Page 6

COREY

I roll over the next morning with a faint pounding behind my temples. It’s much less than I deserve after the amount I drank with Milo once she left last night, but I can’t say that I’m not relieved.

Cracking my eyes open, I stare at my phone on the bedside table, knowing that her number is sitting in it courtesy of a very drunk and very handsy Brooke.

My fingers twitch to send her something, anything that might convince her to see me again.

One dance and one kiss with her was nowhere near enough.

It’s just because she turned you down, a little voice says in my head. I must admit, it doesn’t happen all that often—especially not after the way she was moving her body against mine on the dance floor.

My cock swells as the memory of her arse moving against it resurfaces. Fuck, it felt so good to have a woman in my arms again. I can only imagine how it might have felt to get her into my bed. I look around the room I’m currently in. Okay, so maybe not my bed, but hers. Or any other, to be fair.

I drop my hand under the covers and wrap my fingers around my length.

I pump a few times, her dark eyes, light pink lips, and sinful curves filling my mind as I do.

The tingles she caused within me last night reappear, and in embarrassingly few minutes later, I come to the memory of us locked together in our kiss.

Fucking hell, my dry spell is turning me back into a damn teenager again. Jacking off to a fucking kiss? Pussy.

Jumping from the bed, I ignore the boxes around me and go straight for the shower.

It’s late and I need to be at the studio, not sitting here, dwelling on what could have been and if I should call her.

I already know the answer. She wasn’t interested, despite what her best friend drunkenly slurred at me before she left.

“She’s scared, Brit boy. She needs someone to chase her because she won’t hand herself over willingly. Me, on the other hand …” She ran her hands up my chest, but she didn’t get very far before I physically removed them. She might be attractive, but I had someone else in my sights.

I don’t bother walking into my kitchen—it’s pointless. Instead, I head straight out once I’m dressed. The diner a few doors up from the studio has quickly become my second home.

“Morning,” Laura, the owner, sings as I walk through the entrance, making the little bell chime. “You want the usual?”

“Please,” I say with a smile, hopping up onto one of the empty stools at the counter as she calls my order through to the kitchen.

“So, how’re things?” she asks, pushing my first mug of coffee toward me.

“Same as.”

“My brother still giving you shit?” She laughs as she grabs a cloth and starts wiping down the already spotless counter.

“When isn’t he?” That’s not true. Oz, or Oscar, to his family, is possibly the best fucking artist I’ve ever seen.

Convincing him to come and work for me—for Zach, really—was the biggest achievement I’ve had since taking over here.

He’s got an amazing reputation, and he doesn’t half help bring the clients through the door.

His on-and-off girlfriend who came with him, JJ, doesn’t put them off either.

She’s a part-time model, part-time artist, and almost every guy in LA wants her leaning over them as she inks their bodies.

We chat away about nonsense, the weather, the busy summer days, and the upcoming hockey season—all the usual mundane stuff that completes my morning routine right now—before my first coffee is empty and Laura passes me my sausage, egg and bacon roll and a large takeout coffee.

This breakfast is my little bit of home and part of the only thing I miss, aside from family and friends: a proper full English fry-up.

I might love the Californian sun, but I can’t get on board with waffles and pancakes to start the day.

It’s just not happening. I walk out with my cup and roll in hand and make the short journey to the studio to open up, dropping onto one of the sofas in the reception to enjoy my breakfast in peace before the guys arrive.

There are four of us, or three and a half, seeing as JJ is only here part-time.

Snake is the only original artist from before Zach took over.

The place was on the verge of going under, and it was purely by chance that I found it when I came here last year to get away from home for a few weeks when things were getting on top of me.

It was my last night here, and I had the urge to add to my ink to finish the holiday off right.

Milo had mentioned this place, so I took the chance.

And fuck am I glad I did. Snake and I hit it off immediately, obviously helped by our joint passion, and Snake was soon explaining how he was about to be unemployed as the owner was selling up.

I was on the phone to Zach the second I walked with my latest ink. The rest is history, I guess. He bought the place almost there and then. He didn’t even fly out; he just took my word for it and jumped in head-first.

Although the idea had floated around my mind about me relocating to run this place, I didn’t think it would happen.

I was needed in Manchester. That was my studio after I escaped London the year before, but the second the call came from Zach to ask if I’d move here, there was only one answer.

And that’s how I found myself here, living on the sunny Californian coast, as far away from my troubles as I could get.

It’s just a shame it’s impossible to leave my nightmares behind me for good.

It seems those motherfuckers will haunt me no matter where I am on the planet.

“Morning,” Oz sings as he joins me with his own coffee in hand, courtesy of his sister.

“Morning. Your better half not with you today?”

“Ugh,” he grunts, rolling his eyes. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

I can’t help but chuckle. “Ah, domestic bliss. It’s a sight to behold.”

“Fuck off,” he barks, disappearing to his room.

Much like the studios in both London and Manchester, each artist has their own room to work in. Zach has had the place fitted out the same way as all his other studios, so his Rebel Ink branding is strong despite the differences in location.

Once I’ve finished my breakfast, I head to my room. It’s much more homely than the flat I’m renting—which is good, because if things continue the way they have been, then I might be moving into it sooner than I’d like to admit.

With just under an hour before my first client of the day, I power up my computer to get some admin done before pulling my phone from my pocket.

Knowing her number is sitting there waiting for me taunts me.

My thumb hovers over the contacts as I debate shooting her a message.

I know the wisest thing to do would be to forget and move on, but there’s something about her that’s still under my skin.

Instead, I find the number for another woman who occupies a lot of my headspace. Sadly, it’s in a totally different way to Harlow.

“Hey, son. How’s it going over there?” Mum asks in a joyful voice that I know she’s putting on for my benefit.

“It’s fantastic.” It’s not a lie, I love my new life here, but speaking to her is always a stark reminder of the disaster I left behind. “And how are things there?”

“Yeah, yeah. They’re good. The electric company has finally sorted the power out.”

“That’s great. What about everything else?”

She pauses and lets out a large sigh. “We’re getting there. Natalie has a new bar job, so that will help. Sadie is looking, but with her studies, it’s not easy. It’ll all be fine though. I’m stronger than I look. I won’t let him break me.”

“I know you are, Mum.”

“Plus, I’ve got you, my guardian angel.” A smile curls up at one side of my mouth.

“It’s the least I can do, seeing as I’m not there.”

“How was I so lucky to get you as my son?” She asks me this often; my constant answer is that I’m only what she made me, but the words are getting boring.

“It’s how it should be. Anything else from debt collectors?”

“No, not since the last lot of letters.”

“That’s good. Hopefully, they’re coming to an end.”

“I’m sure they are. There’s only so much bad luck that can land on me, right?”

I agree, because I’m not sure what else to say.

Mum chats away before I tell her that I’ve got to get to work and bring our conversation to an end, promising to ring her in a few days but insisting that she reaches out before then if she needs me.

She agrees like always, but she’s stubborn, and it’s usually one of my sisters who ends up ringing with bad news.

Mum and Dad had been happily married all my life.

I often questioned Mother’s choice in men, seeing as he was so controlling.

He’d enlisted in the army at fifteen, and every single part of his life was run like a military operation, including his marriage.

I always assumed Mum was happy with that, because she never complained.

Although I’m now learning it was more because she was afraid to than anything else.

Everything was … bearable, I guess, until one day it all came crashing down around Mum’s feet.

Dad came home one night and announced that he’d met someone else and that he was leaving.

Mum was shattered. Everything about life as she knew it ended with those few words, but she never imagined what was to follow, thanks to my father.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts, and I pocket my phone and welcome my first client of the day.

It’s a guy who turned up a few weeks ago for a consultation.

I’ve been working on finalising his design since, and I’m excited to be able to put some ink to skin at last. Hopefully, it might just rid me of some of my stress.