Page 5 of Bound By Ink

“Yes, Nerd. I can.” He rolls his eyes at me as if to say,“Look at me, I’ve been there, I am that player.”

And I know he is; he’s always had a man or woman wrapped around him, a different one each time, sometimes more than one at a time. He’s never been one for labelling straight or gay to him, a fuck’s a fuck. He likes sex. He’s never been in a relationship, to my knowledge.

But he’s hot, he’s six foot four, and he gets away with it. He’s got that brooding bad-boy look, all sexy with dark hair and piercing blue eyes, a smile that could charm the pants off a nun, and a permanent five o’clock shadow. He’s covered in sexy tattoos. The fairytale book boyfriend. He rides a motorbike. He wears leather and denim, and he works out.A lot.

“You good over there?” His gruff voice startles me, and I slosh my coffee into my lap.

“Damn it.” I brush at my trousers, knowing I’m going to look atrocious.

“Nerd. Go upstairs and sort yourself out. You’re a mess.”

Killian lives above the shop. I wrap my fingers around my mug, heading to the door that leads to his flat.

“Spill coffee on anything and I will atomic wedgie your ass out the door. Capisce?” He grins after me.

I stare at him for a second before trudging upstairs and into his bathroom. I look at myself in the mirror. Holyhell, I look a state. I rummage through Killian’s products. For a guy who looks effortless, there’s a lot more stuff in his cupboards than someone that hot should need. I pull stuff out, taking a deep inhale of all the products; they smell just like him.

Spicy and dark, maybe a little dangerous. I run my fingers through some wax and force it into my hair, picking up his comb and teasing it through my rumpled strands. I attempt to straighten it, but the waves are having none of it today. I pick up some of the aftershaves, they all have a similar smell: that rugged, savage biker smell—leather and spice—it’s intoxicating. I spray a little around me and then pick up the towel, running the corner under the tap and rubbing at the coffee stain on my trousers.

Great, it now looks like I’ve pissed myself, I internally complain. Never mind, it will dry. I pick up my coffee and click the light off, and wander back downstairs.

Killian is setting up his station, wrapping everything, and setting everything neatly where he needs it. He’s so neat, so particular when it comes to the shop. “Would you tattoo me?”

“Nerd, you passed out when the nurse tried to give you your injections. I’m gonna say no on that one.”

“Killian, that was years ago.”

He tosses me a look that says, “Yeah, sure,” before turning back and concentrating on getting everything ready. I slip into the kitchen, wash out my mug, and rummage in the cupboard. I know he had some travel mugs made for the shop a while ago. Bingo. “Killer Ink” is emblazoned in cool lettering on the cup. I rinse one out, fill it with coffee, and wipe the side down, knowing Killian will kick my butt if he sees I’ve left a mess.

When I head back into the shop, I place a coffee next to his station. He grins up at me before locking eyes with the travel mug.

“Oh, I see how it is. Stealing from me so early in the day.”

“I’ll bring it back.” I grin down at him, knowing when I smile at him like this, my dimples are more obvious. His eyes soften, and I get my way.

“Like you brought the other five back. What about all the T-shirts you’ve pilfered? They say it’s the quiet ones you have to watch.” He narrows his eyes, shakes his head, and picks up his mug, takes a swig, then stares at me. “Fuck off then, you’re gonna be late.”

I glance at the clock on the wall. “Damn it!” I snatch my bag from the floor and dash for the door.

“See ya, loser!” Killian yells after me. I throw my hand in the air, but rush straight outside, practically jogging all the way to uni.

When I arrive at the campus gates, the alarm on my phone chimes, signalling I’m already late. I have to sprint across the quad to make it on time, rushing inside and up the two flights of stairs until I reach my lecture room. Panting, I push through the doors, and everyone’s head spins to glare at me.

“Sorry, sorry,” I gasp out, awkwardly acknowledging everyone, as I make my way towards my seat, knocking two of my classmates as I rush past.

“Sorry, sorry,” I mumble as I push through.

“Fucking loser,” one of them mutters while the other just scowls at me, and I flop into the seat.

“Where the hell have you been?” Becky, my best friend, whispers. I say best friend, but she’s myonlyfriend, really.

“One of those mornings,” I grumble.

The lecturer starts droning on. I just can’t seem to focus. I sip my coffee. I chew on my pen, and I try to take notes, but all I can think about is Derren and what Killian said about him.

At lunch me and Becky sit at the back of the food hall. She leans into me. “Dude, you smell really good. Like sexy good. What the hell is it?”

“Killian,” I mutter.