Repeat(33)

“Sorry about calling you a bitch. And high-strung. And the other stuff.”

“No worries,” I say with a somewhat forced smile.

“Clem, this is my little brother, Leif.” Ed takes the helmet off of him, placing it on the table. Next he gets busy with the beer. “Leif, Clem sustained a head injury a short while back resulting in amnesia. She doesn’t know you. She barely knows me. So go easy, okay? And probably stop speaking shit about her—that might be nice.”

“You’re messing with me, right?” asks Leif, accepting a beer and taking a seat opposite me. The resemblance between them is obvious now. They’re both tall and built along the same lean but hard lines. The same high cheekbones and beautiful eyes. Masculine pretty. But sized so that you wouldn’t want to mess with them if you had half a brain. The internet said Larsen was a Danish name. Maybe they have Viking blood in them.

“No, he’s not fucking with you,” I say.

Leif turns back to his brother. “Jesus, Ed, you haven’t told Mom?”

“I’ll tell her when I’m ready. Things have been complicated enough.”

Leif exhales hard. “Okay. So was it a car accident or what?”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” Ed intervenes, handing me a beer as well.

“It’s fine,” I say. “Someone tried to kill me. Well . . . they were robbing me, you know? Hit me over the head and took my bag.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

Ed settles once again at the opposite end of the couch. It’s like I have cooties. Or ex-girlfriend germs. “Clem’s staying here for a while. It’s closer to her work and stuff.”

“No problem.” Leif takes a swig of beer while scratching Gordy behind the ears. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“That your way of asking if you can stay?” asks Ed with a faint smile.

Leif grins. “You bastard. I haven’t seen you in almost half a year and you don’t want to spend time with me? Your own brother? Hell, I came back to the East Coast just for you.”

“No you didn’t,” says Ed, his smile broader now. Cue the tingles. So attractive. “Tell the truth, asshole.”

Now Leif grimaces, making a show out of holding out on the answer. “I may have slept with someone I perhaps shouldn’t have slept with. Several times, in fact. It happens.”

“Told you, don’t fuck where you work.”

“Oh that’s rich coming from you.” His brother laughs. “Besides, I was only a guest artist there. It was never meant to be permanent. You got room for me at the parlor or not?”

“Of course I do. Did you tell your old clients you were coming back to town?”

“I put something on Instagram.”

“Good.”

“You’re a tattoo artist as well?” I ask. “And what do you mean, that’s rich coming from Ed?”

Leif studies me, gaze curious. Or maybe just a little stunned.

“Yeah, Clem, he tattoos as well,” says Ed. “We both apprenticed with my uncle. He used to own the parlor.”

“Christ, this is weird,” mumbles Leif, studying me.

“Shut up, you idiot. Don’t make her feel uncomfortable.”

“Sorry, sorry. It’s just . . . amnesia. Shit.”

“You already said that.” I drink my beer. As much as I’d like to press the point about the other question, Ed is relaxed and happy. He’s even sitting on the same item of furniture as me again. Questions can wait. I’m so hungry for his words, for his attention. Not that it stops my brain from turning things over. “Hold up. It says and sons on the shop window.”

“Uncle Karl thought it sounded better than and nephews,” says Ed. “I used to hang around so much he told me to pick up a broom or get out. That’s pretty much how I started. Then Leif got interested too and he had both of us annoying the hell out of him every chance we got.”

Leif gets up, heading into the kitchen. “Good times. Whiskey?”

“Above the fridge.”

“In case I forget to mention it later, I was always your favorite Larsen, Clementine. You absolutely adored me, okay?”

After the whole high-strung bitch thing it’s just not so believable. “Got it, Leif. Thanks for the information.”

“Not that it was ever awkward or anything. Nothing like that. Entirely platonic. For you, I was basically an unattainable object of adoration.”

“I can see why you had to flee the West Coast,” said Ed, shaking his head but grinning all the same. “You’ve been here less than ten minutes and we’re already realizing how good we had it before you showed up.”

“What do you both specialize in?” I might have flipped through a few books on tattooing at the shop. What can I say? Everything about the man makes me curious. And if having his brother here gets him talking, then Leif can have the futon and whatever the hell else he wants. “Traditional or realism or water color or—”

“I do neotraditional,” answers Ed. “Like the piece on your shoulder.”

“Same as what’s on your arms?”

“Some of it is.” He displays the blue rose on the back of his right hand. “On my back there’s a more traditional Japanese piece and there’s some fine line work on my side that Leif did. That’s what he does. But I’ve got a few different styles on me.”