Page 140 of Business Casual
I narrow my eyes. “A tattoo emergency?”
Jeremy rolls his lips against his smile and taps his palm against the edge of the door. He might have tidied himself up over the years, but he still shows flashes of that impertinent teenager. The little shit that used to put his pet gecko in my hair when I babysat him. “That’s what they said, yeah. I’m going to put them in room two.”
“Jeremy, no—” But he’s already gone, disappearing down the narrow hall that leads to the front. I hear the low murmur of conversation and then a door opening. Fuck. He’s put them in a private studio. A private studio means it’s either an extensive piece or they want it on their ass. I’m not in the mood for either of those things tonight.
I snap the binder closed and push back from the desk, sliding my phone out from my back pocket.
NOVA:I just got a walk-in. I’m going to be a few minutes late.
CHARLIE:
NOVA:I know. But I’ll make it up to you.
CHARLIE:I’m listening.
I snort and tap my thumb to the photo gallery icon at the bottom of my phone. I scroll until I find the picture I want, then send it over.
CHARLIE:Fuuuuuuuck.
CHARLIE:We’ve talked about you sending indecent photos, Nova girl.
NOVA:It’s a slice of chocolate cake.
CHARLIE:It’s the last slice of chocolate cake that you’ve hidden like a tiny gremlin. Where is it? Is it at Beckett’s? Layla’s? Buried in a secret bunker in the middle of the south field? Tell me.
It’s actually behind the milk in our garage fridge, but I know Charlie thinks I’m more devious than that, so he hasn’t bothered to check. Layla made me a double-fudge brownie cake for the third anniversary of the studio opening, and Charlie was a man possessed from his first bite. I thought he and Caleb might get in a fistfight over the frosting.
NOVA:It’s yours. An apology for being late.
CHARLIE:Apology not needed but passionately accepted.
I sigh. Charlie and I have been on opposite schedules for the past week. The harvest festival has finally achieved the level of notoriety the town wanted for it all those years ago, thanks in large part to a pumpkin sculpture contest and the enthusiasm of the new mayor. But as a result, I’ve been slammed with walk-ins in town for the festivities, and Charlie’s been occupied with the committee he demanded a permanent place on. I’m tired of only seeing his face when we’re bothdead on our feet, his cheek smooshed in the pillow next to mine, his arm thrown over my hip.
I have another picture on my phone that Charlie hasn’t seen yet, the second part of my apology. Pale pink lace and colorful embroidered flowers that curl up around the edges. I snapped a picture in front of the mirror when I was getting dressed this morning and promptly forgot to send it.
I send it now, just as I slip into room two, tucking my phone back in my pocket with a smile. I hate missing Charlie, but I like the games we play until we find each other again, tension spooling out between us until I yank on it, tugging him back to me.
There’s a muffled groan from the person waiting propped up against the tattoo chair, a familiar gruff, grumbling sound that rolls low in his chest. I stop just inside the entryway watching Charlie blink down at his phone.
“Well, that’s more in line with the indecent photos you usually send,” he mutters, palm scratching roughly at the back of his head. “Fuck, Nova. When did you get this one?”
“Last weekend.” I fold my hands behind my back and stare at him. It feels like I dreamed him right up and dropped him in room two. “When I went shopping.”
“You told me you bought flowers.”
“Don’t those look like flowers?”
He swipes with his thumb at the screen and tilts his head to the side, his tongue at the corner of his mouth as he studies the picture. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I am.”
He keeps staring at his phone and I keep staring at him. He’s wearing the suit I watched him shrug into this morning, navy blue with a crisp white shirt beneath. Long legs crossed at the ankles and hair messy from dragging his hands through it too many times today. He rubs his knuckles over the scruff on his jaw, and I get a glimpse of the ink on his wrist. I smile.
“Are you going to keep staring at that picture or are you going to kiss me?”
“To be honest, Nova, I still haven’t decided.” He clicks off his phone with a tap of his thumb and tosses it over his shoulder on the padded chair. “Just kidding. Come over here and plant one on me.”
I roll my eyes but close the space between us with three quick steps, sliding into his open arms and pressing up on my toes to catch his mouth with mine. He sighs as soon as my mouth is on his, relief and wanting and comfort in the press of his palm at the base of my spine, urging me closer.
