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never, Lexi Taylor,” Brea says in a sing-songy tone.
    “Didn’t I tell you to shush?” I glare over at her, and she sticks her tongue out at me.
    Real mature, Brea.
    Josh ends up finishing my tattoo with a few extra minutes to spare before his next appointment, so he touches up a few of my other sun-faded tattoos. After he finishes and tapes me up with plastic wrap, Brea and I pay him cash. He walks off to get change. Brea is rambling about a mile a minute. I think she’s telling me all about her latest crush, but honestly, I kinda zoned about the time that Coen left the room.
    The studio’s phone rings, and I hear Josh answer, “Good Afternoon. Diamond Tattoo Studio, Josh speaking. What I can we do for ya?” About the same time as the phone rings, Bre hops up out of her chair and says,
    “Holy crap, do I have to pee! All that iced tea I drank at lunch just hit me all of a sudden. Be right back.”
    I’m sitting on the edge of the tattoo table with my back turned to the rest of the studio. Kicking my feet, I put my shirt back on and check out all of Josh’s crazy drawings and strange art pieces that he collects. There’s a shrunken head (which I hope is fake) and a preserved rattlesnake in a bottle of some sort of orangey-yellow colored liquid.
    I hear footsteps.
    “It’s about time you got off the phone, Chatty.” I say, thinking it's Josh finally back with our change. I freeze when he replies.
    “Who are you calling Chatty, Sweet Cheeks?” 
    It’s Coen. That deep, melodic voice is unmistakable. It vibrates through me, deep into my bones, and makes me quiver and quake in ways I never knew were possible. Patrick never made me feel that way. But why won’t Coen leave me alone? Do I  want  him to leave me alone? 
    Yes, Lexi, you do. No time for boys. Boys are assholes. But Coen is definitely not a boy. He is all man. All six foot whatever feet and 200 plus pounds of muscular, tattooed flesh of him. And God, he smells so damn good.
    Snapping back to reality, I whip my head around and look up at Coen. He looks so fucking sexy with his thumbs resting on the edges of the pockets of his dark jeans.  His eyes are a gorgeous sea green. 
    “I thought you were Josh,” I say, reaching over my shoulder, pretending to make sure the tape is still on my tattoo. Really, I’m just nervous as hell talking to him, so I’m fidgeting. “And don’t call me Sweet Cheeks, Stalker.”
    “Stalker? You know, name calling isn’t really the best way to treat a new friend,” Coen says furrowing his brow. “For the record, Lexi, I’m not stalking you. It’s pure coincidence that we’ve ended up in the same place twice today. I’m not trying to put any moves on you. I just want to be friends. That’s all.” He says with a look in his eyes that tells me differently. Yet I can’t figure out why. 
    “Look, Coen.” I stand up and grab my things. Brea is taking entirely too long in the bathroom, and I’m starting to think Josh is lost, too. “Whatever your intentions may be, friends, dating, stalking, or anything else, I’m not interested. I just got out of a kinda shitty relationship.  I’m not looking to spend time with men for any reason right now.”
    Just as I finish speaking, Josh comes over and hands me my change. “I take offense to that remark.” He says, looking wounded. He’s so full of crap. It takes a lot more than that to hurt his feelings.
    “You’re my only exception, Josh, you know that,” I say, slapping him on the shoulder and handing him a tip for my tattoo. He takes it and gives me a quick hug, careful not to bump my fresh ink. Brea finally comes back not long after Josh does. I lift one eyebrow at her, wondering what took her so long. She just smiles, looking so innocent, but so guilty at the same time. I’ll pry whatever she’s hiding out of her later.
    Coen clears his throat, and I think I catch him smirk briefly in Brea’s direction. I knew it. Typical guy. Flirts with every