All That We Are Read online

“I know it hasn’t been perfect. I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just... you need to give Miles a chance. I think you’ll find he’s a good dude to have on your side when you need someone.”

  “Okay, fine.” I huff, wanting to get off this conversation. “But if he turns out to be the same arrogant playboy that he was in high school, I’m out. I’ve spent the last several years of my life dealing with a man who thinks he’s god’s gift to everyone. I sure as hell don’t intend to subject myself to another one willingly.”

  “I think you’ll find pretty quickly that Miles is not the person you remember. I don’t know that he’s ever been that person. Manwhore, maybe. Arrogant and conceded, not a day in his life. Besides, if I remember correctly, that was more your M-O.”

  “I’m not conceded.” My voice shoots up an octave.

  “Maybe not now, but in high school, you were about as conceded as they come. Trust me when I say, your dislike for Miles went both ways.”

  “He didn’t like me?” I say, surprised that the thought kind of hurts my feelings.

  “Can you blame him? You were awful to him. You were always sneering at him. Grumbling shit under your breath anytime you’d walk through a room he was in. I never understood it. If I didn’t know any better, I would have sworn you had a thing for him and were trying to disguise it with distaste.”

  “Now that’s comical.” I shake my head, turning back toward the closet that only bears about a third of my clothing – the remainder still stuffed in boxes in the corner of the room. I quickly snag a three quarter sleeve charcoal cardigan off the hanger and drop it on top of the black tank draped across the arm of the chair next to me. “Now will you get out so I can get dressed?” I turn back around to face Winston.

  Looking at him still throws me for a loop every time. He’s grown into the spitting image of our father. Broad shoulders, lean build, dark blonde hair with the same long forehead and dimpled chin. I’m pretty sure if I looked up some old pictures of my dad I’d find a mirror image of Winston looking back at me.

  It’s scary how similar the two are. And the older Winston gets the more his mannerisms mirror Dad’s. The way he drinks from a can, how his eyes squint when he laughs, even the way he walks reminds me of our father. It’s uncanny.

  “Just don’t take an eternity, yeah?” He pushes off the bed and crosses toward the door.

  “I’ll be done in five,” I holler after him as he exits the room.

  “So what you really mean is thirty?” he throws back, humor in his voice.

  “Such a jerk,” I grumble under my breath, crossing the room to kick the door closed, making sure to lock it this time around.

  I make quick work of changing. Trading my yoga pants and tunic for skinny jeans, a black tank, black strappy sandals, and the charcoal cardigan, I plan to bring with me in case it gets chilly. May in Ohio is nothing like Arizona this time of year. It’s pretty warm, but there’s still a chill in the air at night, and the last thing I want is to be stuck walking around downtown freezing my butt off.

  I run a quick brush through my long strawberry blonde waves, quickly pinning it up in a clip, so it hangs loosely at the back of my head.

  It takes me less than five minutes to dab on a little powder foundation and apply a light layer of mascara and lip gloss. But then I spend another five staring at my reflection in the mirror.

  I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but I’m so lost in thought that when a knock sounds against the bedroom door, it startles me to the point that my heart leaps into my throat.

  “You ’bout done in there? You said five, and I said thirty. Thought maybe we could make it a happy medium and settle on fifteen.” Winston’s voice is muffled by the door separating us.

  “You’re worse than Dad,” I tell him, jerking the door open seconds later.

  When I was a teenager, my father would stand at the door and knock every two minutes until I was ready. Of course, in his defense, we were always late to wherever we were going if he let me get ready in my own time.

  “And yet here you are, cramping my style,” Winston teases, arching a thick brow.

  “Shut up.” I push past him into the hallway, his laugh following me all the way into the living room that’s open to both the kitchen and dining area.

  “So what kind of tattoo are you getting, anyway?” I ask, grabbing my small, over the shoulder purse off the table before stuffing my cell phone and lip gloss tube inside.

  “Miles has been working on something for me this week. Guess we’ll find out when we get there.”

  “You don’t even know what you’re getting?” I give my brother a questioning look.

  “You look at me like that now, but just you wait.” He wags a finger at me. “I’m telling you, Miles is an artistic genius. You’ll see what he does for me, and soon you’ll be begging him to ink you.”

  “Yeah, not likely.” I shake my head.

  Don’t get me wrong. I love tattoos. My friend, Angela, has a quote from her favorite movie tattooed on her forearm and I’ve always admired it. But as much as I like them, I can’t picture myself having one.

  Then again, I don’t know if that’s because I don’t want one or because Alan made me feel a certain way about them. He drilled it into my head for years how unattractive tattoos are on women. So much so that maybe I started to believe it.

  Just the thought has me reconsidering the tattoo idea just out of spite.

  “You say that now.” Winston smiles, grabbing his keys off the bar that acts as a separation piece between the living room and kitchen. “You ready?”

  “Yep.” I slide my purse over my shoulder and follow him from the apartment.

  The minute we step out into the muggy evening air my chest feels heavy. I had forgotten how humid it is here. It gets hot in Arizona, like really hot, but it’s a different kind of heat. Not the kind that makes you feel like you’re suffocating.

  We keep the windows down in Winston’s truck on the short drive over the river into Ohio. That’s something I loved about growing up in Covington. Its proximity to downtown Cincinnati. I’ve always loved the city, especially all the festivals and outdoor concerts they offer in the summer.

  Winston pulls into a small outdoor lot not far from Great American Ball Park, and I immediately know where he’s taking me.

  “Tacos!” I practically bounce in my seat.

  “You keep talking about them. Thought maybe if I brought you you’d shut the hell up,” he teases, throwing me a wink before killing the engine to the truck and quickly climbing out.

  ——

  It’s nearly ten o’clock by the time we exit Condado. Even though I rarely drink, Winston talked me into ordering a margarita shortly after we got there. One turned into two, and before I knew it, we were talking and laughing like we hadn’t done since we were kids.

  It feels good to spend this time with my brother. To reconnect to someone, I used to be so close to. I feel like I gave up so much for Alan that when I left him, a part of me worried I’d never be able to rebuild the relationships I left behind. I should have known Winston would never hold my absence against me. Even though he gives me crap, deep down I know he’d do anything for me.

  We stop at a little convenience store along the two block walk to the tattoo shop so Winston can pick up a case of beer. That’s how he pays for his tattoos. Kind of a weird form of payment if you ask me, but hey, at least it saves him some money. Last time I checked beer is a lot cheaper than tattoos.

  I find myself getting a little nervous as we cross the street toward Miles’ shop. It’s been years since I’ve seen him and well, like with seeing anyone you haven’t seen in a very long time, there are always nerves involved.

  The tattoo parlor isn’t anything like I expected from the outside. Tucked between a coffee shop and a sandwich place on the main strip through town, it stands out like a sore thumb. But in a good way.

  Other than a small glass door on the left, the entire front of the shop is one hug
e window which looks to be hand painted with some intricate artwork. Not only is it incredible to look at, but it also strategically limits the view inside to anyone walking by. There’s a huge lit sign above the dark awning – Inked spelled out in bold green lettering.

  I haven’t even stepped through the door, yet already I can tell this is the type of trendy place people want to come to. It’s no wonder Miles opted to buy this place when the original owner decided to sell. You can’t get a better location. It’s right in the heart of all the action, yet somehow seems to be the one place your eyes gravitate toward.

  Winston grabs the door, a bell sounding the minute he jerks it open and ushers me inside. The front of the shop is a casual waiting area decorated with leather couches and framed pieces of art. It’s super clean and modern without seeming too sterile.

  I follow Winston through the waiting area, into the main shop. There’s a long counter on one side with a cash register on top and various pieces of jewelry on display on the glass shelves below. The other side is lined with three separate tattooing areas.

  A large, bald man with a thick ring through the center of his nose looks up from the forearm he’s working on as we enter. He gives Winston a nod before his eyes briefly dart to me.

  “He’s in the back,” he grumbles, returning his attention to the young guy he’s working on without another word.

  “Come on.” Winston nods his head toward the back before setting off in that direction.

  I follow him down a long hallway, past four private rooms, before we end up in what looks like a back storage area with a small office in the corner.

  “Knock, knock.” Winston stops in the doorway of the office and holds up the case of beer. “Hope it’s cool we came early.”

  “Yeah, I’m just catching up on some paperwork.” The familiarity of his voice is almost unsettling and yet oddly comforting at the same time. It’s deeper than I remember but still holds that same raspy quality it had when he was a teenager.

  I hear what sounds like chair legs scratching across the floor, but Winston is completely blocking my view into the office so I can’t see what’s happening. Moments later, Winston steps back, and Miles appears in the doorway.

  At first, I think my eyes are playing tricks on me. I blink slowly, once, then twice, trying to process the sight before me.

  Gone is the lean, preppy athlete I remember. The one who always wore gym shorts and t-shirts. Miles never went anywhere without a baseball cap permanently attached to his head. There’s no reminisce of that boy left. Instead, standing in his place is the epitome of a man.

  His brown hair is long on top, pushed to the side like he’s run his hands through it several times throughout the day. He has a dark beard outlining his full lips, and internally I shudder. God, I can’t even bring myself to look him in the eye.

  Instead, I let my gaze travel down to his shoulders, and across his broad chest where the material of his shirt strains against the muscles hidden beneath. Then to his thick arms peppered in various colors of ink, before finally coming back up to his face.

  I know it’s only been seconds since he appeared in front of me, but when my eyes finally make it to his, I feel like I’ve been ogling over him for hours.

  During that time I could have sworn I was looking at a complete stranger. But the instant his hazel eyes lock with mine the confirmation is undeniable. He always had the most incredible colored eyes; green swirled with blue, a light yellow ring around the outside. The kind of eyes a person doesn’t forget easily.

  “Miles?” His name comes out a question, and my attempt at casually disguising my shock comes crashing down in epic failure.

  I mean how could anyone blame me though? Miles Hollins was good looking as a teenager, but Miles Hollins, the man? There are no words. He’s beautiful, in the most rugged way possible. And while beautiful feels like such a weird word to use to describe a man like Miles, it seems to be the only word that fits.

  “Harlow.” Miles nods in my direction, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he knows exactly where my mind has gone and that thought alone snaps me back into reality.

  So he’s still as cocky as ever, I think to myself. Noted.

  “Hope you don’t mind that I’m crashing. Winston refused to let me stay home.”

  “Sounds like Winston.” He chuckles, the sound vibrating me straight to my core.

  What the hell?

  Shifting from one foot to the other, I cross my arms nervously in front of myself.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” my brother interjects; seeming completely oblivious to the physical reaction my body seems to be having toward his best friend.

  “Nothing.” Miles grins, clasping my brother on the shoulder as he exits the office. “Come on, since the shop closes soon we’re gonna be out front.” His deep, musky scent hits me like a thousand pound car as he passes and I swear the impact makes me feel unsteady on my own two feet.

  Stupid margaritas. I knew better than to let Winston talk me into drinking. There’s a reason I don’t do it often. Alan hated that he couldn’t control me when I drank. I seem to have a hard time controlling myself.

  And even though the effects of the margarita feel like a distant memory, I’m still convinced it’s what’s responsible for my reaction to Miles. Well, that and the fact that even though I hated him when we were kids, he grew into quite possibly the sexiest man I have ever seen up close. Any woman in my position would have reacted the same, if not worse.

  So, after a couple of deep breaths, I finally follow Miles and Winston who have already disappeared into the main part of the shop by the time I reach the mouth of the hallway.

  “Well, this is going to be fun,” I mutter under my breath before forcing myself forward.

  Chapter Five

  Miles

  “I still can’t believe this piece, man. Some of your best work yet.” Winston studies the tattoo I sketched out for him a couple of days ago while I lay the outline on his right shoulder.

  It’s a pretty basic design; angel wings twined together with the name ‘Joni.’

  “I thought you’d like it.” I dab more ink onto the needle before pressing it to his skin.

  “Sometimes it’s like you know what I want even before I do.”

  “Made sense. Figured it was only a matter of time before you’d want something to represent your mom,” I say, briefly locking eyes with Harlow.

  She’s sitting in the chair to my left, positioned, so she’s next to her brother, but can still watch me work.

  A small glimpse of sadness washes over her face but it’s gone almost as quick as it came.

  Winston and Harlow’s mom died in a car accident when they were kids. Even though they were young, especially Harlow, I know they felt her loss immensely. It has always been something that has tied them together beyond just being siblings. A loss like that changes people in a big way.

  “It’s amazing,” she agrees with her brother, speaking for the first time in a while.

  “Thank you.” I wipe the excess ink off of Winston’s shoulder with a towel, my eyes lingering on Harlow’s face as I do.

  She was always pretty as a teenager, but now she’s a fucking lot more than pretty. My gaze has fallen to her a hell of lot more than I have intended over the last several minutes. Almost like I can’t help myself.

  Her strawberry blonde hair is a little darker than it used to be. With it pinned back, away from her face it puts her big, green eyes on full display. And then there are the adorable freckles that pepper her nose and cheeks. The same ones that she used to cake makeup over when she was younger but now on full display.

  “It’s perfect, dude. Seriously. Perfect.” Winston breaks into my thoughts causing me to refocus on his shoulder quickly. “I’ve been trying to talk Harlow into getting one, but she doesn’t seem too keen on the idea.”

  “Oh yeah.” I chuckle, dabbing the needle in ink continuing with the o
utline of the left wing. “Got something against tattoos, do ya?” I briefly flip my gaze to Harlow’s.

  “No.” I see her shake her head in my peripheral vision, but I keep my eyes on Winston’s shoulder. “I just don’t want one.”

  “That’s fair. Tattoos aren’t for everyone.”

  “Don’t get me wrong. I think tattoos are amazing. Especially this one. But I don’t know that it would look good on me.”

  “I think you could pull one off,” I smirk, throwing her a wink before refilling my ink and refocusing. I can tell by the shocked reaction she tries to hide that she thinks I’m flirting with her, and maybe I am, but not because I’m into her. It’s how I am with most of the women that come in here. It’s almost a habit.

  “All different types of people have tattoos,” I quickly continue. “It’s not like you have to fit into a certain mold to get a little ink done. I’ve tatted people you never in a million years would guess to have tattoos. Of course typically they’re placed where they aren’t visible to just anyone, but still, that’s not the point.”

  “She doesn’t want one now, but if she ever gets one, she’ll be one of those people that get the itch and two years later don’t have a visible patch of skin left,” Winston jokes, taking a moment to readjust as I switch out colors and prepare to shade the wings.

  “Yeah, that would never happen,” Harlow quickly disagrees.

  “Maybe two or three. I’d stop you after that,” I tell her.

  “You’d have to get me to agree to one first,” she quips, the left side of her mouth twitching as she fights a smile.

  If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that not only is Harlow Cabell, or whatever the hell her name is now, buying into the act I’m selling, but she’s enjoying the attention.

  A slight twinge of guilt twists in my stomach, and I make a mental note to dial it back a bit. She isn’t just any other woman, and I can’t treat her as such. She’s my best friend’s little sister. My best friend’s incredibly beautiful, recently separated from her husband, little sister.

  I’ve dealt with enough women going through a break-up or divorce to know how unpredictable they can be. The last thing I want is to give her the wrong impression or lead her on in some way.