Crave Me (The Good Ol' Boys #4)(55)

“For some reason, I don’t doubt that.”

“You look beautiful by the way,” he said out of nowhere.

I blushed. “Thank you, you do too.”

“Beautiful? That’s a new one,” he chuckled, and I knew he was talking about his scars.

“Chicks dig scars. It’s that whole bad boy thing,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

“So I’ve been told. How about you?”

I smirked, shrugging just to f*ck with him. “I have purple hair and I’m covered in ink. My opinion might not hold high regard.”

“Is that right?” He pulled my hair away from my face, setting it behind my shoulder. His thumb grazed my cheek. “Your opinion is the only one that matters.”

He moved his hand away but I didn’t lose his warmth for long. He grabbed my hand lightly and unknowingly drew tiny circles on my skin, just to feel me.

He leaned over to ask, closer to me. “Speaking of the tattoos. How many do you have?”

I narrowed my eyes, counting in my head. “One?”

“Oh, I see what you did there.” He laughed. “The sleeves.” He gestured to my arms, stepping out to stand in front of me.

“Except the bows…” He leaned down to skim his fingers along the back of my thighs, pausing. “They’re here.” Sliding his fingers up my thighs, continuing his journey. He grazed the hem of my dress, then my panties till he reached my lower abdomen. “Then you have one here, and....” Touching along the left side of my stomach. “Another one here.” Skimming his way to the right side. “And here.” He lightly brushed the tips of his fingers around my stomach. “Scattered writing all along here.” Moving his hand slowly up the side of my breast. “This one here,” he added, rubbing the cursive writing on my clavicle bone, back and forth.

I. Stopped. Breathing.

“But my favorite,” he rasped, coming close to my ear, “is the one on your back. One day you’re going to tell me what all your tattoos mean, Briggs. Along… with your real name.”

And with that, he pulled away from me to stand beside me and continued to softly rub my hand.

I instantly cleared my throat. “I lost count along time ago.” Trying to sound unaffected.

“How old are you?”

“I’ll be nineteen in a few months. You?”

“Almost twenty-two.”

He pushed off the railing, turned and caged me in, placing his hands on bars beside my hips. Coming closer again like he suddenly changed his mind and needed to be surrounding me again.

Consuming me with his touch and presence so that when he was gone. When he wasn’t around me. When we weren’t together.

I would miss him.

His touch.

His presence.

The effect he had on me.

“You’ve gotten all that ink in a year? Damn, you must have lived at the parlor.”

I shook my head. “No. This…” I gestured toward myself. “Has been over almost four years. I got my first tattoo when I was fifteen.”

He jerked back, surprised. “Which one?”

I pointed to the one on my back. His favorite.

“Is that how long you been…”

“Dealing?” I finished for him.

He nodded.

“Just about.”

“Where’s your family? Your parents?”

I looked down toward the ground. I knew this was coming and even though I expected it. I was still at a loss on how to respond and react.

“Let’s not share our sad stories, Austin. Hmm…”

“Yet,” he stated, making me peer back up at him. “Let’s not share our sad stories, yet.”

There was something in his tone that made me immediately ask, “Where are you sleeping tonight, Austin?”

“Back at the motel. Mike’s here too, somewhere down there.” He nodded to the crowd below us.

I hated that he said the motel. He didn’t belong in that shithole. No one f*cking did.

So when I blurted, “Come home with me,” it just felt right.

“Briggs, you—”

“We’re best friends, remember?”

He scoffed out a chuckle before we made our way over to the stairs.

“Jon!” I shouted, making him look up at me. “I’m going to head out. Everything is in the office. I put it all in the safe.”

He nodded, waving me off.

Austin followed close behind as I led us toward the private stairs in the back of the building. He ran into his friend Mike and told him he was coming home with me. Mike reminded him that they needed to be out of their shitty hotel room by eight in the morning. He said he would leave a note on the table letting him know where he was going.

I couldn’t believe I was doing this. I never brought men back to my apartment. No one knew where I lived except my uncle. But there I was, bringing a complete stranger back to my home, one that took me years to build, to feel safe in my own environment, my own surroundings.

I wasn’t scared that he would hurt me.

At least not in the physical sense.

I didn’t know what I was expecting, what I wanted from him. Maybe I was just lonely, years of being by myself and not letting anyone in will do that to a person, and I wasn’t any different. I guess, maybe I just wanted a friend.