Beneath This Mask (Beneath, #1)(42)

Yve leaned a hip against a display rack and watched me eat. “I know we haven’t talked about what either of us is running from, but I don’t think whatever that is should stop you from trying to make something real with him.”

My fork halted mid-air at her words and quavered. The bite of quiche landed on the countertop. One thing I had always been able to count on with Yve was no questions. I’d always figured she didn’t ask because she didn’t want any in return. But she’d just broken that unspoken pact. I thought for a moment before responding.

“It’s not that simple.”

“Charlie, I’m the queen of ‘not that simple,’ but even I know you can’t let your past dictate your future. That’s no life.”

She didn’t understand the magnitude of the difference between our situations—because I couldn’t tell her. Humorlessly, I said, “If I was just running from a bad relationship, I’d agree with you. But this is a whole different level of f*cked up.”

Yve narrowed her eyes. “Letting a man beat on you for two years because you think you deserve it is a pretty high level of f*cked up, I think.”

I lost my grip on the plastic fork, and it clattered on the counter. It was what I had suspected, but my stomach still twisted to hear her say it out loud. “Yve—that’s … I … I don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. But I didn’t let that man run me out of my own town. Complicated or simple, some things are worth standin’ and fightin’ for.”

I stared down at the mirrored surface of the counter and considered her words. “What if I’m juggling too many lies to make it out of this in one piece?”

“Does he love you?”

I thought about it for a beat. “I think so.”

“Do you love him?”

This time I didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then there’s always hope.”



Even after a year, I hadn’t yet figured out why Con kept the tattoo parlor open until ten on Sunday nights. It was almost nine o’clock, and we were dead slow. Which was dangerous. Delilah had gone home after her last appointment of the day, so only Con and I remained.

“Want to add to your sleeve?” Con asked.

That was why it was dangerous for me to be here when it was slow. I started to get the itch.

I couldn’t say no. Especially when I already knew what I wanted next. Fuck it. “I was thinking my shoulder blade.” I described my idea.

Con grinned. Of course, I assumed the grin was because these tattoo sessions usually ended with him getting laid. That part was not happening. I was pretty sure he knew it, but I needed to be sure we were both on the same page. “I’m not f*cking you after.”

His grin faded. “I know, Lee. I still don’t like him.”

“Why not?”

“Long story. I suppose I need to start getting over it if he’s going to keep coming around.”

“That’s all you’re going to give me?”


“That’s it.” His smile returned. “Are you at least going to take your shirt off so I can get to your whole shoulder?”

I pulled my tank over my head in response as he readjusted the chair and readied his station.

“Bra, too?” He reached out and snapped the strap against my shoulder.

I gave him the evil eye. “Work around it.” He slid the strap down, gloved up, and got to work. As soon as I heard the familiar buzz, I relaxed into the seat.





Number one on the list of things I didn’t want to see when I walked into Voodoo to pick Charlie up from work: her, shirtless, with the guy she used to f*ck.

I’ve never been the jealous type before, but something about Charlie fueled my most basic instincts. If Con hadn’t been holding a tattoo gun, I might’ve decked him. I started boxing at the Naval Academy, and still made sure I hit a bag or got a workout in at least five days a week. Con might have a couple inches on me, but I could take him. I was pretty sure he’d gone Army, so we might spill some blood before I finished him. I fought to bury my emotions when he lifted the tattoo gun away from her skin and smirked as I crossed the room.

I kept my tone light. “Charlie, sweetheart, why aren’t you wearing a shirt?” The answer was obvious, and I was probably being a dick by asking, but I couldn’t hold it in.

Charlie twisted to smile at me and then looked over her shoulder at the burst of color that hadn’t been there when I’d left her at the Dirty Dog this morning. She looked as relaxed as I’d ever seen her outside of bed.

“Do you like it?” I stepped into the small room and checked out her new tat: vivid fireworks exploding across the creamy skin of her shoulder blade. Blue, red, green, and golden yellow, artfully shaded and incredibly detailed. This time I was the one smiling. She’d marked herself permanently with a memory we’d made together. I leaned down, ignoring Con, and kissed her for all I was worth. I heard his stool roll away but wasn’t sure if he’d left the room. Regardless, I wasn’t stopping the kiss until I was damn well good and ready.

When I finally pulled away, I kissed the top of her other shoulder. “I love it.” Although I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant to Charlie—I could never guess what was going on in her head—I was going to take it as a sign that she was committing to this. To us. “Can you get the night of the Fourth of July off? It’s a Saturday.”