Normally, I rush to get the earliest flight out.

But for the first time, I don’t feel the same urge to run.

TWENTY-FIVE

IVY

“How does it feel this morning?”

Dakota struts into the greenhouse in a gauzy tank top and turns her shoulder toward me, the fresh ink boldly displayed on her arm. “Perfect, as expected from my talented friend.”

“Everyone’s my friend when they want some ink,” I mutter. I have tattooed almost every last one of my closest friends, and if I haven’t inked them, then I’ve designed their work. Jesse Welles was the first person to ever take my design and actually put it on his body, back in my sophomore year of high school. I inked Dakota’s design on Alex’s shoulder. I’ve done six of Dakota’s seven tattoos, which she designed herself, and I embellished because it’s a compulsion. I even did Amber’s Irish fling’s tattoo—for free—just to keep him occupied one night last year, while I was in Dublin. The only good friend who won’t let me near her skin is Amber.

“So you said it was four hundred an hour?”

I shoot her a flat look from my curled-up perch in the wicker chair, my oversize coffee mug in hand. “For the freeloading leech, yes. But you are not paying me a dime. If anyone owes anyone anything, I owe you.”

She waves it off with a laugh. “People like that make life interesting, don’t they? And you know me, the more the merrier. That room is yours for as long as you want it.”

I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but I could get used to rooming with Dakota, despite her questionable choice in dinner guests. And I know the offer will still stand even if she figures out that, while she was smoking a joint with her homeless friend, my bare ass was on her bathroom sink, next to her toothbrush, last night, when I was getting nailed by Sebastian. God, he was something else. Spending hours working on—and admiring—his body the day before did not prepare me for the nerves I would feel when he pulled those doors shut.

And then he took off, like a convict on the run.

“What are you and your Navy SEAL doing today?” Dakota asks, pushing the spout of a watering can into one of her plants. She must spend hours every day tending to her plants.

“I am going to start bagging all the trash in the house.” I climb out of the chair. “And I’m sure that last night was the last time I’ll ever see him.” Saying that out loud gives me a small twinge of disappointment, but I’m no idiot. He got what he wanted, and it was off-the-charts amazing. Let’s be honest—I got what I wanted last night, too.

The problem is, now I want more of it. I can’t remember the last time I actually missed a man after he left. Jesse, maybe, but that was completely different. Jesse was a high school junior, I was a gangly sophomore, and that little fling of ours lasted only a couple of weeks before he broke it off for no good reason. And we never slept together during that time. Sometimes I think my hurt feelings were more about my own ego than my feelings for him, even though they were strong.

But Sebastian . . . I already crave the feel of his hands peeling away my clothes. I crave the way he so confidently took my body. I crave the sensation of his all-consuming presence.

For the short time that we were within the walls of that bathroom I didn’t care about anything else. I focused on nothing but him.

And then he ran.

I’m not stupid enough to believe that he’s going to ring this doorbell at ten a.m. today. In fact, I’m going to leave early.

“Hmm . . .” She frowns deeply, her eyes glued to the lemon tree.

“Hmm . . . what?”

She doesn’t respond. That’s not surprising, though. Dakota can be spacey at the best of times.

“Dakota!”

“He’s very guarded, isn’t he?”

“Understatement of the millennium.” I grab a blueberry-and-God-knows-what-else muffin from the plate she brought out. Given that she bakes almost every day, I’m going to put on weight living here. That’s probably a good thing, though.

“The aura that surrounds him is”—her face pinches up; here we go—“dark and troubled. He’s not at peace with himself.”

I’d love to dismiss what she says, but at the same time, I like getting someone else’s take on this odd bodyguard who strolled into my shop and insinuated himself into my life. “He was a soldier. He saw terrible things that he probably can’t forget.” Just like I saw a terrible thing that I can’t forget. “He served two tours in Afghanistan, and he’s got some nasty scars. So I’m not surprised if you think his aura is troubled.” I hear enough in the news about PTSD and other challenges for these soldiers who return. In fact, the common message seems to be that they never come back the same person they were when they left.

There’s this ginger-haired guy, Ross, who hangs out a lot on the corner near Pasquale’s sometimes. He was in the army. I don’t know what he was like before the Iraq War, but I’m guessing he wasn’t the angry drunk Fez occasionally gives free slices to now.

Sebastian’s much more put together than Ross, though. Aloof, yes. Closed off, yes.

But he also seems to be operating with principle, and purpose.

Right now, that purpose is me. At least it was, until last night when I let him fuck me.

Am I regretting it? No, that’s not what this is.

I’m just dreading the inevitable swift end.

“He carries a heavy burden on his shoulders,” Dakota adds. “I think you’ll be good for him. I can already see that he’s been good for you.”

I laugh. “Good for him? Dakota, we barely know each other. It’s already over. Done.”

“You’ll give him the space he needs in order to open up to you,” she says, as if I hadn’t just spoken, “and he will, eventually. He just needs to know that he can trust you with his darkness.” The heavy frown vanishes with a sudden, excited look. “Oh! And you should tell him how you feel about him. He’ll want to hear that.”

“Hi. Have we met?” I don’t tell guys how I feel about them. I don’t tell anyone how I feel about them.

She smiles. “Don’t be so afraid, Ivy.”

I need to get out of here. “Well, while he’s deciding what to do with his darkness, I’m going to be cleaning up glass and couch stuffing so I can sell Ned’s house before the bank forecloses. Actually, first”—I pull out Bobby’s business card, my anger flaring—“I’ve got a bone to pick with someone.”

“Have fun! I’ll see you and Sebastian here for dinner around six?”

I roll my eyes but don’t bother to deny Dakota her delusion, grabbing my purse and keys and heading out.

I’m guessing the two guys flanking Bobby are the brothers in Bobby and Brothers Towing and Automotive. Both are even bigger than he is.

I make a point of slamming my car door as I march toward the open garage doors.

“Ivy.” Bobby saunters over, the chain hanging off his stained work pants clattering with each step. “What are you doin’ here? Comin’ to check on your ink?” He holds out his arm to show me the brilliant colors that I filled in. It’s scabbing over nicely. “I drove by Black Rabbit yesterday.” His face scrunches up. “Man, why white? Ned would lose his shit if he saw that. It looks—”

“You lied to me,” I snap, cutting him off before he sends me into a panic over what’s happening at the shop. Given the auto shop behind me—in a run-down area of Daly City, where trees are sparse and litter plenty—is a grimy mix of cobalt blue and construction orange, I shouldn’t let his opinion sway me too much.

“Look at you, with your hands on your little hips.” He chuckles, giving me a once-over, like I’m some cute little kid.

I have the urge to punch him in the face, but I restrain myself.