He merely studied my appearance, from my eyes down to my lips and back up again. I wondered if it was because I wasn’t wearing my skullcap today. I wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen me without it, come to think of it.

I knew I wasn’t a bad-looking guy and had been told by both women and men that I was hot. I kept trim and fit and made sure to groom the scruff along my chin, which was normally a dark brown color that matched my hair, but could turn copper in the summer. Plenty of guys liked the feel of the beard against their faces and I kept it buzzed enough that it was never messy looking.

“You still doing okay?” I asked in a hoarse voice and he nodded. His gaze, which had momentarily travelled down to my hands, now snapped back to my eyes.

Goddamn, his scrutiny was messing with my head.

To keep my nerves from jangling to the ground, I asked another question, even though I knew he might not respond. “Where did you get all of your other ink?”

Just as I suspected, he didn’t reply, so I added, “In England?”

He shook his head. “Haven’t lived there since I was a teenager.”

Holy fuck that accent did something to me. My heart was pounding in my chest.

“Ah, got it,” I said, trying to keep my composure. “So you’ve been in the States since then?”

He didn’t answer, only looked at me.

“You know, if we’re going to be in this room for several more appointments, it might help pass the time if we actually engaged in a conversation.”

Again with the stare. So I attempted to read his eyes. He wasn’t angry or annoyed, but maybe slightly amused. Entertained by my lame-ass endeavor of trying to get him to talk. And that kind of ticked me off.

Why in the hell had he decided to pick me of all people to do his fucking ink if he clearly preferred to just sit in silence? If he knew I jabbered away every other time I’d run into him?

Before I could clamp it down, the irritation boiled deep in my gut. “Why is talking so damn hard for you?”

His eyebrows shot together. I’d gotten a reaction from him. Good.

His gaze soldered to mine, and I nearly lost myself in its intensity.

“Why is silence so bloody hard for you?”

I nearly swallowed my tongue. Not only had he been paying attention, but now he sounded annoyed. Well that made two of us.

So I decided to go for honesty instead of asking him to get the fuck off my table and walk the hell out. Besides, what did I have to lose?

“Silence gives me too much time to think,” I said. “And there are just some things I don’t want to think about.”

Again with the gaping, except his eyes had softened.

I had just shared something with him. Something fucking big.

Shit, my chest was constricting like a vise grip. I was so rattled by this guy it was as if he was unscrambling me piece by piece.

Fucker wasn’t going to even engage me. I lifted the machine again and got to work. He continued staring at me. And right then I decided: Screw it. Screw him.

But then I heard his low voice so I moved the needle away from his skin to listen properly. “I guess we both have stuff to hide.”

I shut my eyes at that revelation. When I reopened them, he had changed positions to stare at the opposite wall and it felt like the sun had shifted away from me.

I felt cold, strangely emotional, and nearly desperate to have his attention again.

Which was all kinds of fucked up. I finished my work with a huge lump in my throat. Even my lame back was feeling the burn from my muscles remaining so tense.

“That’s enough for today,” I said after the biggest span of torturous silence I’d had to endure in a long while, outside of a few nights of insomnia.

He sat up and began pulling on his shirt.

I refused to look at him, which was childish at best. Instead, I focused all of my attention and energy on clearing the supplies in front of me. “Do you need the usual instructions about removing the bandage after a couple of hours and keeping the area clean so it can heal?”

“No, Cory, I don’t,” he said in a strong and clear voice. “Thank you for your time.”

Chapter Six

I headed to my grandmother’s house first thing in the morning to clean out her gutters and install a new dead bolt on her front door. I was pretty handy and was glad to do it especially if it meant keeping her safe.

When I returned home after my shift at Raw Ink, Chopper was impatient, walking in circles around me, nudging at my hands. Even a good scratch behind the ears didn’t help him settle. Ace, on the other hand, was curled up on his dog bed in my room, perfectly content. He was used to having a day or two off from walking every now and again, but it was as if Chopper would die of restlessness if he didn’t burn off some energy.

So I clipped on his leash and walked him about a mile along the bay, all the way to the kayak launch dock. Dusk was fast approaching and the sun was beginning to set, reflecting like a halo off the water. I was tired and hot, and the idea of taking off my shoes and wading in the shallow end seemed pretty enticing.

As Chopper tugged his leash past a row of colorful kayaks, I threw off my sneakers and trudged closer to the edge. Chopper stuck his nose in the water and lapped his tongue at the cool liquid. Some dogs were terrified of water, but I was going to bet that if I had a stick to throw, Chopper would charge right after it. Hell, it might tire him out further.

But then he’d be all wet and we’d be a complete mess. Besides, what if I was wrong? What if he couldn’t swim? I sank my toes in the steady flow as it ebbed near the shore and felt instant relief. I bent at the waist, cupped my hands to scoop up some water, and then rubbed it along my neck.