Tonic (13 page)

She chuckled. “No, you are the last one to disrespect caution so openly.”

“But he’s just so different from anyone I’ve ever been with. He’s not like me.”

“Annika, listen to me.”

I looked up to meet her eyes, eyes that were so much like mine.
 

“You’re smart. You know yourself, and you know your limits. You’re not going to fuck up.”

“I don’t even know why I’m entertaining this, honestly. He’s not the first guy I’ve been attracted to, and that isn’t really a reason to potentially put my career on the line.”

“Is there anything that expressly forbids you being with him?”

I shook my head. “No, but Laney made it pretty clear that she’s onto me and that it could end in disaster. I’ve worked too hard to throw it all away just because I’m hot for a guy.”

She took a sip of her vodka, watching me over the rim of her glass.
 

“I mean, what am I even doing? I swear to God, Rox. I showed him my tattoo tonight—”

Her eyes widened.

“—and when he touched it … he could have done anything he wanted in that moment and I would have let him.”

She sighed. “The thought of you not acting on something that intense makes me itchy.”

“Me too.” I knocked back my drink and poured another.

“Do you think a taste would be enough to satisfy the thirst?”

I chuffed. “I don’t think a five-gallon tank would satisfy that thirst. But even worse than that — what if it turns into more? What if he wants more and I don’t? What if I want more and he doesn’t? What if I have to do something … lie to him or manipulate him? This is my
job
, and he’s the star of the show. It can’t end well.” Futile resolution washed over me, cold and steely. “It can’t happen, Roxy. I could ruin my career or his heart or my heart or all of the above. It’s not worth it.”

She reached for my hand. “I hate to say you’re right, especially about this, especially knowing how much you like him, but I think you might be right.”

“Maybe after we’re finished filming. It’s just a few weeks. Maybe there’s a way later, but not now, not yet. Maybe not ever.” The sadness in my voice pissed me off, and I took a long pull of my vodka, hating myself for the position I found myself in, which was, in the end, not under Joel where I wanted to be.

Joel

THE NEXT DAY, I FOUND myself sitting behind the counter in the shop watching Annika, as I had since she’d walked through the doors of the shop that morning. They were filming Patrick as he worked on a client’s back, a piece he would work on throughout the course of the season. The idea was to show the progress, give the viewers some insight into the work that goes into art that big, that detailed, and Patrick was the one to watch. He was one of my most talented artists.

But I didn’t pay him much mind, just snuck glances at Annika over the top of
Persuasion
.

I felt like I’d snapped the night before, seeing that mark on her skin, touching it, feeling the heat of her under my palm, against my thighs. I knew she felt it too. She had to — she was practically calling my name with every breath she took.
 

That tattoo shouldn’t have been there, a tacky slash on her perfect skin. If anyone was ever to mark her, it should have been me. It should have been something beautiful, something to complement her own beauty.
 

The thought that I wasn’t the first to mark her made me furious. Unreasonably furious.
 

I shook my head and tried to turn my attention to my book, which had been a lost cause since I’d picked it up that day. The words all blurred together, my mind comprehending nothing, still somehow tuned to her.

She said doesn’t want you
, I told myself. I reminded myself to take the hint, which wasn’t even a hint — it was a flat-out demand. It didn’t matter what I thought she wanted or what I felt. I didn’t want someone who didn’t want me any more than I wanted someone who would ruin me like Liz did. And Annika seemed to fit into both of those categories.

The bell on the door rang, and what I saw when I looked over sent an icy hot shot of adrenaline through my veins.

Hal strode into
my
shop — a threshold he hadn’t crossed since he’d walked out the door almost fifteen years ago. And yet, there he stood, looking smug.

I hated his beard. I hated his undercut. I hated his stupid fucking face and his stupid fucking smile and all of him. I hated him.

My fists clenched, and I wondered what I’d hit him with first,
THIS
or
THAT.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked as I stormed around the counter.

Hal smiled. “Good to see you, brother,” he said as he approached, hand extended.
 

I slapped the back of his hand. “I’m not your brother. Answer my question.”

He shrugged, seeming unfazed. “Just wanted to swing in, see how the show was going.”

My eyes narrowed to slits. “You thought you’d just
drop in
, huh? You haven’t been welcome in this shop in more than a decade.”

“Come on, man. It’s been years. Water under the bridge, right?”

I arched over him. “Fuck you, you little punk.
Water under the bridge,
” I scoffed. “The bridge
you
blew up the last time you walked through those doors. Now tell me why you’re here.”

“I got a call. They asked me to come.”

My nostrils flared, my vision dimming with the pressure of my pumping heart. My eyes swept across the crew, coming to rest on Annika, registering distantly that all of the cameras were pointed at me.
 

“Everybody, get the fuck out of my shop.”

No one moved. My eyes were still on her — she was still as stone other than her eyes, which darted between me and Hal.

“
Did I stutter?
” I roared, and she flinched. “All of you, get the fuck out.
Now.
”

The cameras hadn’t stopped rolling. Patrick’s hands were still, his client looking over his shoulder, everyone staring at me. Two steps and I had my hand on the hood of a camera lens, pointing it to the ground. “Out.” I pushed a sound engineer toward the door. “Out!” I bent to level my eyes at a PA as I pointed at the door and yelled, “
Out!
”

They finally got the hint and began filing toward the door, including Annika.
 

I grabbed her arm. “Not you. You stay right where you fucking are. And you,” I whirled around, stepping into Hal until our noses were nearly touching. “Don’t show your face here again, or I’ll fuck it up beyond repair. Got me,
Hal
?” I spit the words at him, my lip curling.

But he didn’t back down. “Get over it, Joel. You always were a fucking baby about shit like this. Look at you. You can’t even have a civil conversation with me.”

I was shaking all over, including my breath as I whispered. “Leave before I do something that’ll put me in jail.”

He shook his head, his face hard. “Whatever, man. Whatever.” He looked over at Annika. “Next time you need a stooge to piss him off, call somebody else.”

And with that, he turned and walked out the door. It took every ounce of willpower I had not to reach for his shirt and hit him, my fists clenched so tight they ached from the pressure.

As the bell over the door chimed to mark his exit — the only sound in the silent room — I turned to Annika.

“
You
.”

Annika

His eyes were wild as he stepped toward me, grabbing me by the arm while Patrick and the client filed out behind us. Joel said nothing, though he huffed like a bull as he dragged me toward the back of the shop, his fingers digging into my arms almost hard enough to hurt.

He tossed me into a private room, one of the rooms with no cameras, and slammed the door behind him.

“Turn off your monitor,” he barked, and I nodded with shaking hands, pulling it from my ear, unclipping my battery and flipping the switch. I almost hesitated, almost left it on, but something stopped me. I set it next to the sink on the back wall, putting the chair between us. In part, because I was terrified. In another part because I was somehow turned all the way on and overheating.
 

“What the fuck, Annika? Why?
Why would you do this
? Why would you bring
him
here with the cameras rolling? Is it just good TV for you? Do you give a fuck about
anybody
? I want to know
why.
Tell me why.
”

“I … I didn’t know,” I stammered, hands still shaking. “Joel, I didn’t have anything to do with this.”

He leaned on the chair, eyes narrowed. “Why don’t I believe you?”

I jerked back like he’d slapped me. “Why would I lie to you?”

“Because that’s what you do, isn’t it? Lie? Manipulate? Push every button to get a reaction on camera? Well, fuck you, princess. I’m not a goddamn toy. I’m not a fucking joke. I’m not a pawn you can push around your board like I don’t fucking matter.”

My brow dropped, the heat rising up my neck, across my cheeks. “I’ve never lied to you, not once, and I’m not playing games with you.”

He laughed, a sound that didn’t hold an iota of joy. “Right. Just like how you keep telling me I’m harassing you, how you don’t want anything to do with me, but then you look at me, show me your tattoo like—”

“You asked to see my tattoo. I didn’t throw myself at you, and I’m not toying with you, for God’s sake. Don’t you get it? They’re playing games with
me
too. You’re not the only one being manipulated. For the last time, I wasn’t told that Hal would be here today. I had
nothing
to do with that.”

His chest rose and fell, breath shallow. “But isn’t that just the way it’s going to go?” His voice was lower, quieter, but less calm, somehow, and I almost took a step back as he walked around the chair. “You exploit me. You stick your pretty long finger in my wounds and twist, making sure your camera is rolling when you do it. You tell me with your pretty lips that you don’t want me, but your eyes tell me something else. I don’t trust you. How could I?”

“Because I’m telling the truth.” He was close — too close, not close enough. “I’m not supposed to want you. You … you make me mad and you make me laugh and you make me
crazy
, and I’m not supposed to want you, but I do. What am I supposed to do? What do you want? You want me to throw away my career? How about you? Should I use you up and toss you out too? Or maybe you’ll do the same to me. I don’t know, because I don’t know you. But that hasn’t stopped me from wanting you, not since the first time I ever saw your stupid, hairy face. I hate you, and I want you, and I hate that I want you. But I do.”
 

It was too much, the admission pouring out of me too fast to stop. I had to get out of there, needed to run. I sidestepped to move past him, but he shifted.
 

“Is that really the truth?” His voice was low, rough, and I was assaulted by his proximity, the smell of him, sensing his body, even though we weren’t touching. It was dizzying.
 

“That’s the truth.”

“Annika.” The word was tortured and elated. His hand was on my arm. My heart was in my throat.
 

“Don’t,” I said, terrified, and he froze where he was, just like I’d asked. I stepped around him and put my hand on the doorknob, fully intending to leave, running somewhere, anywhere safe. But my hand was on that cold, metal doorknob, and he was still just where I’d left him, doing exactly what I asked, even though he knew I wanted more.

And then I did the unthinkable. I pushed my brain down the trash chute, let go of that doorknob, and spun around.

Three steps and I was in his arms.

Two heartbeats and I looked into his eyes.

One breath and I kissed him.

It was sweet relief, his lips against mine, lush and firm, his breath my breath. His tongue swept my bottom lip, and I let him in, wrapped my arms around his neck. I was surrounded by him, his arms around me, hands splayed across my back, clutching me into his hard chest, our lips a hard seam.

I felt helpless and powerful, like I couldn’t stop whatever I’d started by kissing him, but like I could own him just as easily as I wanted him to own me.

I didn’t know when he laid me down, but I was in the tattoo chair and he was on top of me. I felt the chair move, the back reclining until I was flat on my back, under Joel after all. The weight of him against me sent a moan past my lips, lips he nipped and sucked as his hands moved up my body and down, back up, into my hair, tugging at my bun. He hummed into my mouth when he slipped his fingers into the loosened strands, pressing his hips into mine.

“Skin,” I muttered, fumbling for the hem of his shirt. “Give me skin.”

He knelt on the bench, reaching between his shoulder blades for a fistful of cotton jersey, pulling it off so fast, I barely had time to get mine off. His hair had been knocked loose, his chest broad, waist narrow, every inch of skin covered in art. And then his hand cupped my cheek, and his lips were against mine, and I was lost, frantic, needing him, all of him, just as badly as I needed air. Like if I didn’t have him, I’d suffocate.

His hot skin pressed against mine, our hips moving together in a long tease. There was only decision, a silent agreement that we wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop, not my hands that found the button of his jeans, then the zipper, not my hungry fingers as they slipped into his pants and closed around him. I couldn’t stop my lips as they flexed and eased, not my tongue as it tasted him, the sweetness of him. I couldn’t stop my hips from rolling against his.
 

He flicked the button of my pants open with two fingers and dropped my zipper, sliding his hands into my panties to palm me, to drag his finger up the center of me, to slip his finger inside.

I gasped, my hand flying to his wrist, bracing myself against him, urging him on. I couldn’t think, my eyelids fluttering, neck arching. It had been so long since I’d been touched that, I’d forgotten just how much I needed it.
 

My hands slipped into the back of his pants, thumbs hooking over the band, inching them over his ass, and he pulled back, chest heaving as he stood and dropped them. He grabbed my pants as I lay panting on the tattoo chair, yanked until they were a pile on the floor, and I unhooked my bra and threw it. The only thing left were my panties.