Under Locke(53)

Because it wouldn’t last but I’d worry about that when the time came.



We spent the morning making our way around like zombies trying to set up the booth before opening. The people, the colors, the designs, everything in our surroundings sucked me in with the back and forth trekking from the truck.



The people and the piercings were beyond interesting. I'd seen one girl who had rows of piercings that lined up her back with streams of ribbon laced through that made it look like she was wearing a corset. Another man I’d seen setting up a table down the row from ours had tattoos all over his face. There was literally no inch of clear skin on his entire head except around his eyes. That was just the start, Slim had warned me.



It was fun. Taking in all the unconventional people, imagining what kind of stories the tattoos on their bodies told. There was no doubt in my mind both Slim and Dex could sense my curiosity and excitement.



We were having a really good time.



Until Shane came in with his big, ringing words, retelling stories about how many girls he and Dex bagged every time he visited Shane's shop in Dallas. From the amount of time he'd spent with us, I figured his booth wasn't exactly busy. I’d stood up to grab Slim a new water bottle for rinsing, and that was when Shane noticed me. Leading to the question that made me wary. The same question that had me clocking in our wagon of friendly as a twelve hour truce.



Well, it’d been fun while it lasted.



I saw Dex cut me a glance out of my peripheral vision, though I’m not sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, before sighing out, “No.”



Sheesh.



“Especially not that one,” he added.



Dick!



The stab to my pride flared up my chest painfully.



Screw him for not wanting to sleep with especially me. Dick face. It's not like I wanted someone like him to add to the nonexistent list of people I'd slept with in my life.



I flicked my gaze over in their direction, catching Shane’s eyes on me, and forced a hard smile to my face. I wasn't a vain person. I was happy with myself and regardless of whether Dex thought my B cups were too small or whether my facial features weren't up to par. I had some pride. So I gritted my teeth, locked my gaze on Dex's throat and grabbed the bottled water I'd filled up hours before.



Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick. Dick.



"What's wrong with her?" the snooty little jerk asked.



Was there something wrong with me? Besides my arm, which no one friggin' knew about, I didn't think there was anything wrong with me. I wasn't going to be on the cover of a magazine anytime soon—or ever—but I didn't look like I’d gone head to head with a surgeon’s scalpel and lost.



"Nothin' besides the fact Sonny would rip your asshole outta your mouth if he saw you lookin' at her ass," Dex replied in a low laugh.



There was a low groan. "That's Son's sis?"



"The only one we know of."



God, the thought that there could be another Curt Taylor offspring in the world made me want to vomit even more than the realization that Dex didn't find me at least attractive enough to stand up for me.



Dickface.



Shane made a humming noise. "So I can't try—"



"Shut the fuck up, man," Dex groaned.



"Dude. You can't tell me you haven't thought about hittin' that."



Oh God. Was I mad or annoyed? I should feel insulted or pissed that I was being objectified, but strangely, I think I was more annoyed than anything else.



Dex's answer only fueled the part of me that was pissed off. Completely overshadowing my annoyance. "Why would I?"



And here I thought we were sort-of friends. Jerk. Slimy, moody, tiny balls. Weren't recluse spiders common in Texas? Maybe I could—



"I think we're talking too loud," Shane stated.



There was a short pause before Dex stated evenly in the same volume, “Ritz.“



I ignored him, focusing at the thought of finding a spider to bite his precious arm.



Here was this man I thought was beautiful, nearly perfect on the outside, hotter than a light bulb that had been left on all day—a bit of a dick but whatever. And he didn’t even find me attractive enough to be polite when referring to my looks. Not even a little and it made my sternum burn.



"Ritz."



Dick.



"Iris," he said that time.



I looked over my shoulder at his chin, clenching my jaw. Dick. "Yes?"



Dex waved me forward with a flick of his tattooed fingers. “Babe, come here.”



I didn’t.



“Iris, come here.”



"I'm fine over here, Char-lee," I told him. Was I trying to piss him off by calling him that? Probably.