Written By Fate (9 page)

Who’s Playing Who

Saturday morning I wake with a start. Dom comes in today and
I can't wait to see him. Sawyer doesn't have to be at the shop until eleven so
I let him sleep while I tug on jeans and a tank and head into the shop to open
for Dom. He arrives at ten on the nose, dressed in faded jeans and a blue
Henley shirt. His hair is ruffled and he looks like a wet dream. My pulse
quickens at the sight of him. I’ve never seen him dressed down but damn does he
rock it. He actually looks like a normal man. Someone I could date.

“Hi,” I say shyly. Dom laughs and pulls me into a fierce
hug. Letting me go he fingers the pendant. “It suits you,” he admires.

“Thanks.”

“It’s good to see you. I missed you,” he tells me as he
laces his fingers through mine and leads us to my station. Who is this guy?
He’s a far cry from the Dom I met in Boston.

“Yeah. It’s good to see you too,” I parrot like a retard.
“You look good. I like this laidback look,” I tease, pulling on the sleeve of
his shirt.

“Ah, someone told me all work and no play makes me a dull
boy.” He laughs and perches on the table. “So I took the bike on the plane and
rode here.”

“Ahh, that makes sense. Suits, loafers, and motorcycles
don’t really mix,” I joke.

“I’ll take you for a ride when we’re done if you have time,”
he offers, grinning. The idea of being tightly wrapped around him whizzing
through the mountain roads at high speeds is almost too much for my brain to
handle.

“Confession time,” I snort. “I don't usually take Saturday
clients so you’re my only one.”

“Really, Ms. Lord? You’re here just for me?” he teases.

“True story,” I quip and busy myself setting up my station.
Slowly removing his shirt I can’t help but sneak a peek at the way his muscles
contract and relax as he pulls it over his head and settles onto the table. His
movements have some strange ability to reduce me to a puddle of girly mush.

“Want music?” I ask, regaining some composure.

“Anything you want,” he replies.

“You’re brave,” I laugh after pushing Play. Blink-182 pumps
through the speakers, giving me energy. I love their old albums. I snap on my
gloves, clean and shave the area, and dive into my work. I love the way the
colors are complementing each other as I move further up the snake's body. The
accent color for the roses will make it one of my best. Well, best colorings
that is. After an hour Dom takes a quick break to stretch. Sawyer comes in
laughing with his client but snaps his mouth closed when he sees Dom on my
table. Shooting daggers at me, he clips his greeting and pretty much ignores my
presence.

“Hey, Clara,” Julieann greets me. “What’s Sawyer's issue?”
she asks, picking up on the obvious tension between us.

“PMS,” I shrug. “Maybe I’ll slip some Midol in his coffee.
Apparently I bring out his inner ‘Fuck You.’” We snicker together before she
sits in Sawyer's chair and removes her shirt. Sawyer’s finishing a killer
cityscape of Rome that spans her entire back.

“Friend?” Dom asks as I come back around the table.

“Julieann? Yeah, kinda. She’s been in a lot for some work.
She’s cool.”

“Sawyer didn't say hello to me,” he points out.

“Sawyer has a sandy vagina. Ignore him.”

Dom chuckles and shakes his head. “Where do you come up with
this shit?”

“Sorry. I really need to start using my filter.”

“Don't. Please. I love listening to you,” he laughs. Getting
back to work I notice that Julieann is all but drooling in my direction and I
chuckle to myself at her obviousness. When she gets up an hour later for a
break, Dom and I are still going strong. She struts over to us shirtless,
flaunting her taut lean twenty-something body and watches as I work.

“Wow. That’s hot,” she flirts. Dom smiles and I refuse to
lift my head. Just keep working, Clara. The green-eyed jealousy monster is
threatening to make an appearance and I really don't want to snap at Julieann.
I like her.

“Thanks. Let’s see.” Dom nods his head indicating to
Julieann to turn around. She complies and peers over her shoulder at him with a
lustful look.

“That’s impressive. Sawyer really does amazing work. Rome,
right?” he chats. The needle slips a little too deep and he grimaces. Oops. My
bad.

“Yeah. I took the photo Sawyer’s using to base it from. I
love Rome,” she gushes.

“J.A., babe, you ready?” Sawyer claps his hands and she
jumps, startled. I snicker and keep my head down.

“Nice to meet you....” she lingers, waiting for his name.

“Dominic,” I answer for him.

“Dominic,” she breathes and I want to punch her in her
pretty little face. Wow, what is wrong with me?

“Clara, relax,” he soothes when she's gone. Busted.

“Uh. Mmmhmm,” I stutter and Dom chuckles at me. His hand
drops to my thigh and squeezes gently. I immediately pull the gun away from his
side. I would hate to slip and fuck up his tatt because I can’t control my
body’s reaction when he touches me. He pulls his hand away, grinning like a
fool, and I resume my work, smirking. By one I’ve done as much as I think he
can take for one sitting. I gently wipe him clean and cover the colored area
before letting him dress again.

“I think we can finish this in two more sessions,” I say, eyeing
the remaining portion thoughtfully. Shrugging his shirt back on, he smiles and
takes my hand, pulling me to my feet. Julieann and Sawyer are watching us like
hawks, for two completely different reasons I assume.

“That’s it? I was hoping it’d take at least three more,” he
flirts.

“That’s it, bud. Sorry to disappoint.”

He leans in and kisses the top of my head and groans
quietly. “You smell tempting.” I laugh at the irony considering I think he
smells heavenly. “Hmm and here I was thinking it was you who smelled so good,”
I say.

He chortles and tugs my hand. “Ready for that ride?”

I fall in step with him, smiling widely, and nod. “Just let
me clean up. You can wait here, or there’s a good coffee shop next door.”

“Do you want anything?” he asks.

“No thanks, I’ll come grab ya when I’m done,” I say. He nods
and heads next door.

“Where did he come from?” Julieann asks as she carefully
pulls her shirt on.

“Boston,” I say curtly. She’s definitely fishing for
information and I don't care to give it to her.

“You two dating?” she questions as Sawyer narrows his eyes
at me.

“Nope,” I tell her and get back to my station.

I clean up my mess, wipe everything down, disinfect, and
grab my purse. He should have had ample time to finish his coffee by now. “See
ya,” I call to Sawyer as I head out. He doesn't reply, which irks me, but I’m
not going to let it ruin my afternoon. Approaching the coffee shop, I stop dead
in my tracks as I take in Julieann wrapped around Dom by his bike. She’s
laughing wildly at something he said. His body language screams disinterest,
but apparently not enough disinterest to keep her from rubbing her body all
over him. My hands clench into fists at my sides as I watch them. Dom finally
catches sight of me and stumbles a step back from Julieann, looking guilty. I
saunter up to them, trying to keep my jealousy in check. Who am I kidding? A
juvenile outburst is going to take place shortly. I somehow have a knack for
causing scenes.

“Julieann,” I grind out.

“Hey, Clara,” she purrs.

“Dom, something came up but I’m sure Julieann here would
love to hop on the back of your bike in my absence,” I say dryly before pushing
past them both and heading to my car. Dom lets out an irritated huff before
calling out to me. I know I’m being slightly adolescent. I have no ownership
over him and I told Julieann we weren't dating but the idea of Dom with anyone
else suddenly really pisses me off. I hit the unlock button on my key fob and
yank the door open, sending it swinging wide. Chucking my purse into the
passenger seat, I start to fold into the car.

“Clara, stop,” his deep voice booms, commanding me, and for
a second I almost want to oblige. I want him to want me when I turn my back.
How whack is that?

“Not a chance,” I bark, swinging the door shut. The door
swings back open with force and I’m physically removed from the vehicle and set
on my feet, toe to toe with Dom. “What the…”

“Shut up,” he growls at me. Snapping my mouth shut, I refuse
to look at him. His hands leave my hips and wrap around my neck, forcing my
head to face his. His coal black eyes are smoldering and it suddenly feels like
the air’s been sucked from my lungs. His head dips low, meeting mine, and he
kisses me. It’s soft, sweet, and full of desire. Thrusting past my teeth, his
tongue circles mine, stroking and teasing, and I give up my fight and kiss him
back. His fingers tangle in my hair tightly as he pulls me into his lean frame.
A strangled moan slips from me as he bites my bottom lip, tugs gently, and
releases it before pulling back to peer down at me.

“Dammit, Clara,” he hisses while I struggle to regulate my
breathing. Pulling me away from the car, he leans in, tags the keys from the
ignition, and locks the doors.

“Bike,” he clips as he tugs me by the hand towards his bike.

“No,” I blurt. “No, Dom, you can’t kiss the shit out of me
and think that wipes the slate clean.”

“Clara. I didn’t do anything wrong. You overreacted and I
can kiss the shit out of you,” he grumbles.

“I saw her rubbing herself up and down your body, practically
purring, and you let her!” I screech.

“What part of that is wrong on my part?” He raises an
eyebrow at me.

“You let her be all over you in front of me!” I squawk, my
hurt evident.

“And you have reason to be pissed why?” He smirks. Arrghh.
This man is infuriating. He’s right, though. I have no claim on him; in fact,
I’m the one who wanted it that way.

“Message received,” I bark back. His rough hands attach to
my waist, and my hands immediately clamp onto his shoulders to steady myself as
he hoists me through the air and sets me rather forcefully onto his bike. “Sit.
Stay,” he instructs as he grabs a helmet and jams it onto my head. “I’m not a
dog,” I pout. I can feel my bottom lip start to tremble and tears prick my
eyes. I don’t know if I’m coming or going when he’s around and it’s messing
with my emotions. I do this to myself though. I like the taste of danger, it
shines like sugar on my lips and I’ll gladly stand in the line of fire just to
show I can shoot straight from my hip. It doesn't serve me well, and I know it,
but it’s as if I’m helpless against it. I’m fiery and vulnerable and guarded
and outgoing all at the same time. Oh boy do I confuse myself.

Tugging on his own helmet he slides on in front of me and
the engine rumbles to life. Instinctively I snake my arms around his waist,
press my front to his back and hold tight. He throttles the engine and we peel
out into traffic while I fight to keep from crying. We speed along the winding
mountain roads pressed together and I realize that I want to date him. DUH. I
want the chance to date him. I absolutely don't want to see him with some
hussy. I also have no say over this particular situation. I’ve spent the last
month willing my body to ignore its overwhelming physical desire for the man
I’m currently molded to, and telling my brain that no matter how well I get to
know him, no matter how many sweet texts, gifts or visits I get, he is off-limits.
I’ve spent the last month mentally stabbing my Daniel Hollingsworth voodoo doll
with pins, cursing him for making me this way.

His hand covers mine momentarily where it clings to his
middle and his thumb brushes gently over my knuckles before returning to the
handlebar. That’s all it takes for me to come unglued. A sob bursts from me and
the tears spill as my body shudders with the force of my waterworks. Thank God
he can't hear me. The bike slows and he pulls off to the side, killing the
engine and tearing his helmet off. “Clara?” His voice is worried.

I refuse to release him from my death grip or acknowledge
him. He twists around and, snaking an arm under my pits, slides me around so
that I’m straddling him. His fingers make quick work of the chin strap and as
he removes the helmet I try futilely to wipe away any evidence that I shed
tears. He cups my face, the pads of his thumbs pushing the wetness away. I wrap
my legs around his waist tightly and without looking at him I rest my head on
his chest. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” he pushes gently.

“Trust me, when I woke up today, I had plans to be awesome,
but... shit happens,” I sniffle into his chest.

His hands are rubbing soothing circles on my back as I shake
my head no. My arms join my legs, wrapping around him and holding on for dear
life. My hips buck slightly as I try to adjust my position and I’m surprised to
feel his hardness press into the crotch of my jeans. The fact that he’s turned
on even when I’m a bumbling idiot, that he wants me at all, sends another wave
of tears spilling down my cheeks. Prying me off of him he holds me back and
stares at me.

“Explain,” he says gently. I blow out a shaky breath and try
to formulate a sentence. It’s not easy when his dark eyes bore into mine.

“I’m overwhelmed. I was jealous, then mad at myself, then
mad at someone else, then blown away by the fact that you’re turned on right
now even though I’m acting like a PMSing jerk,” I blurt, rambling.

“Slow down. Explain ‘mad at yourself.’”

“I made the rules. I told you no. I lied. I want to date you
but I can't. I’m mad at myself because I got jealous even though you were
following my rules,” I let on quietly. His eyes widen at the honest admission
but he doesn't push further.

“Who’s the ‘someone else’ you’re mad at?” he murmurs.

“Pass,” I say shortly.

“No, Clara, no passing.”

“I’m mad at Allie’s dad for being the reason that we can't
date.” There are only so many ways to phrase my answer without divulging
information.