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  The guy let his eyes move back and forth between the two of us, then stopped and narrowed them. Finally, he shrugged. “Fuck. Not worth it,” he mumbled, then shuffled off toward the back of the bar.

  The girl let out a sigh of relief, then turned a brilliant smile to me. “I’m Evelyn, by the way,” she said with a laugh. God, the sparkle in her eyes was mesmerizing. She continued, “I need a drink. As my official fake boyfriend, what do you say you buy me one?”

  I grinned. “Sure.”

  I turned to Belinda, then, to apologize. After all, ditching her immediately was pretty rude, and not exactly a great “thank you” for her dragging me out tonight. But when I saw her face, it had a huge—not to mention self-satisfied—grin across it, which was a relief.

  “You see?” she said, one eyebrow cocked. “I told you it could be life-changing to take a night off.”

  Chapter 3

  Evelyn

  THE FIRST THING I became aware of the next morning, even before the pounding in my head, was my stomach. It was rolling and crashing like waves, and the tide didn’t show any sign of receding.

  A low moan escaped from my raw throat. The sound caused my headache to pull ahead in the horse race from hell that was the competition for which symptom was going to make me want to die first.

  “Oh, God. This is the worst.” Even just whispering those few words to myself felt like sandpaper scrubbing hard against the tender flesh of my throat. It wasn’t good.

  I considered diving back down into the sweet escape of sleep, but discarded that idea immediately. The pain was driving into my skull, like knives behind my eyes digging into my brain.

  Yah. Sleep wasn’t gonna happen.

  I struggled to a sitting position and rubbed my temples.

  What in God’s name had happened last night?

  The door opened and one of my roommates walked in. “Morning, Sleeping Beauty!”

  I pried my eyelids open, rubbed the grit away, and did my best to focus. “Oh, hey, Brandy. Where are the other two?”

  “They’re giving you space. Or, quiet, rather. To recover. They went to breakfast.”

  Groaning, I flopped back down on the pillow. “They’re angels.”

  “Well, then, I must be your guardian angel, because I went one step further.”

  I re-opened my eyes just enough to peek at her. Not enough to let the light of the room in. “What does one step further mean?”

  She grinned. “It means I brought you a surefire hangover cure.”

  My stomach rebelled at the images those words brought to mind. Raw eggs and tabasco. Tomato juice and paprika. I’d even heard someone suggest pickle juice once. There was no way I was keeping that down!

  Or, even worse, the thing that sounded like the most evil choice of them all at the moment—a little hair of the dog.

  “Please don’t try to shove anything disgusting down my throat. I honestly can’t take it.”

  “I would never!”

  “I’m serious, Brandy. I really feel like I might die.”

  “I believe you. But you have to remember who you’re talking to. Who my mom is—well was, fingers crossed. But still. I’ve spent many mornings nursing someone’s hangover. I know what I’m doing, and the key is to keep it simple.”

  Her logic made sense, and I sat up for real this time, swinging my legs over the side of the bed and facing her, where she now sat on her bed, holding a canvas shopping tote on her lap. “Okay. I’ll bite. What’ve you got in there?”

  She grinned. “Look at that! You’re already twice as cooperative a patient as she ever was. I feel like we’re off to a good start here.”

  Her words made me smile, which was something I would’ve sworn was impossible just two minutes ago. Maybe we were off to a good start.

  She pulled a bottle from the bag. “Iced mocha. The coffee will give you a boost, and the sugar will…you know. Just taste good. But maybe also give you a little sugar high.”

  I took it from her. “Cool. I could use one.”

  Next, she took a bottle of Hawaiian Springs water out and handed it over. “Water is very important. You’re dehydrated now, and the coffee actually might exacerbate that. So, fill up on fluids.”

  I accepted the smooth blue bottle, eyeing it admiringly. “Damn, Bran! This is the good stuff!”

  She laughed. “Nothing but the best for you. Now, the last item in Brandy’s Trademarked Hangover Cure Method.” She reached into the bag and came out with a bag of cinnamon bread. “The breadiness will coat your stomach, and the cinnamon will help your nausea. You can toast it if you want, but don’t put anything fatty like butter on it.”

  She tossed the bag across to me and I caught it like a football. It squished between my fingers, and suddenly I was very eager to chow down on some of that soft, doughy goodness. My stomach let me know it would be okay by growling loudly, and I thought that was an excellent sign.

  As I chomped on a slice of the sweet, cinnamony heaven, I asked, “So…last night. I was pretty far gone, huh?”

  I avoided looking at her face when I said the words, not entirely sure I wanted to know the answer.

  “Oh, hell, yes you were! And I have the video evidence to prove it, ya little lush!”

  My head snapped up, sending a shockwave of pain down my spine. The person who had so gleefully chimed in was Sandy, as she and Cat walked through the door.

  Cat hurried around her and came to sit next to me, tentatively patting my shoulder. “How are you feeling, hon?”

  A half smile was all I could manage now, as I contemplated the question. “Well, let’s look at the bright side. Brandy brought me some things to make me feel better. And with how I feel right now, I think they have an excellent chance of success, because let’s just say I’ve got nowhere to go but up.”

  Sandy sat down on the other side of me, holding out her phone. “Well, let’s look at the other bright side. We have funny movies to watch.”

  Her words from a moment ago echoed in my head. My brain was still fuzzy as hell and I hadn’t fully processed them until that moment. “Wait…you said you had video evidence? Of me being drunk? What’re you talking about?”

  Sandy shook her head. “Oh, Evelyn. Evelyn, Evelyn, Evelyn. I could explain what I’m talking about until I was blue in the face. But, why would I do that when there’s a better way? I mean, hell, if a picture’s worth a thousand words, a video must be worth a damn million!”

  With that, she pressed play on the file she already had cued up on her phone.

  I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Or hearing.

  Me. On a table, dancing my ass off. That part wasn’t what completely shocked me, though. Although it wasn’t exactly part of my regular Saturday night repertoire, I could see myself doing it, given the right combo of adrenaline and alcohol. Last night had provided both.

  No, what I couldn’t believe was the sight of drunk me pulling a smoking hot, well-muscled, heavily tattooed guy up on the table with me.

  Damn. Just…damn.

  Even on the tiny phone screen, I could see that he was sexy as hell and a charge ran down the length of my body. Which at least provided a little variety from the wide range of far shittier sensations I’d been subjected to all morning.

  But, come on…what had I been thinking?

  I looked over at Sandy. “Please tell me that’s it.”

  Her eyes sparkled as she waggled her eyebrows. “Not even close. I’ve got you trying to drag him up to sing karaoke. I’ve got you hanging all over him telling people he’s your boyfriend. I’ve got—”

  “What?” I gasped, cutting her off. I was sure I must’ve misheard her. Actually, that was a lie. I was just hoping that I had.

  “Oh, yeah,” she confirmed. “That was the whole thing that got it started. First, you just passed him off as your lovah-man to discourage a creepy guy who wouldn’t take ‘buzz off’ for an answer. Or at least that’s what you told me you did. You know. Like any self-respecting lunatic who thi
nks she’s starring in a rom-com would do.”

  I dropped my head into my hands. “Holy shit, you’re enjoying this way too much.”

  “I would argue I’m enjoying it precisely the right amount. Anyway, speaking of enjoying things way too much—and thank you for unintentionally handing me the perfect segue, by the way—you just would not let the ‘fake boyfriend’ thing drop all night. You really got into it.”

  I raised my head again, my face crumpled into a cringe that I feared might have to become permanent. I looked at Cat and Brandy, hoping for some sign from them that maybe Sandy was lying…or even joking…but there was none. In fact, they were nodding. The traitors.

  “God, who was this guy, even? Just some rando?”

  “No, actually,” Cat said, and for the first time since I’d watched the video, I felt some relief. “Jace knows him. His name is Nick, and he owns the new tattoo place just off the plaza.”

  I laughed wryly. “Well, great. At least I know where I can find him to deliver a groveling apology.”

  Chapter 4

  Nick

  A MELLOW TONE sounded through the shop, letting me know a customer was coming through the front door. I glanced up at the clock in the back room. That was weird. My next appointment was booked half an hour from now, and early afternoon wasn’t what you’d call prime time for walk-ins in a tattoo shop. It wasn’t the time of day when people let their impulses run away with them.

  Belinda, my receptionist, poked her head through the curtain that separated the customer area up front from the staff area, where I was. “Hey, Boss,” she said, her voice low and tight. Her eyes were cast down, unable to meet mine.

  “Oh, shit. What?” My tone was resigned. I’d been conditioned by life to believe that things were right on the edge of going wrong all the time, so it wasn’t some huge surprise when they did.

  “You’re not gonna like it,” she intoned.

  “Yeah, so what else is new? Just tell me, B.”

  “The babysitter’s here with Olive. Neither one of them look happy.”

  Well, shit on toast. I’d really thought this one would stick.

  I nodded, suddenly exhausted. But that didn’t matter. Life didn’t stop needing to be dealt with just because I was tired. I should know—life had gone on needing my attention through a lot more fucked up shit than fatigue.

  I followed Belinda back out to the front of the store. I spied my daughter first, and my heart softened. Her face was tear-streaked and she was clutching her favorite book to her chest. My eyes moved to the face of Carla, the latest in a long string of sitters who had come and gone quickly.

  The tight set of her jaw barely moved as she said, “Can I speak to you, please?” in a clipped, formal tone that couldn’t be good.

  I nodded, then knelt next to Olive. “Hey, Bug. Can you sit out here with Belinda for a minute? I need to talk to Carla.”

  Olive nodded and planted herself on the tufted velvet bench that comprised the waiting area, then opened up her book and started flipping through the pages. I paused for a moment, my chest filled with warmth as I watched her run her fingers along the lines filled with words she couldn’t read yet. She was just going through the motions because it was comforting. I knew how she felt.

  I turned and headed toward the back, motioning Carla to follow me.

  Pulling the curtain shut behind us, I faced her. “Okay. What’s wrong?”

  Carla looked down at her feet. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mr. Russell. I feel really bad about this. Most of the time, Olive is a lovely girl…”

  She trailed off and my heart dropped into my gut. Shit. I recognized this. It was exactly what I feared it would be: the babysitter quitting version of the “it’s not you, it’s me” speech.

  “But?” I prompted.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “But I’m not prepared for the rest of the time. The crying jags and unreasonable fears. And she doesn’t trust me, so there’s not a whole lot I can do to help her.”

  “Maybe if you gave it more time—”

  “It’s been two weeks.”

  “Two weeks isn’t a very long time.”

  She shook her head. “It’s a long time when she won’t even look me in the eye, or speak to me, or acknowledge me when I speak to her.”

  Wow. That was bad. “Look, I know she has issues. Her mother died two years ago…”

  I trailed off, not really sure where I’d been going with that. I certainly wasn’t trying to use the “dead wife card” to get sympathy from this woman. And I knew that two years was enough time that Olive shouldn’t still be having these issues. Not to mention, she was only four years old, young enough to be resilient, or so I thought.

  Carla sighed. “I’m aware of that. I know it’s not really my place, but have you considered getting her some help? Like…some professional help?”

  I nodded curtly, my defenses coming up. I had, in fact, taken Olive to a therapist. But Carla was right, it wasn’t her place to start digging into Olive’s psychological history. It was none of her damn business, especially if she was planning on just leaving us high and dry. “It’s covered,” I snapped.

  She stepped back a little and her eyes flared. Shit. I forgot sometimes that people got the wrong impression of me, based on my appearance. They thought of me as a biker or some other kind of scary dude, and not just a guy who loved his daughter, and also happened to love tattoos.

  I softened my tone. I didn’t need her leaving here and telling people I was some kind of rage monster. Now that it was clear she was leaving no matter what I said, it would cost me nothing but pride to part with her on good terms.

  “Look, Carla. Thanks for everything you did for Olive. I appreciate you trying as hard as you did to connect with her.”

  Her shoulders relaxed and her face softened. “Thank you for saying that. She really is a sweet little girl, from what I was able to see at times. I wish…well, I just wish things could’ve been different.”

  “Me too.”

  She glanced at the back wall. “Can I use that door? I don’t want her to see me walk out. If she has any attachment to me that I haven’t picked up on, I don’t want that image to stick in her mind.”

  “Yeah, sure,” I agreed, gesturing toward the large, steel-framed door cut into the brick wall. “It opens up onto the alley. You’ll be able to find your way easy enough.”

  She smiled her thanks and made her exit. When I was alone again, I dropped back down into the chair I’d been in when Belinda first popped her head in the door. That seemed like a long time ago now.

  I pressed my fingers to my forehead. Damn it, another migraine was threatening.

  Since Jen’s death two years ago, I’d had moments where I thought I was handling everything all right—that I was on top of things, being a good dad to Olive, building a good life for us. In short, that I had my shit together.

  Those moments were few and fucking far between.

  What was way more common was the crushing feeling that a tidal wave was bearing down on us, and I was totally unprepared and scrambling, and no matter how hard I tried, I would never have things under control. That was definitely how I felt at the moment.

  The therapist had said that Jen’s death had taken away Olive’s sense of security, something that she was still struggling to get back two years later.

  It had also taken her sense of trust. It was hard for her to open up to people, especially women. She adored Jen’s sister Lisa, but Lisa had been around before Jen’s cancer. Olive had already been bonded with her.

  She tolerated Belinda, but didn’t really engage with her. She’d gone through a string of babysitters, none of which had stayed very long, without really even acknowledging they existed.

  Now, we could add Carla to that list.

  My fear was that, the more women who passed in and out of Olive’s life without her bonding with them, the stronger the pattern of not connecting would become imprinted on her. Not to mention
the fact that each additional woman that suddenly disappeared only served to strengthen her idea that women couldn’t be trusted to stick around.

  This was a serious problem. I was completely clear on that. The only question was—what the hell was I going to do about it?

  Belinda popped her head through the curtain again, and just like before, said, “Hey, Boss.” It would’ve been like déjà vu all over again if not for the fact that her tone and demeanor were a complete one-eighty from how she’d been before. Instead of closed tension all over her face and shoulders, she was bright and open and wore a large smile.

  “Hey, B. What’s up?”

  “Come out here,” she said, gesturing for me to follow her. “You’ve got to see this.”

  Chapter 5

  Evelyn

  CHAGRIN.

  That was the only word to describe what I felt as I approached the door of Blackbeard Ink. I wasn’t exactly eager to face Nick after I’d harassed him all night last Friday at the bar.

  Well…that wasn’t exactly true. I wasn’t looking forward to facing the humiliation of apologizing. But, I had to admit, I was looking forward to seeing him again.

  One specific part of me, in fact, seemed to be particularly excited. Positively tingling with anticipation.

  I clenched my jaw and tried to get myself under control. What the hell, Ev? You can’t let the fact that you’re so eager to finally set your lady parts free make you so thirsty that you let them run the whole damn show!

  I took a deep breath to steady myself and then pushed through the door.

  I let my eyes wander the interior. The shop wasn’t at all what I’d expected. I mean…I hadn’t quite been sure what to expect, but this definitely wasn’t it. The decor was elegant, with a gothic flair. The walls were covered with framed prints of designs, as well as pictures of Nick with other people just as heavily tattooed as he was.

  Not nearly as freaking hot, though. That would’ve been impossible.

  The man himself was nowhere to be seen. The only people in the shop were a girl with bright tattoos covering her arms, leather pants, and long dreadlocks. She stood near the back of the shop, flipping through the pages of a binder with a man in glasses and khakis. She explained details about the various pictures to the man, and he waffled at every one.