enough, it surely would have stayed in place and I wouldn’t have to deal with Trace poking his finger into barely healed scars. “I am not going to take off my shirt just because you have a thing for tattoos.”
“Okay, fine. Wesley, you saw her naked. What is it?”
“Can’t you just let it go?” I shrieked way too loud and stalked straight for the stairs. I was going to change clothes. I didn’t care if I was going to smell like two-week-old sweat as long as every bit of skin was going to be covered up. I brushed past one of the guests on the stairs and ran straight for my suitcase as soon as I reached the top floor.
I needed a shirt or at least a cardigan. God, why did I have so very few long-sleeved clothes? I knew the blue hoodie that swallowed me whole was somewhere in my suitcase. I rummaged through my stuff, letting out a frustrated sigh when I couldn’t find it.
“I’m sorry.”
I whirled around, clutching wrinkled, sweaty shirts in both hands. Trace had followed me. “Just leave me alone.”
“I just apologized.”
“That’s not helping. I don’t want you to apologize. I don’t want anyone to see the tattoo, or ask about the tattoo or talk about the tattoo. I just want my big blue sweater but I can’t find it. So, just leave me alone!” I turned away from him, before he could see that my eyes were starting to glaze over with tears.
His distancing steps were sign enough for me to keep tossing clothes around on my bed until I reached the bottom of the suitcase. I started throwing everything back in, double-checking every piece I picked up, when a neatly folded grey shirt was placed on top of my pile.
“It should be big on you, but I couldn’t find a blue one,” Trace said, then quickly grabbed the rest of my strayed clothes and dumped them in the bag.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to right a wrong. Just trying to…” He trailed off.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It doesn’t mean anything. Can’t you just take the bloody shirt and shut up?” Trace threw his hands up and stormed off, leaving me with the choice between looking for my dirty shirt and accepting his clean one. The sooner the tattoo would be covered up, the better.
After shrugging into his sweater, I couldn’t just take a step back to escape Trace’s scent anymore. The source of the smell clung to my shoulders. The whole night, no matter how much spilled beer I wiped up or how strong the whiskey on my tray reeked, the shirt kept tingling my nose with that unfairly nice smell. I wished I didn’t notice it because, frankly, if a nice guy smelled that good, I wouldn’t hesitate to make the first step and ask him out first chance I got. But I did notice and I wanted to slap myself for it.
Once the pub closed, I stood outside with Sierra, who was on her third cigarette in 15 minutes, and waited for Marcus to pick her up. They were going to some late night party and it had taken me half of our shift to convince her I would be staying home.
“So, is it safe to ask why you went bonkers about the tattoo thing or are you going to rip my head off?” Sierra asked and inhaled through her cigarette, the end lighting up like an oversized orange firefly.
“Probably the latter.” I wrapped my arms around my mid to keep the cold from seeping deeper into my body.
“Then just let me give you a piece of advice on a completely different topic, Darling. If Trace Baker shows interest in you, you turn him the fuck down. I’ve seen too many girls walking in here, thinking they can be the one to fix him.”
“God, Sierra, there’s no interest there. On neither side. He hates me and does everything in his power to keep me from crying to his dad about what an asshole he is.”
“Right. So you’re not sniffing his shirt for the ten thousandth time right now?”
I glanced down to find I had actually been holding the right sleeve up to my face, breathing him in once again. “I just think he smells good. But
“Okay, fine. Wesley, you saw her naked. What is it?”
“Can’t you just let it go?” I shrieked way too loud and stalked straight for the stairs. I was going to change clothes. I didn’t care if I was going to smell like two-week-old sweat as long as every bit of skin was going to be covered up. I brushed past one of the guests on the stairs and ran straight for my suitcase as soon as I reached the top floor.
I needed a shirt or at least a cardigan. God, why did I have so very few long-sleeved clothes? I knew the blue hoodie that swallowed me whole was somewhere in my suitcase. I rummaged through my stuff, letting out a frustrated sigh when I couldn’t find it.
“I’m sorry.”
I whirled around, clutching wrinkled, sweaty shirts in both hands. Trace had followed me. “Just leave me alone.”
“I just apologized.”
“That’s not helping. I don’t want you to apologize. I don’t want anyone to see the tattoo, or ask about the tattoo or talk about the tattoo. I just want my big blue sweater but I can’t find it. So, just leave me alone!” I turned away from him, before he could see that my eyes were starting to glaze over with tears.
His distancing steps were sign enough for me to keep tossing clothes around on my bed until I reached the bottom of the suitcase. I started throwing everything back in, double-checking every piece I picked up, when a neatly folded grey shirt was placed on top of my pile.
“It should be big on you, but I couldn’t find a blue one,” Trace said, then quickly grabbed the rest of my strayed clothes and dumped them in the bag.
“What are you doing?”
“Trying to right a wrong. Just trying to…” He trailed off.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It doesn’t mean anything. Can’t you just take the bloody shirt and shut up?” Trace threw his hands up and stormed off, leaving me with the choice between looking for my dirty shirt and accepting his clean one. The sooner the tattoo would be covered up, the better.
After shrugging into his sweater, I couldn’t just take a step back to escape Trace’s scent anymore. The source of the smell clung to my shoulders. The whole night, no matter how much spilled beer I wiped up or how strong the whiskey on my tray reeked, the shirt kept tingling my nose with that unfairly nice smell. I wished I didn’t notice it because, frankly, if a nice guy smelled that good, I wouldn’t hesitate to make the first step and ask him out first chance I got. But I did notice and I wanted to slap myself for it.
Once the pub closed, I stood outside with Sierra, who was on her third cigarette in 15 minutes, and waited for Marcus to pick her up. They were going to some late night party and it had taken me half of our shift to convince her I would be staying home.
“So, is it safe to ask why you went bonkers about the tattoo thing or are you going to rip my head off?” Sierra asked and inhaled through her cigarette, the end lighting up like an oversized orange firefly.
“Probably the latter.” I wrapped my arms around my mid to keep the cold from seeping deeper into my body.
“Then just let me give you a piece of advice on a completely different topic, Darling. If Trace Baker shows interest in you, you turn him the fuck down. I’ve seen too many girls walking in here, thinking they can be the one to fix him.”
“God, Sierra, there’s no interest there. On neither side. He hates me and does everything in his power to keep me from crying to his dad about what an asshole he is.”
“Right. So you’re not sniffing his shirt for the ten thousandth time right now?”
I glanced down to find I had actually been holding the right sleeve up to my face, breathing him in once again. “I just think he smells good. But
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