Just as I’m about to open my mouth, Nevin does first. “Thank you for this, though.”

  I peer up, surprised to hear him utter nice words. “You’re welcome.” I smile.

  He smiles back before he gazes at my laptop. “Did you find anything for someone who has no skills and no work history?”

  My smile slips for a second, but I catch myself and change course. I don’t want him to lose hope. “Not yet, but I’m sure there’s a job for someone like you.”

  “Sure,” he mumbles.

  “Do you have your high school diploma?”

  He shakes his head. “Got sentenced before the start of second semester.”

  “Damn,” I whisper.

  I forgot he was so young when he was sent to prison. Wrapping my head around the fact that he wasn’t even a legal adult when his father died makes it hard to come to terms with his being sent to an adult prison.

  He leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “But I got my GED in prison.”

  “That’s good,” I say cheerfully, trying to focus on the positives. “It opens you up to more possibilities.”

  “Sure. I went from bagger to cashier lickety-split,” he teases, turning his gaze on the window next to us, staring into the sunshine. “I’m a lucky son of a bitch.”

  I fill out the line about his education, working to complete his online profile. “Do you have any special skills?”

  He doesn’t answer right away and keeps his eyes trained on the world passing by outside the coffee shop. “I used to work on cars.”

  “What type of work?”

  “I was learning to do custom auto paint before…”

  “It’s a skill for sure. Think you could still do it?”

  He shrugs again. “Maybe, but I’d need some practice.”

  “My cousin owns an auto body shop. You can talk to him.”

  “Maybe,” he grumbles, but I already know it’s a no without his saying the word.

  “What other skills do you have?”

  “I can pick a lock.”

  I snap my head up as I move my eyes from the screen to Nevin’s sun-filled face. “You can pick a lock?”

  He nods. “Finn taught me.”

  I don’t know why that surprises me, but it does. Nothing should anymore. “Unless you want to be a locksmith, I don’t think it’s something that’ll come in handy.”

  He lifts his hand, scratching the stubble that’s covering his jaw as he stretches. “Probably not.”

  “What else?” I ask, my fingers hovering over the keyboard.

  “I can fight.”

  I stare at him, waiting for him to say he’s kidding, but he doesn’t. “And that would be handy for what?”

  “Bouncer or security.”

  I nod. He’s not wrong. “Added,” I say as I type in a fancier term, referring to his ability as conflict de-escalation or remediation.

  “Are you actually applying for jobs?”

  “I am, but I’ll also post your application for potential employers to look over when they’re searching for people. Someone may find you even if we don’t apply for their position.”

  “I’m sure everyone wants a man who’s spent his entire adult life in prison.”

  “I’d hire you at the shop if you were an artist,” I tell him.

  His lips flatten as he stares at me. “You’d hire me out of pity, Luna. You don’t count.”

  “I do too, and it wouldn’t be out of pity. We’re busy as hell, and I could use more time off.”

  “I can make a mean stick figure,” he says teasingly, looking a little less grim.

  “I wish people wanted them. I’d snap you up in a heartbeat to be the official stick figure guy for Inked.”

  “Things could change.”

  “Stranger shit has happened,” I tell him. “Designs some people want blow my mind sometimes.”

  “Like what?” he asks, looking genuinely interested.

  “A pickle.”

  “Someone put a pickle on their skin?”

  I nod, laughing as I remember the weird guy who wanted the damn thing.

  “What else?”

  “I had a guy who wanted a hand on his dick so it looked like it was wrapped around and holding it.”

  His eyes widen. “Did you do it?”

  I scrunch my nose, remembering how creepy the guy was and how he threw me a million vibes that made my skin crawl. “Um, no. I’m not holding his junk for hours for that ridiculousness.”

  “Does it ever get awkward?”

  “All the time.”

  “What was your most awkward one that you actually ended up doing?”

  I lean back in my chair and reach for my overly sugared coffee. “God, there’ve been so many strange ones. I don’t even know where to start.”

  “I saw some interesting ones in prison.” He shakes his head, scrubbing his hand across his face. “But almost everyone had names somewhere on their body.”

  “Names are the kiss of death.”

  “You think?” He raises an eyebrow. “I thought that was bullshit.”

  “How many relationships last forever, Nevin?”

  He shrugs. “Not as many as people think.”

  “I’ve done a fuck-ton of name cover-ups. Nobody ever listens.”

  “How many, exactly, is a fuck-ton?” he teases.

  “Enough to know that it’s a bad idea, but I get paid to tattoo the same spot of skin twice.”

  “Sounds like a win-win.”

  “I’d rather get paid once and not have to try to cover up a big patch of black ink. It’s always in black ink.”

  “My brother have Rosie’s name on him?” Nevin asks.

  “Not that I know of, unless it’s somewhere I haven’t seen and they did it when the shop was closed, but anything’s possible.”

  “They seem like a solid couple.”

  “She’s crazy about him.”

  “He seems pretty crazy about her too.”

  “They’re good for each other,” I tell him.

  And they are. Rosie was always more uptight than me, and Dylan pushes her outside her comfort zone when it’s necessary. Something I tried to do for years but wasn’t as successful.

  “You ever want that?” he asks, moving his coffee cup around in a small circle as he stares at me.

  “No,” I lie, but I do.

  I never used to, though. I avoided relationships for years, using men like they were a dime a dozen and there solely for my enjoyment. I didn’t care if I broke hearts, but I never led them on. I never lied about what I wanted or what we’d be to each other. Many guys thought they’d be the one to get me to change my mind. I don’t know if they thought their dick was the magic one that would have me running down the aisle, but it never happened.

  He dips his chin, raising an eyebrow again. “Really?”

  “Do you?”

  “Answering a question with a question?” He smirks.

  “Why not?”

  He laughs. “I don’t know.” He reaches back and rubs his neck, grimacing. “Maybe someday. I don’t even know how to date. The last girlfriend I had was when I was sixteen. I’m pretty sure things have changed.”

  “The basics are still the same,” I assure him.

  “Really?”

  “I’m serious.” I stare at him.

  He takes a deep breath and crosses his arms. “Everything about being an adult on the outside feels so confusing and difficult.”

  “They should make a manual,” I tell him.

  “They need a manual for people coming out of prison and reentering society. Do you know how many end up going back?”

  “Based on the question, I’m guessing a lot.”

  “A majority. The deck is stacked against us. Even though I didn’t do the crime, who’s going to hire me after spending so long in prison?”

  “Don’t tell them.”

  He stares at me. “Don’t tell them?”

  I nod. “Sure. Why not?”

  “And where do I say I was since I have no work history and I’m in my midtwenties?”

  “Taking care of a sick relative in another country.”

  He doesn’t look the least bit amused by my excuse. “And when they run the background check, because I’m sure they all do now, and see I was in prison?”

  I wince. “Fuck. I don’t know. Explain what really happened, or ask my uncle about getting your record cleared, so it doesn’t show up when they do run the background check.”

  He sits a little straighter in his chair. “They can do that?”

  “I’m not sure they can, but they’d know if it’s possible.”

  “It’s probably expensive.” He sighs. “I’ll need some money.”

  “Well, let’s find you a job, then.” I point at my laptop screen.

  “I could become a gigolo.”

  I glance up as he smirks at me. “Really?”

  “No, not really.” He laughs again, and I like this side of Nevin.

  “I could loan you the money.”

  His headshake is immediate. “Never happening.”

  “You can pay me back a little at a time.”

  “Nope,” he clips.

  “Why not?”

  “I’m not taking your cash.”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s not going to put me in the poorhouse.”

  “I didn’t say it would. But if I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it myself.”

  “Hardheaded,” I whisper to myself. “You’re just like Dylan.”

  “It’s a man thing.”

  “It’s a dumbass thing.”

  “Babe,” he says sharply. “I have only a little pride left. Don’t kill it by giving me your money. I’ll do it on my own.”

  “Impossible,” I mutter. “Then let’s find you a job, Mr. Pride. Maybe you’d like to bag groceries.”

  “I could do that,” he replies. “How hard can it be?”

  “I know the manager of the store near your place.”

  He shakes his head. “I don’t want help.”

  “What do you call this?” I wave my hand in front of the computer. “I’m helping you now.”

  “If I get a job, I want it to be because of me, not because you called in a favor and will have to pay it back.”

  I glare at him. “I’m pretty sure Susan isn’t going to ask for a favor.”

  “Susan? The manager is a chick?”

  “Women can be managers too, Nevin. We do work.”

  “I didn’t say you didn’t. I know you have a job.”

  “I own part of a tattoo shop. I don’t have a job. I’m a business owner with a career.”

  He throws his hands up in front of himself. “I got it. Sorry, babe. Didn’t mean to insult you.”

  I turn the laptop toward him, figuring if he wants to do it on his own, he can click a few buttons. “I filled everything out. Now you need to find the positions you want and click to submit an application for each one.”

  He stares down at the machine like it’s going to bite him. “What the hell happened to using pen and paper?”

  “This is easier.”

  “For whom?”

  “It’s called progress, buddy. Progress,” I say very slowly.

  He moves his fingers across the trackpad, moving slowly. “I don’t like this.”

  He ignores me, busy watching the arrow on the screen. I stare at him, studying as he tries to get the hang of the trackpad. He doesn’t complain too much, only grumbling a few times. A few clicks later, he pushes the laptop back my way.

  “Done.”

  “Done?” I ask, placing my coffee back on the table.

  “Yep. I applied to five jobs. They’re all shit, but they’ll do to get some cash in my hands.”

  “Anything is a place to start,” I tell him, trying to be upbeat, but I know he has an uphill battle in front of him.

  “Ian left me a little cash to get me started. It’s how I pay for the Wayward, but the money won’t last forever.”

  “I was serious about a roommate.”

  He stares at me with a blank expression. “Not happening.”

  “Why not?”

  “Babe,” he says slowly.

  “Babe what?”

  “No. I need to be alone. It’s sweet of you, but I’m going to have to pass.”

  “Offer still stands. I’m barely home.”

  “I don’t want to walk around smelling like roses and baby powder.”

  “Roses?” I ask, trying not to laugh at his ridiculous statement.

  “Whatever that good-smelling shit you’re wearing is.”

  I touch my neck, knowing I didn’t put anything on this morning. “I smell good?”

  He nods. “Better than good.”

  I smile, liking that he thinks I smell better than good. “I don’t think it would rub off on you.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sure it’s in the air at your place. I’d walk out of there leaving a trail of flowery air behind me.” He shakes his head. “Not a good look for a guy like me.”

  I roll my eyes again. “That’s absurd.”

  He lifts his hands this time as he shrugs. “It’s the truth. I’ve smelled my brother. He doesn’t smell like Dylan, but he sure as hell smells like Rosie.”

  “That’s because he rubs on her like he’s a cat in heat. It’s not because he walked through her air.”

  “Whatever you say,” he says, not believing a word that just came out of my mouth.

  “Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

  “Doubtful.”

  I stare at him, and he stares back, but his gaze becomes a little too much.

  “Well, I have to head to the shop. Want to come?”

  “No.”

  I exhale, feeling a little relieved.

  “I got shit to do.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “Shit.”

  I stop myself from rolling my eyes, but it’s hard. “Got it.”

  “Thanks for your help.”

  “Anytime. You need anything else, let me know.”

  He stands first, throwing a ten on the table, but I push it back before he has a chance to move. “I got it.”

  “Take it,” he insists, pushing it back in my direction.

  “I already paid.”

  “Well, now I’m paying you for paying.”

  I want to push it back at him, but I can see the man has pride…too much of it, actually. “Fine. Thank you.”

  “You can get the next one,” he says to me.

  “Deal.” I smile.

  He smiles back, looking bigger as he hovers over the table where I sit.

  “Let me know if you get a call.”

  “A call?”

  “From one of the applications.”

  He nods. “You got it. Talk soon.”

  “I hope,” I say to him, thinking I’ll hear from him soon.

  I watch Nevin as he walks to the door, punches it open, and stops in the sunlight to peer up at the sky. He wants to be nice. He tries, but it’s not natural for him. He’s had to fight for everything in his life. He’s scrappy and rough, but over time, I can see him softening a bit just like Dylan did.

  I have hope for him, just like Ian does. Nevin deserves a little slice of happiness, and I’ll do whatever I can to make sure he gets it.

  10

  NEVIN

  “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath when she walks into the bar dressed to the nines, making my cock ache instantly. It’s been two weeks since she helped me with my applications, all of which never panned out.

  I didn’t call her, even though she expected me to. I didn’t want her to help me any more than she already had. I’ve taken up enough of her time, and the more I am around her, the more I want her. And in my brother Dylan’s eyes, that is a huge issue.

  My first night on the job and she has to stroll in here, looking good and probably smelling even better. She’s with Rosie, smiling as they talk, until she starts to walk my way and her gaze lands on me.

  Her smile falls in an instant. I did that. I hate myself for it too, but I know that, in the long run, it is for the best.

  “You’re working here now?” Luna asks, sliding onto a barstool across from me.

  “I am,” I tell her, continuing to wipe down the glass I pulled from the washer a minute ago.

  “I’m surprised,” Luna replies.

  “Better than nothing,” I tell her, keeping my eyes on her. “What do you two want to drink?”

  “Two Coronas and two tequila shots,” Rosie finally says, entering the conversation but changing the topic.

  I set down the clean glass and reach into the cooler, pulling out two beers and twisting off the tops.

  “Why here, though?” Luna pries, leaning forward on her stool, showing off her cleavage. “Didn’t any of the places call?”

  “It’s the only place in town that would hire me on the spot.” I slide the beers in front of the girls, offering them limes, but am waved off. “The others wanted a background check. Didn’t want to deal with that shit.”

  “I’m sure they’re happy to have you,” Luna says, smiling at me like my lack of calling didn’t wound her a little.

  “I could give a shit if they’re happy. Just need some cash to get back on my feet,” I tell her before reaching for the tequila and pouring their shots.

  “Thanks,” Rosie says as I place the shots in front of them.

  “No problem. Anything else?”

  Rosie shakes her head.

  “We’re good for a bit,” Luna answers. “But check on us when we get low.”

  I wander down the bar, not wanting to spend too much time with my sister-in-law and her hot-ass sister who’s filled with sunshine and is making me her personal pet project.

  “He’s cold as ice,” Rosie says to Luna as they clink their bottles together. “Let that one go, babe.”

  “I can’t,” Luna says. “I like him.”

  They’re not looking at me and I’m not looking at them, but the way the sound carries behind the bar, I might as well be standing right in front of them.

  “Why in God’s name do you like him?”

  Luna shrugs. “I have a feeling about him, Ro.”

  “Keep it friendly,” Rosie warns her.

  “Did you listen to anyone about Dylan?” Luna throws back before taking a sip of beer.