Smart, Sexy and Secretive (6 page)

Logan’s arm flexes beneath
my hand. I squeeze it tightly, digging my fingernails into his skin
to get his attention. He looks at me, finally, and I stare directly
into his eyes and mouth the words
I love
you
.

He nods ever so slightly, and the
tension in his body eases a bit.

“
So you’re moving to New
York?” I ask Trip.

He looks at my father, who nods. “Isn’t
it great?” he gushes. “Mr. Madison wants me to head up the New York
office.”

I look at my dad, watching his face.
“We have a New York office?”

He smiles. “We do now.”

“
Congratulate me, Em!” Trip
cries. “Aren’t you even the tiniest bit happy to see me?” He’s
practically giddy, and it’s rather nauseating.

“
Oh, Ralph,” my mother
breathes as she finally realizes what’s happening. “You didn’t.”
She buries her face in her hands and groans. She glances up at me.
“I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” She looks at Logan with an apology
on her face.

I have a feeling things are about to
get worse. My gut clenches in anticipation, and my pulse starts to
hammer.

“
Why don’t we have a seat?”
Dad says. He points toward the couch for my mom, and Trip falls
into a chair across the room. I shove Logan in the hip until he
drops into a chair, too, and I sit down on the edge of it. He wraps
his arm around my bottom, his hand settling on my hip. Both my dad
and Trip frown when they see it. I cover his hand with mine to hold
him there.

“
What’s going on, Dad?” I
ask. I look at Trip. He’s grinning. “Why are you here,
Trip?”

Trip stands up quickly and claps his
hands together. “I’m your new roomie!” he cries.

Logan’s hand tightens on my waist, and
I look down at him, holding up one finger to ask him for patience.
“I don’t have a roommate,” I say. “Nor do I want one.”

“
I can’t believe you did
this, Ralph,” my mother says. She jumps to her feet. “I can’t
believe you did this without talking to me.”

The room quiets, my mom’s heels
clicking against the floor as she paces the only sound in the
room.

“
I don’t want you to be in
the city all alone,” Dad says to me. He looks much too pleased with
himself. “And then we realized Trip would be coming to New York,
and we thought it would help both of you out. You have two bedrooms
after all. And now you won’t have to be alone.”

“
I wasn’t going to be
alone,” I start. But Logan squeezes my hip. I stop
talking.

My dad’s brow furrows. “What exactly do
you mean, Emily?” he asks.

“
I—” I stop, not knowing how
to continue. “I—” I close my mouth again. “Never mind,” I
mutter.

“
New York is a dangerous
place, Em,” Trip says. He’s still smiling. Like a used car
salesman. Or a shark, right before it takes a big bite out of an
unsuspecting swimmer. He looks at Logan as though he’s confirmation
of the danger in the city. “You never know what kind of people you
might run into.”

I roll my eyes toward the ceiling and
count to ten.

Logan is quiet. A little too quiet.
He’s strung tighter than my guitar strings. “You okay?” I ask. I
sign while I talk.

Trip smacks himself in the forehead
with his open palm. “Oh my God,” he cries. “I completely forgot
about your impairment!” He says the next few words, punctuating
each one with a pause. “Do. You. Need. For. Us. To. Talk.
Slowly?”

“
I can keep up,” Logan says.
“But thank you for the offer.”

“
Just. Let. Us. Know. If.
We. Need. To. Talk. Slower.” Trip smiles, and I want to punch him
in the face.

Logan lifts his head, a smile I know he
doesn’t feel tilting the corners of his lips. “Thanks.”

“
Dad,” I begin. “Trip can’t
stay here.”

Dad looks at Trip, and the mock
confusion on each of their faces mirrors the other. “Why not?” Trip
asks.

Dad points toward the open bedroom
door. “You have two bedrooms. And plenty of space.” He narrows his
eyes at me. “You, yourself, told me that you two were still friends
when you came home. Is that not the case?”

He’s playing dumb. I know my
father. And I know when he does and does not understand something.
He understands all too well. “Trip’s my
ex
-boyfriend, Dad. You don’t think
that will be a little bit awkward?”

Dad waves a breezy hand in the air. “It
doesn’t have to be. You two can come and go as you please. And I’ll
feel better about being on the other side of the country if he’s
here with you.”

“
He can’t stay here.” I’m
putting my foot down. I won’t allow this to happen. “I’ll leave,
Dad. I swear to God, if you try to make me do this, I’ll disappear
again.”

Dad sits back, looking smug. “You know,
I got a call from Matt’s doctor the other day.” Dad stares direct
at Logan. “They said your brother is ready for phase two of the
treatment. And they asked if I would be providing the
funds.”

Logan’s arm falls from around my waist,
and he lumbers to his feet very slowly. He looks down at me and
presses a finger to my lips. His finger trembles. “Mr. Madison,” he
says. He nods at my dad, and then at my mom. “Mrs. Madison. It was
wonderful to meet you. I will say good-bye now.” He starts toward
the door. “And as far as the treatment is concerned, if Emily’s
freedom is the price, you can take your money and shove it up your
ass.” He stops at the door. I’m latched onto his arm like a Velcro
monkey.

“
Please don’t walk out,” I
beg. “Not like this. I can fix this.”

He peels me off of his arm. “I know you
can.” He kisses my forehead, his lips lingering there as he
breathes in deeply, his eyes closed. Then he pushes me back from
him. “I need to go,” he says. His voice is hoarse. “I’ll talk to
you later.”

“
I’m going to deal with
this, and then I’ll come find you. I promise.”

He nods. Then he steps out
the door and closes it softly behind him. There’s a
thud
on the other side of
the wall and I know Logan waited until he got outside to smash
something.

“
Good riddance,” Trip says,
brushing his hands together like he’s wiping dust from
them.

Logan

I plump a woman’s breast in my hand,
imagining how the tattoo she wants across the top of it will sag in
twenty years. “I don’t think this is the best place,” I say. I’m
wearing gloves, and I’m behind the curtain at the back of the shop,
which is where all the private tattoos are done. I tried to talk
Paul, my oldest brother, into doing this one, but he didn’t have
time. His daughter, Hayley, is with a sitter, and he has to go and
pick her up. I volunteered to go instead, but he laughed, shook his
head, and walked out.

I plump the woman’s breast again. I
made her put pasties over her nipples before I would even touch
her. So it’s not like this is a sexual thing. For me. It is for
her, apparently since she reaches for my belt buckle, and I brush
her hands away, lifting my knee to block her. I don’t need this. I
pass her shirt to her. “Put this on, please.”

Her lower lip juts out in an expression
she probably thinks is sexy. I just think it’s pathetic. “You used
to be so much more fun,” she pouts.

Yeah, back then I wasn’t in love with a
woman I couldn’t have.

I’m still smarting over her father’s
plan to move Trip in with her. The asshole hadn’t even introduced
himself to me. All he did was patronize me as though I’m
stupid.

Are. You. An. Ass? Yes. You. Are. An.
Ass.

But he is an ass who is now living with
my girl.

The curtain shakes. It’s how
people ask me for permission to enter in the private area of the
shop. I call out, “Come on back.” Emily pops her head around the
curtain.
You busy?
she asks, signing to me. I like it when she does
that.

Despite what happened
earlier, I’m so fucking happy to see her. She walks across the room
slowly and then kisses me softly. I want to linger over her lips
all day and all night.
Never too busy for
you.
I’m glad the woman on the table has
her shirt back on.

“
What about me?” my
so-called customer asks.

“
I think you should put the
tattoo on your side. Or below your breast, rather than at the top,”
I suggest.

She shimmies her unbound boobs at me
under her shirt. “Are they too big for a tattoo?”

I’ve seen it a million times. After a
few years and a couple of kids, her boobs will be looking down at
her belly button. That’s not a bad thing—all women are
beautiful—it’s just bad for tattoos.

“
I think it would maintain
better if we put it below your breast. It’s for your boyfriend,
right?” I look down at the tattoo. It’s a man’s name. She nods.
Poor schmuck might have no idea she’s a whore who would do me as
fast as I could blink. I’m going to run it really lightly because I
have a feeling she’s going to be covering it up before
long.

She nods, and I get out my equipment.
“Can you wait for me to finish?” I ask Emily.

Emily and I have to talk. I have to
find out what happened today after I left. I couldn’t sit there. I
just couldn’t. Not while her father held Matt’s treatment over her
head again. Had she consulted me I probably wouldn’t have let her
do it the first time, and I’ll be fucked sideways before I let her
do it again. She’s not cattle that can be traded. She’s a fucking
person, and I love her to death.

“
I can wait,” she says. She
goes out to sit with Friday, the girl who runs the front of the
shop, while I work on the tattoo, and a half hour later, she’s
laughing at something Friday is saying as I walk out with the newly
tattooed girl. Emily looks up at me, blinking her pretty brown
eyes. I have missed her so much, and I’m so glad she’s back. But
I’m a little apprehensive.

The girl goes to pay Friday and slips
her number in my pocket as she strolls by me. I toss it into the
wastebasket after she’s gone. Emily’s eyebrows go up. “Should I be
worried?” she asks, but she’s grinning.

I don’t feel like grinning.
“Should
I
be?” I
toss back. I motion for her to follow me to the back of the shop.
She lets me help her to her feet and follows me.

“
Are you done for the day?”
she asks as I clean up my supplies.

I nod. “What happened after I
left?”

She sobers. Her gaze skitters around.
Fuck. That’s not good. “Not much,” she hedges, wincing.

I tip her chin up with my finger and
force her to look at me. “I won’t let you trade yourself for Matt’s
treatment again.”

She waves a breezy hand in the air.
“Don’t worry about that. My mother told him she would pay for it
herself if it came down to it. She loves you already.” She grins at
me. “Something about those tall, tatted white boys. Older women
love them.”

A laugh bursts out of my throat. Emily
grins, but then she winces again.

“
Tell me,” I coax. “It can’t
be worse than what I’ve been imagining all day.”

“
Trip’s going to stay at my
place while he looks for an apartment of his own.” She waits for me
to react. I draw in a deep breath, trying not to. “Are you
angry?”

I set her back from me. “Are you
fucking kidding me?” I ask. I’m so angry that I can barely see
straight. She takes a step back from me, and I realize she’s never
really seen me angry. She saw me irritated at the diner when she
asked me about fucking someone else. She’s seen me cry. She’s seen
me hurt, like when we thought Matt was going to die. But she’s
never really seen me angry. I work to soften my stance. “I’m angry
at them. And if I ever have to see Trip again I’ll probably flatten
him.”

“
Can I watch?” she asks. But
she’s grinning. “See, here’s the thing,” she says hesitantly.
“While Trip’s looking for a place to stay, I was hoping maybe you
would let me stay at your apartment.” She holds her breath, waiting
for my response.

“
Are you fucking kidding
me?” I ask again. But this time I wrap my arms around her while I
do it and spin her around. She giggles against me, and I can feel
the movement of it in her belly. She doesn’t try to push me away
the way she did with Trip earlier when he tried this move on her.
Of course, he wasn’t the happiest man in the whole fucking world
when he did it. I guess that matters.

“
Of course you can stay with
me.” I tweak her nose. “Silly woman.”

I want her with me every minute of
every day.

“
Your brothers won’t mind?”
she asks.

“
They’ll be ecstatic,” I
say. I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “They’ve missed
you.”

“
Does your apartment smell
like sweat socks and stale pizza?” she asks.

I grimace. It probably does. I hold my
finger and thumb an inch apart. “Maybe a little bit.”

She cuddles into me, wrapping her arms
around my waist. She says something against my chest, but I can’t
see her lips. I tip her face up. “What?” I ask.