All For You (Rocktown Ink #5) Sherilee Gray (best memoirs of all time .TXT) 📖

mouth and tossed it across the yard, while I locked it back down tight, all the anger and pain.

Jimmy spun so fast he nearly fell over his own legs, then he raced to get his toy and brought it back, while still managing a doggy smile around his prize.

Trixie laughed, and my gaze slid over her. She was wearing tiny white shorts, showing off the tattoo on her right thigh. Her shirt was red with a white collar and white cuffs on the short sleeves, her colorful inked arms on full display. The front of the shirt was knotted, flashing a strip of her stomach, just a tease of smooth, creamy skin.

Christ, she was gorgeous.

She’d gone all out, her platinum hair set in waves, like a fifties movie star. And her makeup emphasized her delicate, pixie features, eyelids lined with black, cheeks pink, and her lips bright red to match her top.

Looking at her made it hard to fucking breathe, and the best distraction I could have asked for.

She glanced up then, her gaze coming straight to me. I stared back, unable to look away from her vibrant green eyes. A small smile curved her lips, and she waved, then quickly looked away and walked toward the front of the house where her car was parked.

The woman was wildfire. Bright and exciting. Demanding attention.

I sure as fuck couldn’t look away.

I’d been an escape for her—and she’d brought me back to life.

I dragged in a rough breath, forcing my feet to stay where they were. We had nothing else to say to each other. There was no denying I wanted her still. So badly, she was all I could think about. But she wasn’t for me. She was my sister’s friend and way too young to be fucking around with the likes of me.

I was still messed up over my divorce. Just when I thought I was fine, that I was moving on, Janie would call and drag me back to that dark place. And my recent behavior, acting like a prized asshole to everyone the last few months, made it clear I wasn’t ready to be what anyone needed right now, especially not a woman like Trixie.

The best thing I could do for her was stay the hell away.

After rinsing my mug, I grabbed my wallet and phone and headed out.

The sound of a car winding over and not starting hit me as I shut the door. I rounded the corner and Trixie sat behind the wheel of her Mustang, face flushed, teeth gritted as she tried again to start her car.

“Car trouble?” I said through the open window. Way to state the obvious, dickhead.

“Nope. Veronica starts first time, every time.” She tried again. Nothing.

She blinked rapidly.

Shit.

“Pop the hood.”

“I don’t need to pop the hood, because there is nothing wrong with this car. My gran drove it all my life, and it always started,” she said, her fingers clenching the wheel tighter before she tried again. “I’ve had the car for barely a month. She entrusted it to me. I can’t have broken it already.” Her lip quivered.

Fucking hell. I wanted to pull her out of the car and wrap her in my arms. “When did you last get gas?”

She spun my way. “I’m not a goddamn idiot, Mason.”

Mason. No one called me that. Only Trixie. I glanced at the fuel gauge. Yup. She was out of gas. My gaze slid back to her.

She glanced at the needle as well and flushed. “Oh.”

“Wait here.” I headed for the shed.

She was out of the car when I got back, eyeing the gas container I was carrying. “Thanks.”

“There’s enough to get you into town. Fill up…Veronica before you go to work. Nice name, by the way.”

“Thanks, my gran named her.” She bit her lip, and I wanted to suck on it and ease the sting.

“I don’t know what happened. I guess…I just freak out. This car, it’s all I have left of Gran, you know? It’s special to me, and the thought I’d broken her…” She shook her head. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

Her gaze stayed on me as I poured the gas into her car, and I did my best not to look back at her. Not after hearing her talk about her gran, and her obvious distress, because it made me want to comfort her so damn badly, to protect her from any more pain.

“You working late again tonight?” I asked to change the subject.

“Yep.”

“You do that a lot?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Sometimes. I don’t mind working around my clients’ schedules, though.” Her gaze slid over me, over the uniform I was wearing. “How’s the job going?”

“Quiet.”

“I guess that’s a good thing?”

“After Portland? Yeah, quiet is a good thing.”

“I imagine it’s a lot different than being a city cop?”

I grunted the affirmative and shut the gas cap. “All set.”

“Thanks, Sheriff, you totally saved my bacon.” She smiled up at me, bright and wide, and my gut tightened.

“All good.” Kitten.

Trixie

Manic fell asleep while I was tattooing his thigh.

The big biker was the only client I’d ever had that managed to do that. The man took badass to a whole new freaking level. I wiped away the excess ink, then shook his shoulder lightly.

He grunted and jerked awake. “What? What’s going on?”

I chuckled. “All finished.”

He sat up and took a look at the portrait I’d done. His dog Rolf now graced that monster thigh. Rolf was a Rottweiler, and he’d sadly passed away a week ago. Manic was cut up about it and wanted his best buddy immortalized in ink. He worked in a tattoo shop in Black Stone and was Grifter’s friend and club brother. The guy knew a lot of tattoo artists, but I’d made a name for myself doing portrait work, and I’d been more than a little flattered when he’d chosen me for this very special tattoo.

“What do you think?” I popped open the lid of the ointment, feeling a little nervous as he took at it.

“Fuck, Trix.”