Opposites Ignite by Sadira Stone (crime books to read .txt) 📗

woman gestured toward a wall of cubbies. “Shoes and coat here. Coffee and cookies in the lounge.” She pointed, then pulled Rosie through the curtains. He couldn’t quite make out their flurry of whispers, but he was pretty sure he caught the word “Revenge.” His balls tightened, and not in a fun way.

He followed the scent of coffee to the break room, where one of those single-serve machines sat beside a rack of pods. Caffeine was the last thing he needed, so he chose a chamomile tea and waited while the machine sputtered and hissed. The tray of iced cookies looked tempting, but his roiling stomach reminded him to abstain. Instead, he scanned the photos on the walls, shots of elaborate tattoos on arms, legs, chests, hips, asses…he peered closer. Yup, that’s a tattooed dick. As determined as he was to win Rosie back, the thought of needles down there—No. Just, no.

The artist strode into the room, dropped into a leather armchair, and crossed her legs. “Rosie’s trying to impress me with her cool, but she’s clearly uncomfortable with this. What are you trying to accomplish here?”

Those ice-blue eyes reminded him of his own babka’s unerring bullshit meter. She’d see right through any lies—and he was a shitty liar anyway. He sat across from her and clasped his hands between his knees. “A while ago, Rosie said this would make a great tattoo. But I laughed it off.”

“Because you’re scared of needles?”

He swiped a palm down his clammy face. “It shows, huh?”

Her throaty chuckle held a note of sympathy. “Looked like you were gonna vibrate through the floor.”

“Anyway, we broke up last week. I want her back.”

Magda tapped her long, pointy nails. “What if you get the tattoo and she doesn’t take you back?”

He’d thought of that, of course. In fact, he lay awake all night chewing on the possibility his grand gesture might net him nothing but more pain. But talking hadn’t worked, nor staring at her like a starved puppy, nor texting her, nor pleading with her best friend. Lana just fixed him with a freezing gaze. “Words don’t count for shit, Eddie. You want Rosie back? You gotta earn it.”

He shrugged. “She’s already left a permanent mark on me. Might as well make it visible. If she won’t take me back, at least I’ll have a beautiful design from my family’s history. And a reminder not to screw up next time.”

She lifted her chin. “So the breakup was your fault.”

“Totally.”

“Another woman?”

He bolted upright, eyes wide. “No way. I could never—”

“All right, kiddo. Don’t shit yourself.” She rose. “I believe you. And as apologies go, this is pretty ultra.” She held out her hand. “I’m Magda, by the way.”

“Eddie.”

“You want some ibuprofen before we start?”

“Already took four.”

She tilted her head toward the studio. “Let’s go.”

****

Bad plan, point one: Eddie hadn’t thought to wear a sleeveless undershirt. Sitting bare chested on what looked like a dentist’s chair while Rosie’s hot breath fanned over his skin had the predictable result. He shifted his discarded shirt to better cover his inconvenient erection. While she pressed the stencil to his shoulder, her boss turned away with a soft chuckle and fiddled with her equipment. His cheeks heated, even as goose bumps sprouted over his exposed skin.

Magda gathered her silver mane into a high ponytail, then leaned in to inspect Rosie’s work. “Peel it off slowly, now.”

Bad plan, point two: Of course Rosie wouldn’t work on him without supervision, which meant he’d have no chance to tell her he broke the news to his parents and they didn’t totally freak. Well, Mama did, but she was gradually thawing. And with her boss literally breathing down their necks, he damn sure couldn’t tell Rosie how his body and soul and mind and heart ached with missing her.

Magda switched on her tattoo gun, which looked like a sci-fi movie prop and buzzed like a murder hornet. Gritting his teeth so hard his gums throbbed, Eddie gripped the arm rest.

“Relax your hand, hon.” Magda gave his gnarled fist a gentle tap. “Now, the first few minutes are the worst. After that, your skin goes numb. Right, Rosie?”

If that was true, why did Rosie look so queasy? But she nodded. “No worse than a bee sting.”

“I’m allergic to bees,” he deadpanned, then forced a smile. If this was what it took to prove himself, she could peel off his skin like some medieval martyr, and he’d keep on grinning.

Bad plan, point three: Fuckin’ ouch! He flinched as the needle bit into his skin, huffing and puffing like the world’s wimpiest big bad wolf. Just don’t look. He’d felt worse pain. Like that time in elementary school when a huge dog bit his scrawny leg. But that pain was quick and intense, whereas this sharp scraping sting went on and on, and that infernal buzzing…

He squinched his eyes shut. Breathe in. Breathe out. Should’ve asked for something smaller, like a tiny crab for his zodiac sign, or an R for Rosie. But that moment was seared in his memory—Rosie crouched between his spread thighs as she sketched his belt buckle. When this was over, he’d have a permanent record of that delicious night. Not that he’d ever forget.

The buzzing stopped. He opened his eyes and found Rosie hovering inches away, a crumpled paper towel in hand. “How you holding up?”

“Great,” he lied.

Nibbling her lip, she gently blotted his forehead. “You look kinda shaky.”

“I’m fine.”

Magda pushed up from her wheeled stool. “Gonna take a quick stretch break.” He thought he heard quiet laughter as she ambled away.

Rosie rolled her stool closer. Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you doing this, Eddie?”

“To prove to you I’m not afraid.” He shifted his sore shoulder and winced. “I mean, I thought I was going to pass out at first, but I’m still here.”

She grimaced and rubbed the back of her neck. “I never said you were a coward, Eddie.”

“Yeah, you did, actually. And you were right. So thanks for pushing me