Too Sweet (Hayes Brothers #3)(7)

A tall, blonde woman in black rims stands behind the counter, tapping the screen of her iPad with a stylus. She peers up, blue eyes sparkling with amusement as she gives me a slow once-over. “Do you have an appointment?”

I come closer, clutching my small bag in both hands. “Yes. I’m booked in at six o’clock.”

She checks me out again, tapping the screen. “Toby!” she yells over her shoulder. “Your six o’clock is here!”

A vintage room divider separates the entryway from the rest of the studio, blocking the view, but footsteps reach my ears seconds before the artist approaches. His arms and neck are covered in mismatched colorful pictures that somehow work great together.

“Hey, Mia,” he says, wearing a subtle smirk.

I narrow my eyes, racking my brain for clues. He looks familiar, but it takes me a moment to place him. He’s the first—and only—guy my sister cried over when he snuck out of our house last year and never called.

Aisha nearly always cuts them loose after one night, but it was a different story with Toby. They spent two weeks traveling Mexico together after they met in a club and randomly decided to take a road trip. All was well until they came back, and Toby left Aisha’s bed before she woke up.

“Hi, I didn’t realize you’re a tattoo artist. Sorry I’m early.”

“Nah, it’s alright.” He takes the iPad and runs his eyes over the screen. “Right, it says here you’re supplying the design. Come on, you can tell me what we’re doing.”

I follow him behind the room divider, further into the large space filled with big mirrors and white chairs like those you find at a gynecologist’s but with more moving parts.

A young guy lies back in one, utterly relaxed, while the artist inks his pecs. His eyes land on my face for a moment but don’t stay there long before they drop to my boobs. Not that he can see much. Every inch of my cleavage is inside my dress.

Toby directs me to the left, where a glass coffee table is tucked between two leather couches.

“You want a coffee?” he asks. “Latte?”

“Yes, please.”

“Yo, Knox!” he yells toward the back, where a guy I’ve seen at college mops the floor. “Black coffee and a latte.”

“Coming right up, boss.”

I pull out a folded piece of paper, handing it over to Toby. It’s a simple tattoo, the letter Q with the symbol for Spades from a pack of cards underneath. “This is what I want.”

He glances at the page, scratching his chin, his eyes flicking between me and the design. “Alright... how about you tell me the story behind this ink.”

“It’s Queen of Spades,” I explain like it’s not obvious. “I play Bridge. Spades is the strongest suit, and people I play with took to calling me the Queen of Spades.”

“Bridge?” Toby cocks an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “You want this because of a card game?”

“Yes. Is something wrong with that?”

Knox approaches, balancing two cups and a sugar bowl on a small tray. He carefully places the latte in front of me then does the same with Toby’s black coffee.

“I bet you don’t know the street meaning of this.” Toby rests his elbows on his knees, putting one sugar in his cup. “If it’s tattooed on a white girl, it means she’s got a sexual preference for black men.”

“Oh,” I mouth. There goes my tattoo idea. My stomach sinks, and pulse hammers faster. Why didn’t I check this online? It’d take one Google search. “I didn’t know that.”

The overdoor bell chimes, and heavy footsteps thump into the room.

“I don’t care what you put on your skin. You just don’t strike me as someone who’d advertise things like that on her body.”

I shake my head again, covering the froth in my latte with two spoons of sugar. Weekly Bridge sessions became a part of my life last year. Thanks to the people I play with, my life has become fuller. Easier.

“Mia?”

A familiar voice reaches my ears, and I flinch, startled by his presence. Too bad I’m holding coffee. My hand twitches and half of the cup spills over my legs.

“Shit,” Toby huffs, reaching to the closest station for a roll of paper towels. “Knox, get the first aid kit.”

“That’s not necessary.” I set the cup aside, my cheeks burning hotter than my thigh. “It’s just a surface burn.” I pat dry my dress, chancing a glance over my shoulder. Nico stands a few feet away in a pair of navy trousers and a white t-shirt, holding a box with takeout food in his hand. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he echoes. It’s such a short, sweet word, yet it doesn’t sound pleasant on his lips. More like a fired bullet. “Skittish much?”

Not usually, but his presence turns me into a ball of nerves. “Sorry, I was miles away.”

He sits beside me, the rich scent of his cologne pungent in the air, targeting my nose and doing weird things to my belly. He hands the box to Toby and his hand jerks toward my skirt like he wants to lift it higher.

I flinch again, unable to stop myself, and scoot as far as the two-seater sofa allows. Hayes brothers come in varying degrees of funny, caring, and confident with a sprinkle of arrogance, but something about Nico has a contradictory effect on my mind and body.