Page 12

Chapter eleven

Daxton

T he day has been a rollercoaster of emotions. Trayton’s decision to get the tattoo left me in shock. I had expected a fight, maybe even some punches thrown. I was convinced that he would lose his mind. And for a moment, it seemed like he might when he raged and cursed. But then Max placed the tablet in front of him, and everything changed. As soon as Trayton saw the design I had created, his anger dissolved, and he couldn’t take his eyes off it. It was my first official sleeve design, or half-sleeve rather, and I couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride at that moment. Trayton had provided detailed notes for the tattoo and had ultimately decided on just getting the half-sleeve done for now.

He mentioned in his notes what he wanted, and I created that, but watching him this week, watching him in his element, with Kal and Brayden, I drew without even thinking. It just came to me, and that’s what I mean when I say I need a connection with what I’m drawing. Although I don’t have a connection with Trayton, I had a visual connection with what he wanted. It also helps that, as much as I hate to even think about it, I know Trayton better than he even knows.

And this week made me realize that.

I fucking hated it.

Today felt like torture, watching every emotion flicker across his face as he looked at that damn iPad screen. The warmth that spread through me at the sight of him pleased with my work was both exhilarating and infuriating. I despise how my heart jumped at the sight of those piercing green, blue, and a tiny bit of yellow eyes of his as they met mine.

And when he said he wanted me to tattoo him, my entire body erupted in goose bumps.

It’s been too long since I’ve been with anyone, and Trayton is far from unattractive. Maybe it’s just my primal instincts kicking in after being surrounded by alpha males all week. That has to be it. That has to be why I can’t get his goddamn face out of my head since he walked out of the shop.

I’m not going back down this road again.

I can’t.

I reach for my sketch pad, desperately trying to distract myself from thoughts of him. My fingers wrap tightly around the worn fabric of my backpack as I lift it off the floor and retrieve my pad, laying it down roughly on my bed.

With fierce determination, I begin to sketch, letting my pencil move smoothly over the paper, creating lines and shapes that take on a life of their own. I pour all my emotions into the drawing, using every color in my stash to bring it to life.

Suddenly, Cope’s voice breaks through my concentration, and I jump, startled out of my thoughts. He raises an eyebrow at me, with a sly smirk playing on his lips.

“Earth to Daxton,” he says, waving a hand in front of my face.

“Sorry,” I mumble, dropping the green pencil in my hand. “I was just lost in thought.”

Cope’s gaze shifts to my sketch pad, and I quickly close it, not wanting anyone to see my work before it’s finished. Showing unfinished pieces always leaves room for criticism and nitpicking.

“What were you working on?” Cope juts his chin at the pad.

“Nothing, just keeping my hands busy,” I reply.

“That’s how you keep your hands busy?” Cope raises his eyebrows at me.

I frown at him in confusion. “How else would I?”

Cope’s instant teasing smirk makes me feel like I’m finding my own dick for the first time again. I can feel heat rising in my cheeks instantly, and I hate how easily I blush.

“Oh, Daxton.” Cope laughs and then proceeds to throw his head back, laughing more. I sit there feeling like the absolute dick I am. Pun not intended. “I’m joking, Dax,” he says, wiping tears from his eyes. “But seriously, I’ve heard how talented those hands of yours are.”

I raise an eyebrow at him, trying to decipher if there’s a hidden meaning behind his words. Judging by his smirk, there probably is.

“Just came from seeing Tray,” he confirms.

Ah, now it makes sense.

“Yeah,” I reply with a grimace, waiting for Cope to call me out for not telling him about my work with Tray’s tattoo.

“You did good.” He laughs. “Man, he was raging.” Cope shakes his head, still chuckling. “He’s been going on and on about this tattoo for months, and then it turns out the guy he hates most is the one who designed it.” Cope’s laughter grows louder, and I can’t help but join in. “It’s pure brilliance.”

“I don’t think he agrees with that,” I mumble.

Cope’s eyes widen, adding to the anxious butterflies in my stomach. “Oh, he definitely doesn’t,” he says with a slight softening of his expression. “But he can’t wait for you to get started on it.”

My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I shuffle on my bed, avoiding eye contact with Cope. His words make me feel self-conscious, and I wish he’d stop talking so I can regain control over my blushing. Suddenly, a thought that has been nagging at the back of my mind pops up, and I tip my chin up to Cope.

“Why are you being nice to me?” I blurt out as I fiddle with the hem of my shirt, feeling flustered and awkward.

Cope tilts his head to the side, raising one eyebrow in curiosity. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he responds, genuinely confused.

“Because of Trayton,” I clarify.

Cope shrugs nonchalantly. “I’m not Trayton, am I?”

“No,” I confirm.

He stretches his arms above his head and bends from side to side. “Look.” He drops his arms and continues, “Just because Trayton has some issue with you doesn’t mean everyone does. You’re not a hated person, Dax,” he says softly, trying to reassure me. “I have no reason to hate you, so why would I just because my friend does? Especially when he won’t even tell me what your supposed wrongdoing is and just spews some bullshit about you selling drugs. He tried getting the team to hate you, but they all just laughed. It’s all nonsense.”

My body tenses at the mention of drugs. “I don’t anymore,” I quickly interject.

Cope raises his hand in defense. “I know. I know,” he urges. “What happened wasn’t your fault, Dax.” His words hit me hard, causing a lump to form in my throat. He doesn’t need to say what he means; we both know that it’s about Bex. It’s something that haunts me every day and something I blame myself for. “Just because you come from a shitty family doesn’t make you a bad person.” Cope smiles warmly at me. “Brayden is living proof of that, and so are you.”

I nod, feeling grateful for his words. “Thanks,” I say sincerely. It’s a relief to know that not everyone blames me for everything my family has done.

“Speaking of Trayton,” Cope starts to say before I quickly cut him off.

“Let’s not,” I say tensely.

A mischievous glint appears in Cope’s eyes as he teasingly points out, “I saw you blush earlier.” Cope completely ignores me and begins talking. “He was like, ‘Oh my god, have you seen how perfectly he captured what I wanted? It’s incredible. It’s going to look amazing,’” Cope continues, causing me to abruptly stand and head to the bathroom. I just want him to stop talking.

“Dax.” Cope’s teasing voice follows me.

“Just taking a shower,” I quickly reply as I grab the handle.

“Daxtonnn.” He drags out my name playfully. “Look at me.”

“Piss off,” I mumble under my breath, slamming the door. I stand in front of the mirror and stare at my flushed cheeks, just wishing the guy wouldn’t have this effect on me.

“Not again, Dax. Not again.”