Solitude (Artistic Pricks Ink #3) (9 page)

Every minute replays over and over in my head the entire drive home and only gets worse while I shower. Furious with myself, him, and the entire situation, I scrub every inch of my body until my fingers ache. But no matter how much soap I use, the smell of him lingers on my skin. Damn him. “How could you be so stupid, Shelby?” I ask myself in the mirror as I wrap my hair up in a towel and take in the bite marks on my shoulder. I brush my fingers over my lips that are still swollen from his kiss. As angry and confused as I am right now, I know if I close my eyes, I’ll still be able to feel his mouth on me, his body pressed into mine.

“You’re an idiot,” I scold my reflection, rolling my eyes.

Sure, it was great sex, really great sex, but you aren’t exactly supposed to have a one-night stand with someone you see every day, now are you? Besides, aren’t you supposed to be able to stand the person you have sex with? Mitch infuriates me to the point of violence.

But didn’t that only add fuel to the fire?

Shutting off the light, I pad across the hall into my bedroom. Not even bothering to turn down the bed, I flop across my bright yellow comforter. Hugging the pillow to me, I groan into it, knowing that, all too soon, I’ll be face to face with him again at work. There is no avoiding him.

“Do you have any idea how much I want you?”

“I don’t have any strength left to keep fighting this.”

“Give me an excuse not to ruin you.”

His words echo in my head and my body betrays me, shivering as if he were right here. Then I see the look in his eyes when he pulled away from me and the sting of rejection cuts deep. I had told him I cared about him and he used it to his advantage. He took what he wanted then, when it was too late to take it back, dismissed me because he realized he fucked up. Damn him.

Staring up at the ceiling, I force back the tears. I ignore the hurt that comes from his obvious regret, hoping sleep will come.

But even when it finally does, I dream of him.

Bastard.

I may not be able to control or change how I feel about what happened tonight, but I won’t give Mitchell Taylor the satisfaction of knowing he hurt me.

***

Climbing from my car, I lock it up and head into the shop. After spending most of the night tossing and turning, I gave up on sleep and got an early start on cleaning my house and doing laundry. Hours later, once I finished cleaning and organizing every drawer in my house, rearranging my closet, and every other random chore I could think of, I begin going stir crazy. My day off is usually the one day that recharges me and allows me to relax my overworked mind. More often than not, by noon, I am ready to go into work and fix whatever the guys have managed to mess up. Today is no different. I’m hoping there is something left on my desk to drown out all the loud thoughts and occupy my mind.

“Hey, I knew you couldn’t stay away, even on your day off,” Skinner says the moment I step through the hallway. Stepping out of his bright red painted work station, he holds out his arms. “Admit it, you missed me.”

“You know it,” I reply.

“Uh oh.” Skinner moves toward me. Dropping my shit to the counter, I settle into my chair with a loud sigh while he studies me. “No smart ass comeback? Either you’re sick, or hell finally froze over,” he says, covering my forehead with his palm.

“Don’t you have something to do?” Batting his hand away, I turn the chair toward the computer screen. “If not, I wouldn’t say no to you getting a jump on that storage room inventory for me.”

“Whatever.” Crossing his ink covered forearms over his chest, he shakes his head. “By the way, some guy named Devon called here lookin’ for you. I assume he is the reason you look like you were mauled by a zombie?” His eyebrow arches, a grin playing across his face as he stares at the bite marks on my shoulder. “Is there anything you’d like to tell me?”

“Yep,” I reply, popping the p. “Boxes are stacked against the wall by the backdoor. Lift with your legs.”

“Come on, you know I hate inventory.” Rolling his eyes, he blows out a breath. “I’ll seriously give free ink and an orgasm to someone if they’d just walk through that door right now.”

The bell jingles; both Skinner and I turn just in time to see Luke walk through the door, followed by Mitch. I force myself to ignore him completely and focus on entertaining myself with Skinner. “Oh look, Skins, a twofer! I sure hope you’re a multi-tasker,” I say with a giggle. Skinner’s eyes widen, he blushes. A satisfied smile damn near splits my face. Leaning back in my chair, I cross one leg over the other and wink. “Now, if only I had brought popcorn.”

Luke places his soda bottle on the counter and begins thumbing through the stack of mail. “Isn’t today your day off?” he asks, his eyes not meeting mine.

“Oh please, it’s way more fun being here to witness this moment than anything I could be doing at home,” I reply with a laugh, “Skinner’s offerin’ free ink and orgasms to whoever walks through the door; so I’m glad I’m here to help manage the line there will be once news gets out. You’re the first ones; be gentle with him boys, I think he’s a bit shy.”

“He’s what?” Luke and Mitch ask in unison.

Luke glares at Skinner, his mouth pressing into a hard line, “Okay, I know we have a pretty easy going policy, but that’s not exactly a legal or beneficial advertising strategy. Shel, I never thought I’d say this, but I’m really starting to rethink the need for a pamphlet on sexual advances in the workplace. You may need to draft a memo or somethin’. Or maybe a giant poster.”

Little late for that, boss man…

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks at the thought of Mitch and I last night but, thankfully, Luke doesn’t notice. Skinner’s face is priceless so I focus on that. He looks like he may faint or vomit, or both. I wink at him again and watch as he squirms uncomfortably, happy that it’s him instead of me. This shit is entertaining as hell. Besides, it is a welcome distraction from the man openly gawking at me now from across the room, whom I refuse to give the time of day. Lifting my drink, I sip from the straw and wait for his response.

“Hey, I’m a quality piece of ass,” Skinner says with a grin, batting his lashes innocently. “Unless you’re into biting, then we need to call whoever tore up Shelby last night.” Stepping toward the counter, he shrugs and picks up the cordless phone, holding it out to me. “Is your zombie cock on speed dial?”

You sonuvabitch.

I choke on my iced tea, nearly inhaling the damn straw. Sitting upright, I slam the drink on the counter and gasp for breath. “Jesus fuck, Skins,
” Luke says, tossing the mail down to the counter. Walking around the desk, he claps me on the back. The entire time, Mitch’s eyes are locked on me. I can’t tell what he is thinking, his face is an unreadable mask. “You gonna make it?” Luke asks with a chuckle.

I nod, my eyes meeting Mitch’s as he studies me carefully. He opens his mouth, only to close it again, before turning away and heading over to grab papers from his box.

“I’m peachy,” I croak, pushing to my feet. Forcing myself to look away from Mitch, I blow out a breath and pat Luke on the arm as I brush by him. “As much fun as this has been, I think I’ll go get a jump on that inventory. Manual labor always helps me plot revenge,” I reply, my eyes landing on Skinner. Sitting the phone back down, his smile fades instantly. My gaze hardens, driving home just how on my shit list he is.

“Mitch, give Shelby a hand with those boxes,” Luke says, causing me to stop dead in my tracks. “For once, it isn’t you she wants to dismember.”

Lucky for Luke he isn’t a bettin’ man…

“I can manage on my own.” Not bothering to wait for an answer, I start up the hallway. Grabbing a box, I head for the storage room just down from Luke’s office. Kicking open the door, I flick on the light with my elbow and drop the box to the floor beside one of the shelving units we have organized with supplies. The halogen bulbs flicker, humming as they light up the room.

Reaching out, I brace my hands on the metal shelving unit in front of me and close my eyes. I blow out a breath and count to ten, trying to get a grip. “They wear orange in prison. You don’t look good in orange, Shelby. Murder is not an option,” I mumble to myself.

“I’m fully aware that this may make me an accessory to my own death, but there are a million places to bury a body in the desert.” Turning around, I open my eyes and see Mitch setting a down a stack of boxes before leaning against the doorway. “Not even gonna lie, though; you’re right about the orange. I hear somewhere in Arizona they wear pink.”

“That means I’ll need to stop and get gas,” I deadpan, shaking my head.

“You sent my Ma flowers.” Looking down the hall, he steps further into the room, closing the door behind him.

I nod, “I did. After what you said, I figure she deserved them.”

He nods, studying me carefully. “You left,” he blurts, almost sounding hurt.

“You walked out first,” I remind him.

“That hurt you.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I brush him off, not wanting to talk about it.

“We need to talk about last night, Shelby.”

“Don’t.” Holding up my hands, I silently plead for him to stop. “It was a mistake; let’s just forget it ever happened.”

Taking a step closer, Mitch shakes his head. “You’re able to do that? Can you pretend last night never happened?” Taking another step, he reaches out brushing his fingers up my arm. “You can look me in the eye and mean it when you say it? I get it, okay? I messed up and I’m sorry because I know that I hurt you, I hurt everyone. ”

“I want honesty, not excuses.” I swallow hard, forcing myself to look up into his eyes. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t say them. I won’t lie, but I can’t pretend there isn’t a bigger issue here. “Can you tell me that you don’t regret what happened, Mitch? That you wouldn’t take it back if you could? Tell me what you want from me. Another go? Some sort of fuck buddy relationship? How does that work exactly?” I ask him, throwing up my hands. “I wait around for you to call? On those nights you need me to give you a ride, you give me one in return?”

“Jesus,” he mutters, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Is that wh-”

“Mitch!” Skinner shouts, banging on the door before flinging it open. “Someone named Micah is on the phone for you.”

“Tell him I’ll call him back,” he barks out, waving him off without taking his eyes off me.

“Mitch,” Skinner presses holding out the cordless phone, his voice becoming somber. “You need to take this call.”

Seriously, can’t the powers that be go fuck up someone else’s life for a while and leave me the hell alone?

I shake my head, trying to wrap my head around what Micah just told me, desperate to make some sense of it. “I’m so sorry, man,” Skinner says when I hand him the phone. He pats me on the back before leaving the room. Sorry. That word is meaningless in a time like this. I should know, I’ve fucking heard it enough to last me a lifetime.

Or so I thought.

“Mitch?” Shelby asks, stepping closer to me, her hand brushing my arm. “Are you okay? Do you want me to take you home?”

“No,” I bite out harshly. I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to go back to last night and pretend nothing else exists. “I’m fine.”

I see the hurt in her eyes, the sting of my rejection, but I can’t let that get to me right now. Just moments ago, I was all but begging her to talk out what is going on between us with me, now I am prepared to build that wall up even higher to shut her out. It’s better this way. If she stays here with me now, I’ll only say things I’ll regret, just hurt her more by taking this all out on her. That’s the last thing I want to do.

She turns to leave; part of me wants her to stay. To tell me that everything will be okay, even though I know it’s a lie. I want more than anything for this moment to be different, but that’s not possible. I don’t get any sort of heaven in my life without hell raining its fire and brimstone down on me. I used her, hurt her, and would do it again. What’s worse is she’d probably let me.

I am a walking, talking contradiction. I complain about feeling alone. Even though I am surrounded by people who care about me, I push them away, distancing myself from the possibilities of being hurt again. My hands fall to my sides, my fists clenching tightly. I’m overwhelmed, grief-stricken; but, most of all, I am pissed off at myself. Guilt and regret consumes me like a flood. All the things I wish I had said play on a loop in my head with everything that I did say.

When Becky died, I shut myself off from the things and people that reminded me of her. I threw out nearly everything we had in our apartment that had any memory of her tied to it and moved hours away in an effort to escape the ghosts that have haunted me since Becky died. The only thing I couldn’t part with was the truck. Now, I have lost the only physical tie I had left to her and the last words I said to him were ugly and filled with hate.

Closing my eyes, I blow out a breath. Defeated. That’s the only word I can use to describe myself right now. I spent so much of my time in the Navy focused and determined on the victories, on achieving the goals set before me that defeat was never an option. That word wasn’t in my vocabulary. Now, when I look in the mirror, I don’t even know the man staring back.

“We’re all here for you, if you need anything, Mitch,” she speaks. Her voice is soft, taking me by surprise. “I know you don’t see it, but you’re not alone.”

The minute the door closes, I slam my fist through the drywall. “Fuck!” Frustrated with myself and the entire world, I see red. Rage and hurt roar through my veins, my heart beats
so fast it feels like it will explode. Rearing back, I hit the wall again and again. Pain radiates up my arm, and I welcome it. Since Becky died
, I have learned how cathartic physical pain can be. It’s a much needed distraction, a way to take the focus away from everything else.

Heading for the door, I stop and look at the battered wall. I laugh to myself, thinking how much easier the three holes in the wall are going to be to fix than the ones in my chest.