Chapter One

Seth “Ghost” Warren scrubbed a hand over the top of his head, rubbing futilely at the remnants of his headache and thinking for the millionth time about how badly he didn’t want to be at work right now. He’d really tied one on last night; the repercussions were still pounding at the insides of his skull—a stark reminder of why he didn’t do that shit too often anymore. But sometimes good friends, good music and good times won out over good sense. Such had been the case last night in Dallas after the rock festival, but it had been worth it to blow off some steam...or so he tried to tell himself.

Thankfully, it was a smooth ride at Dermamania so far—more hanging out than actual work, and anything too big or intricate he might’ve tossed another artist’s way, anyhow. Unless one of his regulars came through the door begging, he’d declared himself strictly backup.

He yawned and checked his cell phone, puzzling over the text messages he kept getting from some unfamiliar number with a Dallas area code. Obviously a girl, though he didn’t recall any errant hookups. For that matter, he didn’t even recall giving out his number. And while civility wasn’t always one of his strong suits under the best of circumstances, it just seemed rude to text back Who the f**k is this? to someone he might’ve had a drunkenly meaningful conversation with.

Growing bored with trying to put the pieces of last night’s debauchery together, he yawned again and glanced around, noticing that no one was talking much. Ordinarily the place was alive with banter, laughter, or at the very least, loud music. It was practically serene now. The funky vibe couldn’t be his imagination. Brian, his best friend/long-suffering boss, had been uncharacteristically impervious to Ghost’s incessant ribbing about his new girlfriend, who was currently holed up in Brian’s office studying. Or hiding out from her parents. Or something. In all the years he’d known Brian—almost fourteen now—he’d never really seen the dude so tense over a chick. Especially when, by all appearances and the fact that the two lovebirds had pulled a disappearing act all last night, Brian had gotten laid.

Then again, Starla had said in a moment of confidence earlier that Brian’s new lady love might be of the hymen-bearing variety. So maybe last night hadn’t gone so well, after all.

The only client in the tattoo parlor headed out the door. Starla took that moment to walk out back for a smoke, and Brian had stared at the same empty spot on the counter for two whole minutes. So Ghost pounced on his chance. “Dude, what’s your problem?”

Brian’s head jerked up and his expression smoothed out to something resembling his usual carefree countenance, but Ghost cocked a wary eyebrow. No way, man. I know you better than that.

“Nothing,” Brian said.

“Bullshit.” Ghost crossed his arms. Now that he thought about it, Brian and the new girl—Candace, wasn’t it?—had both seemed kind of on edge when they’d walked in earlier tonight. “Out with it.”

Brian waved a hand. “Just some shit with her family. To say that they look at me like a bug to squash would be an understatement.”

“Do you really need that in your life?”

“Do I need it? No.”

“I’m just saying.”

“What?” Brian glanced back in the direction of his office and lowered his voice. “Give up on her because she’s related to ass**les?”

“You’re hardly in the game at this point, you know.”

“Oh, I’m in the game.”

Shit, he’d done the deed. “Still, there’s time to bail.”

“I’m not bailing. She…” Brian raked a hand through his hair. “Fuck. Do you remember Jameson Andrews from school?”

“I never forget a douche. Didn’t I kick his ass once?”

Brian’s eyebrows drew together. “Did you?”

“It rings a bell.”

“Well, if you did, that makes two of us. He’s Candace’s older brother. I just damn near coldcocked him on her front steps. In front of her mother.”

Ghost smoothed a hand over his goatee. “Not the most brilliant way to make a good impression.”

“Neither is calling my girlfriend a whore right in front of my f**king face, which he did. His own little sister.” Brian gave a grunt of frustration and pushed away from the counter. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m gonna get her and go home. You guys can lock up and go, if you want. It’s dead tonight.”

“I think Starla has an appointment later. I’ll hang around with her.”

“Cool.”

As Brian trudged down the hallway to leave, Starla came back in, her boots scuffing against the floor. “I’m really bored,” she announced, hopping up on the stool at the counter in front of the computer. “And my ears are still ringing from last night. Brian taking off?”

“Yeah. Said we could too if we want.”

“Can’t. Got Jason coming in at six-thirty.” She twisted her pink-and-blonde hair up in a sloppy bun.

“I thought so. I told B I’d stick around with you.”

Starla shrugged, propping her chin in her hand in front of the monitor and looking as if she was settling in for a while. “Doesn’t matter.”

No question about it, his female coworkers could hold their own, but there were a lot of creeps out there too. He didn’t like the idea of leaving her here to work it by herself. Of course, she often joked she had more to worry about from Ghost himself, but it was all in fun. “I don’t have anything else to do.”

“In that case, you know what I’m thinking? One of us should make a sushi run.”

There wasn’t much doubt in his mind that one of us meant him, given the fact that she didn’t look like she was moving for the next hour or so. And that was cool; he’d been going a little stir crazy. He dug through the drawer at his station for his car keys and gave them a twirl as he headed for the door. “Shrimp tempura?”

“God bless you. I’ll pay you back.”

“Whatever.” Scoffing, he stepped out into the mild spring evening just in time to see Brian’s truck pull out of the parking lot. Poor guy. Brian had been there for Ghost when the girl-related bullshit had gotten thick a few years back, and now Brian probably didn’t deserve for his best bud’s only advice to be “bail out while you can.” But that was the only way to avoid the inevitable crap—stay out of it from the start. Fact.

His ’69 GTO was the only girl he’d ever let himself need again. If she let him down, he’d just fix her and carry on. Such could never be said for the human variety of female.

The thought was a comfort. No more heavy drama. Just good times with girls who weren’t looking for an attachment. He could do that. What he couldn’t do was put up with any angst, not from the Brookes of this world, or the Rainas.

Talk about two extremes. He hadn’t been able to make Brooke stay, and he couldn’t make Raina go. The mystery chick from last night hadn’t been the only one blowing up his phone all night—his most recent ex had been rearing her dreadlocked head lately too. Thank God Raina hadn’t stopped by the parlor. She wasn’t above accosting him at work, and she was dangerously close to having her ringtone changed to Slipknot’s “People=Shit”—his usual method of warning when someone he didn’t want to talk to called his phone.