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

Her eyes widened. “Your parents?”

“All of it. Showed them my vision board, my business plan, everything.”

“And?”

“There was some yelling. A little gnashing of teeth. But we’re still speaking. And another thing—I’m moving out. Hard to claim my independence when I’m living rent-free above their garage.”

“Where will you go?”

“Dawn’s basement apartment. It’s been sitting empty since River moved in with Charlie.”

“Wow. That must’ve been hard.”

“Not as hard as this.” He glanced at his reddened shoulder. “How did you handle your first time?”

A smile flickered over her face, there and gone like a firefly’s wink. “Not gracefully. But like Magda says, the pain dulls, and you start to feel kind of badass for handling it.”

“Right. I look forward to that phase.” He sat up, swung his legs over the side of the reclining seat, and reached for her hand. She stuffed her fists into her pockets.

“Look, Ro, I know you don’t trust me. Some of that’s because I was an ass at the wedding and at work. Some has to do with your past. But it’s not like I’m asking you to move in with me—though that would be great. A dream come true. I’m just asking for the chance to show you who I really am.”

Her brows drew together as her gaze dropped to the floor. “I don’t know, Eddie. We’re so different. Your type never sticks with a girl like me.”

“Hey.” He grasped her arm. “I’m not a type. I’m just me. And I’m in love with you.”

A loud clatter rang out from the break room. Rosie jolted backward.

“Fuckin’ coffee machine.” Magda returned with a steaming mug but didn’t sit on her weird backward stool. Instead, she handed her tattoo machine to Rosie. “You can do the upper lines of the wings. Check your needle depth.”

The flash of panic in Rosie’s eyes kicked his pulse into overdrive. She fiddled with the gun-shaped torture implement, making the needle protrude like a wasp’s stinger. Cold sweat dotted his forehead. The edges of his vision dimmed. His stomach sank…

“Eddie?” Someone patted his cheek, over and over.

He groaned and tried to sit up, but something gripped his ankles, holding them high in the air. “Here he comes. Attaboy.”

Rosie’s face floated into view. “You passed out.”

Magda released his feet onto the chair, now stretched out in full recline mode. “It was cute. Your eyes rolled up, and good-night.”

Eyes wide, Rosie cupped his jaw. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Not your fault, hon,” Magda assured her. “Lots of people faint, especially when they got a needle phobia.” She clucked her tongue and handed him a paper cup of water. “Sip slowly. Don’t need you puking on my equipment.”

Just let me die. Never in the history of guys trying to impress women had a grand gesture gone so spectacularly wrong.

Rosie dabbed his forehead gently. “You want to stop?”

“Might as well finish it, right?” He glanced at Magda, whose mouth quirked in a wry grin.

“A lot easier than coming back and starting over, but it’s your call.”

An odd sense of lightness filled him, tugging the corners of his lips upward. The worst had already happened, so why not? “Let’s do it.”

“Are you sure?” Rosie asked, rumpling her forehead.

Magda smacked her arm. “He’s trying to impress you. Let him.”

Rosie bit her lip and dipped her needle into the ink.

He closed his eyes, sucked in a breath, and nodded. “I trust you.”

The needle buzzed to life. It still hurt like a motherfucker, but the room didn’t tilt, and neither did his stomach. And she was right—gradually, the pain dulled to mere irritation as Rosie worked her needle over the meaty part of his shoulder. When she finished, she switched seats with Magda, leaning close to watch her mentor’s progress. He felt a soft touch on his hand—Rosie’s fingers sliding through his. He gripped her tight.

“Hold still, unless you want a lopsided bird,” Magda grumbled.

“Yes, ma’am.” He kept his focus on Rosie. Watching her dark eyes follow the tattoo gun’s motions was the perfect distraction.

Her gaze flicked to his, and her eyes crinkled at the corners. “I know this isn’t your thing, Eddie. You’re brave to do this.”

This was his chance—the wall around her heart was cracking, just tiny fissures, but enough to let the light shine through. Everything depended on breaking through to that light.

He turned to Magda. “Gotta move, ma’am.”

She lifted the needle from his arm, and he raised Rosie’s knuckles to his lips. “Not gonna lie, Ro, this is hard. But I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Chapter Nineteen

Rosie sat in a booth with Lana, stringing paper hearts onto ribbon streamers to hang for Bangers’ Anti-Valentine’s Party that night. While Jojo hung a heart-shaped piñata above the stage, Kiara tested her playlist of breakup anthems. The J. Geils band belted out “Love Stinks,” and Rosie’s gaze flicked to the bar. No Eddie—must be in the back.

Lana snatched up a lavender heart that read Love Sux. “I mean, if getting a tattoo doesn’t prove commitment, I don’t know what does. Can’t believe you didn’t drag his ass home and bounce his bones into next week.”

Oh, she’d wanted to, all right. But rushing into things caused their first crash and burn. This time, she’d step more carefully. “The timing wasn’t right. First of all, he was in pain, and kinda green. Hard to feel romantic when you’re trying not to puke.”

“Uh-huh. A 7-Up would take care of that.”

“And his apartment is all packed up. We’d have to bone on a stack of moving cartons.”

“You could do it standing up.” Lana flashed a wicked grin. “You’re the same height, so that works perfectly.”

Rosie huffed and rolled her eyes. “Sex with Eddie means something now. We’ve got some stuff to talk through before we jump back into bed.” Not that she didn’t crave his touch as much as ever, especially when he brushed past her at the bar and his woodsy scent triggered heady, horny memories.

For the past two nights she’d stayed up far too