The Marked Men 3-Book Collection: Rule, Jet, Rome. Jay Crownover

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СКАЧАТЬ in paradise?” I didn’t really care about Shaw and her richer-than-God, future-ruler-of-the-known-universe boyfriend, but it was polite to ask when she was obviously upset. I hadn’t ever met Gabe, but what I’d heard from Mom when I bothered to listen was that he was custom-made for Shaw’s future doctor persona. His family was as loaded as hers; his dad was a judge, or lawyer, or some other political nonsense I had no use for. I was sure, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that the dude wore pleated slacks and pink polo shirts with white loafers. For a long moment I didn’t think she was going to respond, but then she cleared her throat and started tapping out a beat on the steering wheel with her manicured fingers.

      “Not really, we broke up but I don’t think Gabe really gets it.”

      “Really?”

      “Yeah, a couple weeks ago, actually. I had been thinking about doing it for a while. I’m just too busy with school and work to have a boyfriend.”

      “If he was the right guy you wouldn’t have felt that way. You would have made the time because you wanted to be with him.”

      She looked at me with both blond brows raised to her hairline. “Are you, Mr. Manwhore of the Century, seriously trying to give me relationship advice?”

      I rolled my eyes, which made my head scream in protest. “Just because there hasn’t been one girl I wanted to hang out with exclusively doesn’t mean I don’t know the difference between quality and quantity.”

      “Could have fooled me. Gabe just wanted more than I was willing to give him. It’s going to be a pain because my mom and dad both loved him.”

      “True that; from what I’ve heard he was pretty much custom-made to make your folks happy. What do you mean he wanted more than you were willing to give? Did he try to put a rock on your finger after only six months?”

      She gave me a look and curled her lip in a sneer. “Not even close, he just wanted things to be more serious than I wanted them to be.”

      I laughed a little and rubbed between my eyebrows. My headache had turned into a dull throb but was starting to be manageable. I needed to ask her to swing by a Starbucks or something if I was going to get through this afternoon.

      “Is that your prissy way of telling me that he was trying to get in your pants and you weren’t having it?”

      She narrowed her eyes at me and pulled off the freeway at the exit that took us toward Brookside.

      “I need you to stop by Starbucks before going to my parents’ house, and don’t think I didn’t notice you aren’t answering my question.”

      “If we stop we’re going to be late. And not every boy thinks with what’s in their pants.”

      “The sky isn’t going to fall on us if we show up five minutes behind Margot’s schedule. And you have got to be kidding me—you strung that loser along for six months without giving it up? What a joke.”

      That made me flat-out laugh at her. I laughed so hard that I had to hold my head in both hands as my whiskey-logged brain started screaming at me again. I gasped a little and looked at her with watery eyes. “If you really believe that he wasn’t interested in getting in your pants, you aren’t nearly as smart as I always thought you were. Every single dude under the age of ninety is trying to get in your pants, Shaw—especially if he’s thinking that he’s your boy. I’m a guy, I know this shit.”

      She bit her lip again, conceding I probably had a valid point as she pulled the car into the coffee shop’s parking lot. I practically bolted out of the car, eager to stretch my legs and get a little distance from her typical haughty attitude.

      There was a line when I got inside, and I took a quick look around to see if I recognized anyone. Brookside is a pretty small town and usually when I stopped by on the weekends I inevitably ran into someone I used to go to school with. I hadn’t bothered to ask Shaw if she wanted me to grab her anything because she was being all uppity about having to stop in the first place. It was almost my turn to order when my phone started blasting a Social Distortion song in my pocket. I dug it out after ordering a big-ass black coffee and took a spot by the counter next to a cute brunette who was trying her hardest to not get caught checking me out.

      “What up?”

      I could hear the music in the shop blaring behind Nash when he asked, “How did this morning go?”

      Nash knew my faults and bad habits better than anyone, and the reason we had maintained our friendship as long as we had was because he never judged me.

      “Sucked. I’m hungover, grumpy, and about to sit through yet another forced family function. Plus, Shaw is in rare form today.”

      “How was the chick from last night?”

      “No clue. I don’t even remember leaving the bar with her. Apparently I did a huge piece on her side so she was a little pissed that I didn’t remember who she was, so ouch.”

      He chuckled on the other end of the line. “She told you that, like, six times last night. She even tried to pull her top off to show you. And I drove your dumb ass home last night, drunko. I tried to get you to leave at, like, midnight but you weren’t having any of it, as usual. I had to drive your truck home and then take a cab back to get my car.”

      I snorted and reached for the coffee when the guy behind the counter called my name. I noticed the brunette’s eyes follow the hand that wrapped around the cardboard cup. It was the hand that had the flared head of a king cobra on it, the snake’s forked tongue making the L in my name that was inked across my four knuckles. The rest of the snake wound its way up my forearm and around my elbow. The brunette’s mouth made a little O of surprise so I flashed her a wink and walked back to the BMW.

      “Sorry, dude. How did your appointment go?”

      Nash’s uncle Phil had opened the tattoo shop years ago on Capitol Hill when it mainly catered to gangbangers and bikers. Now with the influx of young urbanites and hipsters populating the area, the Marked was one of the busiest tattoo parlors in town. Nash and I met in art class in the fifth grade and have been inseparable since. In fact, ever since we were twelve our plan was to move to the city and work for Phil. We both had mad skills and the personality to make the shop bump with business so Phil had no qualms apprenticing us and putting us to work before we were both in our twenties. It was killer to have a friend in the same field; I had a plethora of ink on my skin that ranged from not-so-great to great that chronicled Nash’s evolution as a tattoo artist, and he could state the same thing about me.

      “I finished that back piece that I’ve been working on since July. It turned out better than I thought and the dude is talking about doing the front. I’ll take it, because he’s a fat tipper.”

      “Nice.” I was juggling the phone and the coffee, trying to open the door to the car when a female voice stopped me in my tracks.

      “Hey.” I looked over my shoulder and the brunette was standing a car over with a smile on her face. “I really like your tattoos.”

      I smiled back at her and then jumped, nearly spilling scalding hot coffee down my crotch as Shaw shoved the door open from the inside.

      “Thanks.” If we had been closer to home and Shaw wasn’t already putting the car in reverse I probably would have taken a second to ask the СКАЧАТЬ