Too Sweet (Hayes Brothers #3)(9)

Three minutes later, he’s done. He disinfects the new ink, then covers it with aftercare cream. It’s perfect. Small, but not too small, the letter and heart symmetrical, even though he didn’t use a stencil.

“Thank you. And thank you for explaining the meaning of the other one.” I grab gauze from my bag, make a quick dressing, and hold my hand vertically to discourage bleeding.

“Yeah, no worries. Take care, Mia. Don’t wear bracelets until it’s healed.”

My eyes cut to Nico, another awkward wave on the go before I can stop myself. “Bye.”

“I’m going, too. I’ll walk you out.”

“Where are you going?” Toby frowns, opening the takeout box. “You just fucking got here. Sit down.”

Nico doesn’t explain, just pats Toby’s shoulder, then grabs his keys from the coffee table while I move to pay for the tattoo.

“Where’s your car?” He looks up and down the street once we leave the studio.

“I can’t drive.” A glint of surprise flickers across his face and I realize it sounds like I’m too young to drive. “I mean, I’m a terrible driver. Five minutes into my first lesson, I crashed the instructor’s car. I never took the wheel again.”

The lights on a green Mercedes parked by the curb flash twice. “Get in. I’ll take you wherever you need to be.”

“It’s nice of you to offer, but I’ll take a cab.”

His features pinch, annihilating the softness that was there a second ago. “I won’t hurt you, Mia. You know that, right?”

I’m not a great judge of character, but I’m not paranoid enough to think my friend’s brother—the mayor’s son and grandson to the loveliest eighty-year-old woman I ever met—could hurt me.

“Yes.”

“Then get in.”

I shake my head again. “The cab is fine, thank you.” I rock on my heels, and when he doesn’t reply, I add bye before my heels click-clack against the pavement as I walk away, calming down with each step away from Nico.

“I’ll see you in Q,” he says behind me.

“You won’t.”

I’m not invited to hang out with my sister. The difference in age, worldview, style, and character has been taking a toll on us for years.

“Bye,” I say again before sliding into the backseat of a cab.

FOUR
Mia

THE HOUSE IS QUIET as always. Aisha’s out, although this week, instead of picking another man at the club, she’s having dinner with the one she picked last week during her girls’ night out in Q—Toby, the tattoo artist. It looks like they’re giving it a second chance.

I don’t think she ever went out on a proper date before tonight. She ran between the bathroom and her bedroom for two hours, getting ready, and kept knocking on my door, showing off skimpy dress after skimpy dress before she settled for a baby-pink wrap number.

It’s something I’d wear if the cleavage wasn’t so deep.

A cab waits for me on the driveway; the driver, Arthur, is one of the few I trust enough not to clutch the pepper spray tucked in my bag. He’s an older man, probably in his late fifties, always entertaining me with a chat.

“You look pretty tonight, Mia,” he says when I take the back seat, readjusting my green polka-dot dress. “I think my daughter has that same dress, just blue.”

Oh, that makes me feel great... His daughter is eleven.

Maybe I should make a rule not to buy clothes in the kiddie section, no matter how much I love them. It’s not like I purposely shop there, but a pretty sweater or a dress catches my eye every now and then, and I can’t resist. My compact size means I fit into teenage clothes just fine, and sometimes the dresses are too pretty to pass.

“Where are we going?” he asks, making a three-point turn on the gravel.

“Rave, please.”

“That club? I’d never guess you’re twenty-one.”

I’m not. Most people in those clubs aren’t twenty-one. Aisha got me my first fake ID two years ago during a short-lived phase of inviting me out with her friends. Short-lived because I wasn’t much fun sitting in the booth, sipping lemonade, and ignoring her friends’ digs.

Arthur turns left onto the road, starting his catch-up monologue. He usually brings me home from lousy dates, so I’m well-informed about his life.

Newport Beach is big enough that you don’t know everyone but small enough that getting from point A to B doesn’t take long. Ten minutes later, after telling me his son joined the military, Arthur parks the cab outside the club.

“Call me when you’re ready to go home. I’m working till two in the morning.”

“Thank you, I’ll call if I need a ride.” I pay the fare, exiting the car before he tries to give me the few dollars’ change.

It’s only ten o’clock, but it’s the last weekend of Spring Break, so Rave is packed. Just to be safe, I glance around, scanning the crowd of partygoers inside, searching for the football jocks. They travel in packs, so if one’s here, the rest lurk nearby.

I’m avoiding Brandon, expecting him to retaliate in some elaborate, twisted way for breaking his nose

It’s not like I punched him out of the blue that night.

I sat on a large outdoor sofa in Nico’s garden, looking through the list of songs Six sent, checking what I’d be singing next. I failed to notice the pompous quarterback heading my way until he dropped into the seat beside me.