11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

LEWIS

"You've gotta decode this for me." I meet Rowan at his car door, holding a coffee for him. He looks tired. Exhausted, actually. I eye him up and down and hand over his drink.

"Do I really have to play ‘human emotion translator' for you before I've reached appropriate levels of caffeination?" He takes a gulp.

"Fine." I sigh. "I'll just bumble my way through it all on my own, making the world's biggest ass of myself."

His lips twitch with a half-smile. "So, basically a Tuesday?"

I give him a playful kick in the ass. "Dickhead."

Row laughs without an ounce of shame and saunters towards Little Shop of Flowers.

"Alright, lay it on me. What completely incomprehensible thing did your fuck buddy say?"

I fish my keys out of my pockets but don't unlock the door right away. "He said something about always pushing too hard with guys who don't like him, and how he clearly hasn't learned his lesson. What does that even mean? We were talking about character flaws at the time, so maybe it was just a general thing he feels like he's bad at?"

"Lewie." Row puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. He shakes his head and gives me a pitying look that makes me bristle. Does he think Arrow was trying to tell me he's into someone else? "You are an absolute moron, and I love you." He kisses my forehead, then takes the keys from me and unlocks the door.

"What? That's all you're giving me? I need help," I whine, following him inside. "I need…"

I stop mid-sentence, my foot just barely over the threshold of the shop. Rowan stops in his tracks too, his cup of coffee held halfway to his mouth.

"Is it just me, or are there more ducks here than yesterday?"

A sound somewhere between laughter and an enraged yowl gets caught in my throat, heat rising into my cheeks and my pulse thundering noisily in my ears. More ducks? Every fucking surface in the shop is covered in colorful rubber duckies. There must be hundreds of them lining every shelf, perched on the cash register and scattered across the counter, I even pluck a few out of vases as I pass.

"How did he even get in here? Why ducks?" I pick one up and squeeze it. It lets out a shrill squeak and I toss it aside. "What atrocities did I commit in a past life to deserve that jagoff as my neighbor?" A hysterical laugh bubbles up in my throat. "How are we even supposed to open this morning with stupid." I pick up another and chuck it across the store. "Little." I toss one on the ground and stomp it with my foot. "Rubber ducks everywhere."

My frustration boils over and stomping isn't enough. I jump up and down on the innocent blue duckie until Rowan grabs me around the waist and hauls me away from the poor toy.

"I think he's dead."

I laugh again, folding myself over the counter, pushing ducks aside without care so I can bang my head on the hard, cold surface.

"I have an idea, if you're interested," Rowan offers.

"Sure," I mumble, my face still pressed against the counter. I'm already working on a few ideas of my own. Obviously, a horse head is out of the question, but there may be an alternative that will be even more disruptive to their business. It'll serve them right after fucking with mine again .

Who do those asshole tattoo artists think they are anyway?

"These things are pretty cute. What if we take a leaf out of the Ink Slingers book and turn it into a social media campaign?" he suggests.

I lift my head. "Oh shit, that's good."

I put my revenge plot on hold for the time being. I'll organize that tonight once I'm home and have time to stew over this whole stupid thing properly. For now, I like my bestie's idea a lot more. I look around at all the ducks, seeing them in a different light now, a plan slowly forming in my mind.

I yank open the drawer, tossing aside the ducks that come tumbling out, and rummage until I find the black Sharpie I'm looking for.

"Let's gather them all into a couple of bins and start numbering them. I'll make a video to post that with any in-store purchase, they can pick a duck and the numbers on the bottom will correlate to prizes like discounts. They can keep the duckies too, that'll save us having to get rid of them later."

"Perfect." He hurries to the back to grab some empty bins and we get to work.

For some inexplicable reason, I have the urge to text Arrow and tell him about the insane direction my morning has taken. Would he be interested in the petty drama I'm dealing with? For all I know, he might stand in solidarity with the motorcycle riding, tattooed assholes next door.

What are his friends like? Does he have any pets?

My chest tightens with every question that pops into my head. I try to push it all away and focus on turning lemons into lemonade with this stupid rubber duckie situation, but they just keep coming.

What's his favorite food? What does he do for work? What's his relationship with his parents like?

Wondering these kinds of things is a slippery slope. One minute I'm wondering how he takes his coffee and the next I'm his pathetic little puppy, panting after him and hoping he'll toss me scraps of affection every once in a while.

"Are you seriously that mad about some ducks?" Row asks, pulling me out of my brooding spiral. "You look like you want to stab someone."

I look up at him, forcing the sour look off of my face and replacing it with a smile.

"I'm good, I was just… thinking."

"About Arrow?" he guesses.

I shrug, even though we both know that's exactly who I'm thinking about. Maybe I should cut this thing off now before it gets out of hand.

His silver eyes flash through my mind, soft and warm. His smile, the weight of his arm around my shoulders last night while we watched TV… they flit through my thoughts one by one, with much filthier memories peppered between them.

There is a second option. I could stop playing it safe and see what happens if I give Arrow the chance to hurt me…

ARROW

I hop off my bike and head through the back door to the shop in the late afternoon. I called all of my clients for today to reschedule them, but there's no way my hand is going to be in working condition for at least another week, which means I have more calls to make and I'm going to need the appointment book for that.

Before I'm even out of the back room, I can hear an excited commotion that can't mean anything good. I hang up my helmet and jacket and brace myself for whatever dumb-ass shenanigans they're up to today.

"That brilliant little fucker," Jag mutters. All the guys are gathered around him, apparently watching something on his phone.

Tex is the first one to notice I've walked in. He nods at me in greeting, his eyes tracking immediately to my hand.

"It's fine." I answer the unasked question, my fingers twitching. "I just need a week or so for the swelling to go down before I can get back in my chair."

Hero grimaces. "I'm sorry, man. I feel like it's my fault for dragging you into that."

"You couldn't have stopped me from helping if you'd tried." I wave him off, and then nod at Jag shoving his phone into his pocket. "What was so enthralling?"

"That flower shop twink turned my latest prank right back around on me. He posted all over social media using the ducks I filled his shop with as a marketing tool."

I smirk. Whoever this guy is, I think I like his style. He's not taking Jag's shit, and he's obviously clever.

"Ducks?" I clarify, immediately imagining dozens of quacking waterfowl eating the poor guy's flowers.

"Rubber ducks," he says, and I let out a relieved breath. Filling the flower shop with live fowl feels over the line.

"Why ducks though?" Brick asks, yawning widely. The bags under his eyes are worse than they were last week.

"The place I ordered from sent me the wrong thing. I ordered two hundred variety colored dicks , but someone there fucked up," Jag grumbles. "I made do though."

"This whole prank thing has probably just about run its course though, right?" I ask. "It's been a few weeks now, you've both gotten a couple of good gags in, that's about enough."

"Maybe." He shrugs, blatantly not promising a damn thing. "Let's watch this stupid video again." He pulls his phone back out. I lean in to join the viewing party, and the screen fills with a shot of the inside of the flower shop, every surface covered in little colored rubber duckies.

My phone starts to vibrate in my pocket. I look away from the video and pull it out of my pocket to see Lewis's name lighting up the screen. With a grin and a hammering heart, I slip away from the guys to answer the call.

"Hey." I step into the back room to get away from the chatter and commentary they're all making about the video again. "Sorry I slipped out last night."

"It's fine. I'm sorry I fell asleep on you." His shy laughter conjures up the image of his cheeks turning that light shade of pink I can't get enough of. "Literally. I hope I didn't drool or anything."

My smile tugs even wider and I lean my shoulder against the doorframe.

"Maybe just a little," I tease.

There's a beat of silence that gives me just enough time to register how strange it is that Lewis called me instead of texting. My stomach twists and I tighten my grip on the phone. Shit, maybe I really did fuck up last night and he decided to wait until we weren't face to face to tell me he's over it.

"How's your hand?" he asks.

I glance down at it. My knuckles are still swollen, but not as much as they were last night. A dark bruise has bloomed across the back of my hand, but I can still move my fingers, and it doesn't feel broken, so that's something at least.

"I've had worse," I answer.

"Good," Lewis says. "Good."

"Is that all you called about?" If he's going to tell me we're done, I'd rather rip it off like a Band-Aid than tiptoe around it for five minutes.

"Um… no."

My gut clenches and I curl my injured hand into a fist, focusing on the physical ache of it instead of the emotional one that's already taking shape in my chest. I'm already getting attached to him, just like everyone else knew I would. Maybe it's best that he ends things now before I get in even deeper.

"Do you like tacos?" he blurts out.

"Tacos?" I repeat just in case I misheard him. He called to ask if I like tacos?

"Yeah, there's this taco truck in Belland, and I know food trucks can be kind of iffy, but this one is incredible. It's not anything fancy, obviously, but if you've never been to Belland, it's kind of nice and quiet with a really pretty park—"

"Lewis, are you asking me on a date?"

He's quiet on the other end again and my heart sinks. Did I misread things?

"Maybe more like a pre-date," he says quietly.

"A pre-date?" I know I'm turning into a parrot, but he's not exactly easy to follow with all of the vagueness.

"Yeah. Or, like, a trial date."

"Like a working interview?" A laugh rumbles through me.

"Exactly. If tacos in Belland goes well, we might bring you in for another round of interviews."

"I guess I'd better dust off my suit then," I joke.

He laughs, the sound dancing through me and making me wish I could reach through the phone and pull him in for a kiss so I can taste the sound fresh on his lips.

"Do you even own a suit? I can't picture you in one."

"No, I don't. But I have excellent credit, so renting one shouldn't be a problem," I growl suggestively.

"That's hot, but I think your regular old jeans and an oldies band t-shirt should do."

"Oldies?" I yelp, and more laughter comes through the phone.

"Is tomorrow night good?" he asks.

"Tomorrow night is perfect."

We say our goodbyes, and I hang up feeling lighter than I have in ages. I stuff my phone into my pocket and rub my good hand over my face, trying and failing to wipe the massive smile off my lips.

"Good phone call?" Piston startles me, skirting past me to get into the storage area.

"Yeah," I answer. "Fucking great phone call."

He opens the closet and rummages around, pulling out a fresh roll of paper towels and a bag of ink caps. He pauses and gives me an assessing look that only someone who's known me as long as he has could pull off.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot," I say with a nod.

"This casual guy you're seeing, is it the rainstorm guy?"

Did I tell the guys about the hot twink in the rainstorm? Hell yeah. But the way our body heat fogged the window, the desperate movements of our hands and mouths, Lewis's murmured pleas and the face he made when his cum splashed over my stomach, that's not for anyone except me. A greedy feeling flares in my chest and I glance over my shoulder into the shop to make sure the rest of the guys aren't listening in. I'm not sure why I'm so reluctant for them all to know that Lewis is the same guy—maybe because I already embarrassed myself enough moping around when he didn't call.

"Why?" I ask.

Piston shrugs. "Just curious."

I narrow my eyes. Piston is never just curious. The dude has a way of seeing shit no one else can. I'm just glad he isn't into gossip and drama the way Jag is. I clear my throat and nod.

"Yeah, it's him."

His expression is too stoic for me to read his reaction, but after a second, he nods too. "And you haven't checked his social media?"

I pull my eyebrows together and cock my head. "You know I don't bother with that shit. Why? Did you find him? Is there something fucked up I should know about?"

"No." He holds his hands up. "I was just curious," he says again.

That's obviously all I'm going to get out of him. He slips past me again and greets a customer who just came in. Whatever he was getting at, I'm not going to bother stewing over it. I have an unofficial date with Lewis tomorrow night, and that's more than enough to occupy my thoughts.

Maybe I should breach enemy lines and go next door to pick up some flowers for him. He loves plants, so flowers seem like a no-brainer. It's probably better to get them fresh though. I'll swing by tomorrow and pick up a bouquet right before I go to Lewis's.

I have a date . I smile to myself again.

This might just turn into something more than casual after all. A guy can hope, right?