“Your own grandson is refusing you some ink?” Kas asks in mock horror.
“I know. I think it’s damn right disrespectful if you ask me. One of the best artists in the city shares my DNA, and he won’t ink me.”
“Give me a few months to get a feel for it and I’ll give you whatever you want,” Kas offers with a wink, once again making him belly laugh.
“Spike,” he says, his face turning serious for a second. “I like this one. She’s a keeper.”
Kas’ eyes burn into me, waiting for my response.
“You think? She’s a pain in the arse, if you ask me.” I can’t help laughing when her small hand connects with my shoulder.
27
Kas
I’m still running over the morning and in meeting Spike’s gramps around my head later that afternoon while we lie on one of Spike’s sofas watching the TV. Well, he’s watching it, I’ve no clue what channel it’s even on.
Propping my chin on his chest, I look up at him, taking in his features for a second before a smile twitches at his lips
“What?” he asks, not taking his eyes from the TV.
“Nothing. Just looking.”
“Okay.” He continues staring ahead, but I know he’s not paying any attention now. “Whatever it is, Tiny, just ask.”
“Will you tell me about your family?”
He blows out a long breath. “There’s not really much to tell. My grandparents basically brought me up. My mother, their daughter, was a mess by all accounts. She fell pregnant with me when she was fifteen. I don’t remember her. She left some time before my second birthday. We’ve no idea where she went or what she did. It was almost ten years later when Gramps got a visit from a police officer with the news he’d been dreading for years. She’d overdosed on heroin.”
“Jesus, Spike.”
“See, we’re not so different really.”
“What happened to your gran?”
“She died the year before we found out about my mother.”
The words I’m sorry are right on the tip of my tongue, but I know from experience that they’re the most unhelpful words ever.
“Your poor gramps.”
He shrugs. “The two of us did okay. He made sure I had every opportunity to follow my dreams, and we figured shit out together. Although I probably should have listened to him when he told me things were too serious with Marissa.” My breath catches at hearing her name. It’s the first time he’s used it, and although I know the story is very true—his pain every time he talks about it makes it abundantly clear—being able to put a name to the woman who shattered his young heart makes it seem so much more real.
“We have to make our own mistakes sometimes.”
He nods at my words, lost in his memories.
I desperately want to change the subject in the hope of wiping the sadness from his face, but before I come up with anything both of our phones vibrate on the coffee table.
Our eyes meet as if we’re both asking the other who it is before he reaches forward and grabs them both, passing mine over.
He laughs before I even get the chance to look at my screen. Intrigued, I wake up my phone and look at it to find a group message.
Pear Tree. 8PM. Time to welcome our newbie Rebel to the family.
“Who’s this from?”
“Titch. I should have expected it.”
“And I’m assuming the newbie is me?”
“Yep. Consider it an initiation of sorts.”
“What the hell? Is he planning to get me drunk and make me run naked around the streets?”
He tenses beneath me at my suggestion. “I should fucking hope not, although there will probably be shots involved.”
“Shots I can do.”
As the next hour passes, our phones continue to light up as everyone agrees to meet.
“I guess I should go and get ready then,” I suggest when we’ve only got an hour left before we need to be at the bar.
“Maybe we should just stay here?”
“And invite a ton of questions from Zach?”
He looks to me, scrubbing his hand down his face and over his jaw.
“What’s wrong?”
“We need to talk to him.”
“I know, and we will. But maybe not tonight. Tomorrow?”
He thinks for a minute. “Tomorrow,” he agrees.
Pushing from him, I head for my room.
“Kas?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re going to need to be on your best behaviour tonight.”
“What are you trying to suggest?” I ask, wiggling my arse as I disappear into my room to decide what to wear.
I put some music on and set about getting ready for our night out.
“That wasn’t what I had in mind when I told you to behave,” Spike states as he fills the doorway with his wide frame.
“What?” I ask innocently, spinning around for him so he can get a proper look. I’m wearing a pair of black denim shorts that show off the tattoo Spike started—along with a little too much of my arse, if the look on his face is anything to go by.
“Tiny,” he warns, his voice deep and raspy, causing tingles to erupt in my lower belly.
Tucking a lock of my now curled hair over my shoulder, I reach for my bag and shove my phone inside it.
“Ready?” I ask innocently.
“If I end up in the hospital tonight, it’ll all be your fault.”
Stepping up to him, I slide my hand up his chest and grip onto the back of his neck.
With my high shoes on, I’m that much closer to his lips. Reaching forward, I stop millimetres away from his. “Just think, you’ll be the one who peels it all off me later.”
“Tiny, you don’t play fair.”
“What would be the fun in that?”
Stepping around him, I slip from the room.
“You coming, old man, or would you prefer I make you a hot milk and tuck you into bed?”
“If anything happens tonight, it’s on you.” He steps up behind me, his hands cupping my arse as he tucks his face into my neck. “Fuck, you smell so damn good.”
“No time for that, they’re going to be waiting.”
“Fucking hell.” He makes a show
