Rowdy (Marked Men #5)(23)

“I got tanked last night and blacked out on the couch. I’m fine, just a little annoyed at myself.”

“Okay. I’ll handle the client.”

Her tone had switched from worried to slightly disappointed and I felt it deep in my gut. Whatever was going on between the two of us, whatever she was doing to my head, I still needed to keep things professional between us at work. I owed that to the guys, to my clients, and even to Salem.

“Thank you. I’ll contact him as well and apologize, and I’ll have some designs for you to look at Sunday if you want to meet up.”

She made a weird noise and I heard her move the phone to the side to talk to someone in the shop.

“Fine. You can bring them by my place or just e-mail them to me when you have them ready. I need to spend Sunday and Monday at home this week.”

I wanted to ask her why, and immediately thought she wouldn’t be spending those days alone, and then wanted to kick myself because it wasn’t any of my concern. I agreed and she told me she would text me the address.

I hung up and let my head fall forward on my neck. I was a goddamn mess and I needed to get my act together. It didn’t help my state of mind when my gaze landed on the abandoned sketch pad from the night before that the image staring up me was the one I had spent all night trying to run from and trying to drink away.

It was all there . . . her dark eyes, her endless waves of ebony hair, her perfectly sculpted mouth complete with the winking jewel above her lip, her knowing grin. Plus, the knowledge of every secret I had was there in that hastily drawn image. Even in a drunken haze so bad I could barely remember getting home, she was at the forefront of my mind and I couldn’t get around having to deal with her and the hurt she had left behind.

I picked the pad up and tossed it on the couch in disgust. This was getting out of control and I really had to do something about it.

I took a shower hot enough to scald and rushed to get out the front door in under twenty minutes. My next appointment was at one thirty and I didn’t want to disappoint anyone else today. I hated that feeling.

Work was a nightmare. I was usually the one giving everyone else a hard time, usually the guy ready with a quick retort. But there was no denying that I looked like hammered dog shit and was acting like a bear with a thorn in its paw, so Rule and Nash were ruthless about it all day long. I took the ribbing good-naturedly and made it through the rest of my clients with no incident. I was hoping Salem would still be there when I arrived, but she had left to go to the LoDo shop not long after calling me, which left me feeling unfulfilled and unsatisfied on top of being more hung over than I could ever remember being.

Nash wanted me to go with him to grab something to eat for dinner since Saint was working a late shift in the ER and Rule had taken off to go home already. Rule was always bolting home right after work anymore and I think it bummed Nash out. The two of them were really tight and now, with all the business stuff going on and each of them settling into domesticated bliss, their bro-times were few and far between.

I had to decline because I needed to work on the drawings for the store. I wanted to show Salem I wasn’t really as much of a screw-up as I had appeared to be in the last few days. Nash told me he understood and promised he would have some sketches to me within the next few weeks as well, and left me alone to draw.

I sketched out a pirate ship. I sketched out a mermaid like the one I had put on Rule a few years ago. I sketched out a gypsy and then had to argue with myself not to throw it in the trash when I realized how much the design looked like my drunken doodle from the night before. All the images were bold and graphic. They were old-school tattoos with enough flare to make them appealing to a consumer not in the business. I liked them so much I decided on the spot I couldn’t wait until tomorrow to show Salem. I didn’t care that it was almost eleven o’clock at night or that I might come across as crazy, I texted her and asked her if it was all right if I brought them by tonight. I really could’ve just snapped photos with my phone and sent them to her but I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to show them to her in person.

I hadn’t felt like this, the rush, the chill of anticipation rushing up and down my spine, since the last time I had created something on paper to show her. I was fourteen and Salem was seventeen. Her dad had refused to let her go to her prom because as usual she had broken one of his endless rules. She was so sad about it, too, because the captain of the football team had asked her. It was going to be her dream date. Instead she had spent the night in her room alternately crying and cussing about her dad. Because I was always hanging around, always at her house instead of my own, I had ended up on her bedroom floor while she cried in bed, trying to make her feel better. Granted I was just a clumsy teenage boy, so there wasn’t much I could do, but when she told me how sad she was that she would never have a picture to keep—a good memory from prom and her high school days—because her father had thwarted her once again, I knew there was one thing I could do.

I knew Salem’s face as well as my own and it took less than five minutes to draw her out and put her in a fancy princess dress that she would never wear in the real world. The captain of the football team was a little trickier. By then I was only on junior varsity, so I knew basically what he looked like, but the only way I could really figure out how to draw him was in a football uniform. So I drew her a prom picture with her looking beautiful and perfect on the arm of a jock with a jersey on and a football helmet under his arm.