Текст книги "Lovestrong"

Автор книги: Nikki Groom

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 11 страниц)

Chapter 10

I stand out on the balcony and watch London wake up. It’s the last time I’ll see this view, or London for that matter. I’m leaving. I did a lot of thinking last night after talking with Luke. For the few days I’ve been here, I was hoping for something miraculous to happen. I was waiting for Spike to call me up and tell me he loves me and to come home. I was waiting for my life to figure out the pieces and slot them smoothly into the correct order. Sitting on the rooftop, watching the stars and thinking of Spike, I realized that I would have been waiting a long time. Miracles don’t exist. My destiny is made by me and me alone.

I tap the number from the business card in my hand into my cell and hit call.

“Yup …” the deep voice answers and I chuckle at his greeting.

“Did no one teach you polite telephone manners?”

“Firebird?” he asks, and I laugh at the surprise in his voice. “Well, well¸ well.”

“Hi,” I chirp.

“Hi, yourself. Thought I’d never hear from you again.”

“Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises. Actually, I have a favor to ask.” I chew on my lip.

“Rescuing you from being mugged wasn’t enough?” he chuckles.

“I never asked you to rescue me.” I lean on the balcony railing with a smirk on my face. This is easy, talking with Torran is easy, he reminds me a little of … “Anyway, this is a different kind of favor.”

“Oh yeah? Well, I don’t do those kind of favors on a Thursday. I’m strictly a Friday and Saturday kinda guy.”

“Torran!” I squeal. Did he really just say that? I blush furiously before trying to change the direction of the conversation. “I … I, uh, I want a tattoo.”

He coughs, then splutters and I can only guess he’s drinking his morning coffee. “You want a tattoo? Am I talking to the same girl I met the other day that, and I quote, ‘has no desire to inflict pain on herself and walk around with a half-finished mistake on her body’.”

“Yup. The very same,” I say proudly.

“What changed?”

I shrug even though I know he can’t see me. “I did, I guess.”

“When are you free? I’m guessing you want to strike while the idea is hot?”

“Today?” I ask, sounding more confident than I’m feeling. My stomach is doing flips at a hundred rotations a second.

“Ah, no can do, firebird,” he sighs. “I have a full client list and can’t do anything for at least a week unless someone cancels. Do you even know what you want?”

“Uh, no …”

He chuckles, a deep sound that makes me smile. “Then I think you need to take time to decide.”

“Maybe you’re right. I do want one though,” I insist.

“You trying to convince me or you?”

“Both, I guess.”

“Look, why don’t you come and see me in the studio and have a look through the design books. I can customize anything for you in my spare time but it would help to have you in front of me rather than on the end of the phone. Fancy a visit to the seaside?” he asks, and I don’t miss the hopefulness in his voice.

“You know what? I’m actually leaving London today. Had enough of the big smoke. Thought I’d come and spend some time at the coast. Can you recommend somewhere for me to stay?”

“In Brighton?”

“Yes. If Brighton will have me?”

He chuckles, “I’m pretty sure Brighton can handle you. You know how to get here?”

“No,” I shrug. “But how hard can it be?”

The train ride to Brighton didn’t take very long. The concrete city passed quickly and turned to green rolling hills and countryside. I felt a strange relief to be out of the hustle and bustle of London. I was sure the anonymity of a big city was going to help me heal and move forward, but all it did was make me feel alone and insignificant in this huge, busy world.

The map function on my cell helped me find Torran’s tattoo studio, and I stand outside for a second to take in the appearance before going in. I’m surprised, and I don’t know why. It’s clean and light. The huge open window at the front is gleaming and shows a modern, inviting place to be rather than the stereotypical dark and dingy tattooist I was expecting.

The only familiar face that I know in this country appears from a back room and swaggers to the front door, opening it wide to greet me.

“You made it.” He smiles warmly at me.

“Yup. Not too shabby, eh?”

He leans lazily against the door frame, propping the door open with his foot. “You wanna come in, or you gonna stand outside and admire the building?”

I roll my eyes at his dry humor. “You’re not busy right now?”

“I have half an hour before the next customer. Come in, I’ll make you a coffee,”

He grabs my suitcase without asking and I let him. It’s not like he’s going to run away with it. Just like when we met in London, he still has the same soothing demeanor. He might look tough and scary with his tattoos, piercings and tight buzz cut, but he has kind eyes, and you know what they say about eyes being the windows to the soul. I’m usually a good judge of character and I hope I’m right about him. I need a friend right now, it’s actually scarier than I thought, or than I would admit out loud, being in a new country not knowing anyone at all.

I follow him through the studio to the back room. It’s not as stark white as the public part of the studio. It’s a pretty cool staff room with graffiti on the walls and a denim couch along one wall.

“You like it?” He nods toward the wall that I’m currently staring at, trying to decipher what it says.

“Uh, yeah.”

“You don’t like it,” he states, blowing out a laugh. “It’s fine. I know it’s not to everyone’s taste.”

“I never said that!”

“You didn’t have to,” he jokes, raising one of his brows at me.

“It’s not that I don’t like it. Not at all. I just, I’ve never seen anything like this so close up. It’s cool, I think. What does it say?” I wrinkle my nose, trying to work out what the letters are.

“If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”

“In that case, I’m happy not knowing,” I comment, perching on the arm of the couch.

“Coffee?” he offers, flicking the switch on the kettle.

“Yes, please,” I answer, still continuing my perusal of his little room.

“Sugar?”

“Yes, please. Two.”

“So,” he leans back on the counter top while the kettle boils, “You really want a tattoo, huh?”

“Yup.” My lips turn up, matching his infectious grin.

“What changed your mind?” He watches me curiously and I wonder if this is some kind of test that I have to pass before he agrees to do it.

“I’m starting over. I feel like I need to step out of my comfort zone a little, and after I met you the other day I realized that I’m pretty damn boring.”

“I’d say you’re anything but boring.”

“Well, that’s because you don’t know me. I’ve never had anything pierced, not even my ears. I don’t have any tattoos, I’ve never bungee jumped or swam with dolphins.”

“That’s your bucket list?” he frowns.

“No,” I laugh. “Just the tattoo part of it.”

“Well, that I can do. I have a couple of hours free next week, so I can pencil you in if you like. But we need to get an idea of what you would like so I know exactly how much time it will take.”

“Will it hurt?” I ask nervously.

“Yes,” he answers simply.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath and he smirks.

“It won’t be excruciatingly painful, but it is uncomfortable. Anyway, a badass like you should be able to handle it.” Humor dances in his eyes and he winks at me before a voice calls from the hallway.

“Torran!”

In a blink, a whirl of dark hair rounds the corner and dives into the room next to us, slamming the door behind her. “Is everything okay?” I ask him.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “She will be. In about six months or so.” I frown at his answer. “She’s pregnant.”

“Oh,” I whisper.

He casually paces to the door and knocks gently. “You okay, babe?”

“No,” the girl answers with a groan from behind the door.

Shit. I hope she doesn’t think I’m treading on her toes. I never came here for a man, let alone someone else’s, but I know how women work and I don’t want her thinking that’s my motive. He could at least have told me before I came here. I sling my bag over my shoulder and pick up the handle of my suitcase.

“What are you doing?” Torran asks, coming back in to the room.

“I didn’t realize. I’m sorry. I don’t want to make any trouble for you,” I stutter, stepping forward to leave.

“What?” He frowns then looks between me and the closed door. “Oh. You mean Meg?”

“Yeah. I don’t want her thinking I came here to−”

“To what?” He steps closer to me, there’s a body’s width between us and due to his height and my lack of it, my eyes are at his chest level, watching its rise and fall quickening. I slide my gaze up to his, and I’m caught in his amused glare.

“Uh, I should go.” But my feet won’t move.

He lets his shoulders relax and smiles gently at me, breaking the tension a little. “Meg isn’t my girlfriend. She’s a friend, and my receptionist. And if she was my girlfriend, she would be fine with you being here and having coffee with me because we’re friends, right?”

“Friends,” I muse.

“Yes. Friends. That is why you’re here, isn’t it?” he smirks and I narrow my eyes at him.

“You’re a fucking asshole, do you know that?” I stomp my foot and scowl at him, but he takes no notice of me whatsoever.

“Yep.” He barks out a laugh. “Firebird, I thought you were badass, but you’re so easy to wind up!”

“Shouldn’t you check to see if your friend Meg is okay?” I grumble, feeling a little embarrassed, but also trying to hide the smile that forces its way from my lips.

“She does this twenty times a day at the moment. It’s a waste of time her being here.”

“Then why don’t you be a good boss and send her home on paid sick leave?” I prop my suitcase back up and push a hand in to my cocked hip.

“Well, smartarse, I would do that but I know she won’t go unless I have a replacement and I don’t have one.” He turns to finish making the coffee.

“I’ll do it,” I blurt out before my brain has even processed what I’m saying.

“You?” he laughs dropping the teaspoon on the worktop.

“Uh. Ummm. Yeah, I”

“Well, I suppose it would be great for business to have a new face behind the desk. And you’re pretty cute.”

“Cute?” I snap, my voice raising an octave.

“Yeah,” he laughs raising his brows in jest. “Cute.”

“You can wipe that smirk off your face. I am not cute.” I point my index finger at him, trying to sound as stern as possible, but it’s not working. Not with him at least. In fact, he takes no notice of me whatsoever, again.

“You really wanna work here?” he asks seriously. “I mean, it makes sense to let Meg have some time off.”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt for a few weeks. Just until she starts to feel better. How hard can it be?”

Torran extends his hand out to me and I hesitate before slowly placing mine in his, and we shake on it.

A fresh start. A different direction. New friends.

Chapter 11

“Spike?” I hear Denham’s heavy footsteps come through the apartment as he calls. “Spike?”

“Jeez. Where’s the fire?” I mutter under my breath. “I’m in here,” I call from my bathroom.

“Hey, uh, what’s going on?” He takes in my smartly dressed appearance and looks at me with a tightly scrunched brow. “No joggers. No scrappy old tee-shirt. Who are you and what did you do with my brother?” He chuckles at his lame attempt at a joke and leans against the door frame.

“FYI, joggers and a tee are probably the most comfortable clothes I could wear when I’m stuck in this chair for at least twelve hours a day, but I decided I could put up with these pants for a couple of hours.”

“The chair isn’t comfortable?” He steps forward, worry crossing his features.

“D,” I sigh, “This chair is the best that your money could buy. Don’t read too much into what I’m saying. It’s as comfortable as it can be. But when you sit for hours on end with very little movement, you could be sitting on a fucking Lay-Z-Boy and your body would still hurt.”

“I hear ya.” He nods curtly, his lips pulled thin. “So, you just decided to smarten up?”

“Yep. That’s what usually happens when you’re going out for the night.” I throw the comment out there, trying not to make a big deal out of nothing. Well, what should feel like nothing, anyway.

“You’re going out?” His voice raises with surprise.

“Yeah.” I push my chair forward and grab my watch from the dresser before fastening it on my wrist. “Why?”

“Nothing, I just … I mean …”

“Lost your words, D?” I question with a smirk on my face. I knew this would surprise him. In fact, I surprised myself when I decided it was time to take my life by the horns and try to live at least some of it.

“Well, you gotta admit, it’s not like you’ve been partying every Saturday since it all happened, is it?”

“No, and I decided that’s going to change.” I sit up straight in my chair, looking directly up to Denham. He looks at me with a mixture of worry and admiration. “I’m sick of hearing myself moaning. I hate the fact that I mope around in this apartment day in, day out, and although nothing has changed, and I still hate my life and the whole unfair, fucked up situation, I might as well be fucked up in the bar with a Jack and coke in my hand.”

“Wow.” He raises his brows then blinks. “Not sure where that all came from, but I agree.”

“Well, it came from Tara. She’s pretty clued up, even if she acts like a fucking teenager sometimes.” Thinking of Tara and her simplistic outlook on life make me smile one of the most genuine smiles I have done in a long time.

“Tara?”

“Yes. You know we went out for lunch last week? She kinda gave me a good talking to.”

“Oh, I can imagine,” he laughs, rolling his eyes.

“And I know it might have taken a while to sink in, but I think it worked.”

“Good. Here …” He picks up my cell from the top of the chest of drawers next to him and tosses it to me. “You’re going to need that then. So where are you going? Who are you meeting up with?”

“I’m going to Hell,” I joke, playing on the name of the bar downstairs. Heaven and Hell. “I thought I’d see if there were any familiar faces down there. Can’t face going out on the strip at night just yet.” My breaths shorten at the thought of being exposed to the world like that. It’s too soon for me. I know this fear should be loosening by now, but I can’t pry its claws from my chest.

“Hey, a week ago you wouldn’t have left this apartment, so downstairs is a huge step, man. One at a time.”

I grab my aftershave from the counter and spray some on. Good to go. “All set.” I take a deep breath, tamp down the nerves that are starting to make me twitchy and push the electric wheels forward. Denham moves aside to let me pass and follows me through to the lounge.

“I’ve got a few things to do, then I’m supposed to be picking Ari up from a dinner meeting she has with Beth and some suppliers. But I can cancel if you want me to?”

I frown at him and tilt my head, wondering if he’s talking to me or himself. “What? Why would you need to cancel?”

“I thought maybe you’d want me to come with you.”

“Nah, man. This is something I have to do and I think I can be stronger if I’m forced to just deal with it, ya know? Besides, if it gets to be too much, I’ll just come back up here. Easy as that.” I make light of it, pretending that it really isn’t a big deal, the smart clothes and expensive cologne masks the smell of fear, but the reality is, I’m fucking terrified.

I hate it. The noise, the smell, the people. I knew it would be hard, but why does it slam against every sense until I feel like I’m at the breaking point? I need a drink.

When I push forward through the doorway, which now seems narrower than it used to, and follow the path to the bar, surprisingly no one takes any notice of me. I mean, they see me, they move out of the way for me, but no one looks at me as if I’m any different to them. I’m not, I guess. It’s just that I’m surrounded by a huge hunk of metal and wheels, and if I didn’t have it, I really would be fucked. Gino, the head barman, recognizes me instantly and motions for me to come to the side of the bar. “My man!” He flips open the bar hatch so there’s nothing between us. “Good to see you, Spike.” The smile on his face is genuine as he takes my hand, giving it a firm shake. “What can I get ya’?”

“Sambuca,” I shout over the music.

“Startin’ on the hard stuff?” he asks, and that instantly pisses me off. Isn’t he supposed to serve the drinks without question?

“Why wait?” I smile back at him, through gritted teeth. Trying to stay as polite as I can just to get the damn drink that I want.

“I got a new cocktail I’d like to try on ya’, you willing? I’ll follow it up with Sambuca chasers,” he says with a wink, and this takes my rising anger down a notch or two.

“Sure. Why not? What have I got to lose?” Nothing. Absolutely fucking nothing.

Ten minutes later, I have a cocktail in my hand. I don’t know if Gino knew about my drunken episode in the casino bar the other week, but I’m sure the cocktail he’s made me is a fucking virgin, or close to, anyway. And conveniently, he’s super busy when I want serving and it takes ages to get a shot to follow. None of the other servers in their shiny, PVC, Heaven and Hell uniforms even look in my direction and I’m starting to think it’s a fucking conspiracy.

“Well, hello there, sexy.” A tall blonde steps to my side and places her fingers softly on my shoulder.

“Hi,” I grumble and nod curtly, not inviting any conversation.

“You’re one of the King brothers, right? Spike, isn’t it?” I don’t like the sound of my name on her lips. It just feels all kinds of wrong.

“Don’t call me that,” I snap harshly. “I’m Preston. Okay?”

“Sweetheart, I’ll call you whatever you want to be called,” she replies confidently, my tone and remark not affecting that leathery exterior of hers. Ugh, one of those kinds. She’s painted her makeup on in layers and is wearing next to nothing. I rake my eyes up and down her body, taking in the bright white mini dress with the waist cut away, showing as much of her tanned skin as she can. “How about you call me over a bartender and get me a drink, yeah?” I suggest, putting her to good use. If she wants to hang off of me all night, that’s fine as long as she can keep the drinks coming.

“You got the cash, I got the time,” she drawls. I roll my neck back in a slow circle, feeling tension building and out of nowhere a pair of hands clamp firmly down on my shoulders and start to rub in slow massaging rotations. I spin my head around to see another blonde, dressed almost identically to the one at the bar who’s waiting patiently to get me a drink. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out that they’re here together. I quickly scan around for a third blonde, expecting one to appear from my other side like a trio of velociraptors.

“Just relax, I can make you feel amazing, handsome,” she breathes suggestively in my ear. Can she even see that I’m in this fucking heap of metal? Does it not cross her mind that I have limited to virtually no sensation below my waist? Maybe that turns her on. Perhaps she sees it as a challenge, or an easy target. Or maybe she’s just out for her own gratification and doesn’t give a shit about anyone else. It seems like such a long time since I’ve been touched by anyone other than a doctor, nurse or family member. Being poked, prodded and moved around is no fun at all. Sexual feelings have been shoved to the back of my mind and although the doctor said I will probably never maintain a sexual relationship as I did once before, I haven’t even been tempted to explore if this is the case. Barbie standing to my side might be a good way to test the waters, so to speak. Could I even get a hard-on with a girl like her? I turn to glance at her, and I’m met with her fake tits right at my eye level. Some guys would say that’s a bonus. But I hate fake tits. Lottie wasn’t … There’s no comparison. This woman is nothing like Lottie. I’m sure she’s a nice woman and all that, but Lottie, well, she’s irreplaceable. Just thinking about her while I have another woman’s hand squeezing my shoulder then running down under the collar of my shirt to stroke my chest, makes me feel guilty as fuck. My stomach feels hollow, like I’m cheating on her. I picture her face if she could see me now and it’s enough to make me throw my shoulder back, suggesting to her to move her hands off me, and I nudge my chair forward so I’m out of her reach. I push ahead, the sea of people in front of me parting politely, and wheel back up to my apartment. What the fuck did I think I was doing coming down here? Oh yeah. Moving on. But instead, I’m falling backwards.