their love lives, and we had fun in Aspen. Back home, it all hit me so hard. The worse I felt, the snarkier I’d get. I’d hook up with guys. When I couldn’t shake thoughts of Nico, I’d lie on my bed and blast the Clash loud enough to wake the dead. I’d use the time to perfect my Ten Ways to Kill Nico List. Talking to the girls back then meant reopening old wounds, and I was squeaking by.
But I kissed the Sexy Beast and his offer to help me find Rose means we could be spending more time together. Avoidance is no longer an option. “Apparently he’s been running on the beach each morning because I told him I go there to take photos.”
“Tenacious,” Shay says. “I like it. So you made out on the sand?”
I nod. “He had his shirt off and everything. That man’s body should be illegal.”
And his lips should be black market contraband. But it’s his sweet nature that has me shredding the napkin in my hands. Nico has apologized more than once. He’s devoted to his community, to his family, and he’s offered to help me find mine. He’s the type of man girls dream about. Why am I still holding back?
Shay and Lily exchange glances, then Lily drags her chair closer and lowers her voice. “You must have your reasons for being quiet about what happened in Aspen, but we can’t help if you don’t let us in. If it were me, I’d be upset if a guy didn’t call after hooking up, but you’ve never cared about that. Why Nico?”
Because he looked into my soul that night. Because for the first time in my life, I wanted more. “Because he pushed me to share personal things with him and promised he wouldn’t hurt me. Then he blew me off.”
Lily bites her lip. “I’m sorry, Rave. I wish you’d talked to us about it.”
I drop my shredded napkin and trace my rose tattoo, the first ink I ever got. The way Nico kissed it in Aspen made my chest ache. “I should have. But I didn’t know what to do with everything I was feeling. And it seemed ridiculous. It was one night, and I fell so hard for him. It fucked me up, to say the least.”
“And now?” Shay asks. “You’re willing to give him another shot?”
My roaring libido and nervous stomach seem to differ in opinions. “Aside from the fact that he’s the sexiest thing on legs, Nico and I have an intense connection. We’ve both been through a lot as kids, fucked-up family stuff. And I know he didn’t mean to hurt me. But part of my move here was about finding Rose. He’s offered to help, and I said yes, but I’m having second thoughts. I’m worried if we spend time together, I’ll fall harder. The idea of looking for Rose and getting in deep with Nico scares the crap out of me.”
The snarky waitress interrupts us and blows the bangs from her face. “What do you ladies want? If it’s me, I get off in a couple hours, but it takes a lot of work to get me off.”
Well then. “I’m good with the menu,” I say, chuckling.
The girls rattle off their orders, and I choose pancakes on the fly. When I ask for coffee, the waitress says, “You have feet, get it yourself.”
I smile as she marches off, getting into the vibe of this place. “If my apprentice gig falls through and our event business doesn’t take off, I could probably waitress here.”
“You do have a PhD in sarcasm,” Shay says.
Lily elbows her. “Back to the Nico problem. I have a suggestion.”
I bounce my leg, eager for advice. Advice I could have used when I let a friend tattoo a guitar on my hip. The proportions are off, the lines wonky, and the neck is a blur of muddy colors. It resembles a choking chicken. If I push Nico away again, odds are my regret over the choking chicken tattoo would pale in comparison.
Lily smooths the napkin on her lap. “My vote is that you should let him help you find Rose. He has the resources, and it’s important. If you don’t look for her, you’ll always wonder. As for Nico, I get why you’re hesitant. I don’t believe for a second he’d hurt you again, but relationships can be messy. I’d take it slow, but I’d give it a shot.” She looks at Shay, who nods in agreement.
I tap my fingers restlessly. “Slow might be a challenge. I mean, you have seen him, right? And that kiss was unreal. Plus, things get intense when we talk. Slow isn’t in our vocabulary.”
On the beach, I was a heartbeat from spilling about the hell that sent Rose running. The horrific beating. How I pissed myself that day. It’s not a story I want to relive, and if he asks again, I’m not sure I’ll be able to swallow it down. But never knowing if my sister and I could reconnect would be harder than sharing my worst day as a person. Nico’s a cop. He’s got access to databases and driver’s license info. All I’ve been doing is scanning random people on the street.
I sigh. “If we spend time together, fighting this thing between us won’t work. But yeah. I want his help finding Rose. I’ll just have to hope for the best.”
Hope my heart doesn’t get trampled.
Lily twists the ring on her necklace. “God, can you imagine what it would be like to see Rose after all this time? Did she look like you?”
The reality of finding my sister whispers through me, leaving a chill in its wake. The same unease that seized me at Nico’s questioning. Holding out hope for a relationship with her is dangerous business. She could be a drunk like our mother. Violent like my father, who raised us both. She could blame me for it all. The smell of bacon and waffles veers from heavenly to acerbic. “Yeah, we looked a bit alike, but it’s hard to remember. We’re both a quarter First Nations. She had dark hair and eyes like me and our mother, but her father was Scottish, so her skin was fair. And she had the most perfect teeth.”
Shay makes a choking sound. “Honestly, you and your teeth. The gap in the center is hot. Totally in these days. Tons of models have it.”
And Nico likes it, I don’t say. For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to hide my smile.
We discuss our website for Over the Top Events, but my thoughts drift to my upcoming outing with Nico. An idea’s been brewing in my mind for a while, a concept for a photographic essay on street life. Ever since I learned my grandmother spent time on the streets, I’ve been drawn to the people there. The stories.
Something else Nico wants to help me with.
His offer to visit that homeless community has emotion rising thick in my throat. This is the whole package he alluded to: a man in my life who cares about my interests, plays my stupid-question game, and kisses me like I’m his last breath. My mind fills with all things Nico—his chest, his lips, his eyes. His sexy grunt when our tongues brushed. Yep, there’s no resisting him.
I pull my phone from my purse. Someone needs to teach him how to sext.
Do you prefer lace, silk, or leather?
Seconds later, my phone buzzes.
Can’t talk right now. I’ll pick you up Thursday night at eight.
I frown at his reply, a niggle of uncertainty curdling my gut. No cute banter. No hint we’ll chat over the next four days. The man really needs to work on his dirty talk. Either that or he’s brushing me off. I give myself a mental slap. I don’t do insecure. I don’t do needy. I’m just worked up about searching for Rose and dating Nico. Slow is good. Slow is what I want.
My phone lights up again. Your wallet came in. No cards or cash, but your ID is inside. I’ll drop it in your mailbox.
Drop it in my mailbox? How did we go from pawing each other to “drop it in my mailbox”? Where’s the sweet guy who told me he wants the whole package? I scowl at my phone and attempt to ignore my unease. Technology has a way of twisting words and meanings. That’s probably all this is, and I’m just being a nutjob. He was nothing but affectionate on the beach.