427 First Ave. (A Cherry Falls Romance Book 17) Read online

  As if realizing what she’s saying, she shakes her head. “You’re right. I don’t know you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you.” She holds her hand out to me. “My name is Ginger McGee. I own the Rosewood Produce Stand with my sister, Honey, who you know since you’re friends with David.” She trails off, still holding her hand out, and I know I shouldn’t, but I reach out and wrap my hand around her smaller one. She smiles and continues. “I’m twenty-three years old, and my family and friends say I’m a flirt and that my mouth is going to get me into trouble one day.”

  She finishes on a huff with a red face. I know I’ve held her hand too long, but I don’t want to let it go. I can chalk it up to the fact I haven’t been attracted to a woman in a long time, but I know that’s not it. There’s something about Ginger McGee. She’s fun and flirty, but even knowing that, I also know there’s an innocence about her. She makes me want to take her upstairs with me. But I can’t. She thinks she likes me, or wants me right now, but the truth is she doesn’t know anything about me, and the second she does, she’s going to probably go running out the front of my shop.

  I drop her hand, even though it’s the last thing I want to do. “So do you want the tattoo or not?” I ask her, a lot gruffer than I should.

  My abruptness doesn’t faze her. The smile stays on her face, and if anything, it gets wider, and her eyes get even darker until they’re almost a midnight black. Finally, she nods, and I turn on my foot and go toward the back where my tattooing booth is. Everything is already set up, and I pat the chair. “Here you go. Sit here.”

  She hangs her purse on the hook by the door and hops up in the chair. I act as if I’m busy, prepping my tools, but really I’m trying to take a breather from looking at her. I’ve never tattooed anyone that I’ve had an attraction to like this, and I don’t know how it’s going to work with the bulge in my pants that seems to be getting bigger by the minute. Just thinking of putting my hands on her is going to do me in.

  When I finally look up, she’s staring straight into my eyes. I jerk to the side as if her gaze is scalding me and take a deep breath. I can do this, I tell myself over and over. I inhale deeply. “Okay, so did you decide what you want... for a tattoo?”

  She nods with a smirk on her face and holds out her hand. “I want a Q with a red heart over it.” She’s pointing to the side of her finger.

  I almost fall back in my seat. “That’s different. Why’d you choose that?” I ask her, stalling from putting my hands on her.

  She shrugs her shoulders. “Because I want to be someone’s queen one day.”

  My arms flex, thinking of her with another man, but before I can get too deep in thought, I shake my head as if pushing the thoughts away. She and I are not going to happen.

  Without commenting on her choice of a tattoo, I instruct her to sit back. “There’s a table there. Put your hand on it.”

  She scoots back, and as she does her shorts ride up her thighs, showing even more of her tanned legs.

  “Perfect.” I roll my chair over and hold on to her hand. I look at the size of her fingers and work out the size in my mind. Already I can picture what it’s going to look like. “You want a crown too?” Because in my mind, I think she needs a crown.

  “I trust you,” she answers, and I feel that all the way to my gut. I’m the last person she should put trust in, showing just how gullible and inexperienced she really is.

  I prep her hand and make sure it’s thoroughly cleaned. I usually have my clients clean their own hands, but for her, I wanted to do it myself. She’ll never know.

  I turn on the gun, and the vibrating starts. “Ready?”

  She nods and bites onto her lower lip. In a daze, I stare at her lip, and the need to run my finger across it and smooth it out is intense.

  I jerk my gaze away and try to keep it on the matter at hand.

  I get close to her hand with the tool, and her leg starts to jiggle. I smile at her and reach over, putting my palm on her knee. “You have to sit still.”

  I move my gaze from her knee to her face. She’s still biting her lip, staring at my big hand on her leg. Whether she realizes it or not, I can feel her inch her leg open—and fuck me, but the urge to slide my fingers up the inside of her shorts has me about to come in my pants.

  I swat her leg softly. “None of that. Let’s get this tattoo done and get you out of here.”

  Her eyes come to mine, but she doesn’t agree, just stares at me.

  I go back to looking at her hand, and just as the gun is about to touch her skin, her soft voice interrupts me. “You feel it too, right? It’s not just me... you know we’re going to have to talk about this.”

  I grit my teeth and close my eyes tightly and count back from ten. When I open them, I can’t look at her. I’m looking at the instrument in my hand like it’s some foreign object. Fuck, I’m distracted. I put the gun down and mutter, “I’ll be right back.”

  I leave the booth and walk back to the front of the shop. I pace back and forth trying to calm myself. She probably thinks I’m a fool or some kind of crazy person for walking out on her, but I knew I couldn’t tattoo her, not when she’s basically asking me if I’m going to make a move or not. With my hands on my hips, I decide right then and there that I need to tell her. I’ll tell her about my past, and that will be that. I don’t know any woman that would want to get mixed up with a convicted felon. At least not one they just met.

  With my decision made, I stride to the back and into the booth. She’s looking at me with that same smirk again, and there’s no doubt in my mind she knows what she’s doing to me.

  I put my hands up. “Let me do this. Let me concentrate on the tattoo... and then we talk.”

  She sits up straighter in the chair and puts her hand on the table next to her. “Okay.”

  Like a man on a mission, I work with determination on her tattoo. I do my best to tune out the softness of her hand, the smell of her perfume, and the longing way I can feel her eyes boring into me. I do the red heart first, and she doesn’t even flinch.

  “You okay?”

  She nods. “I’m good.”

  I grunt. Yeah, she’s good, there’s no question about that.

  I do the black Q over top of the heart, with a black crown over it. It’s pretty and feminine.

  And after cleaning it up, I grab my phone from my pocket to take a photo.

  I lift her hand from the table and hold it in mine, angling her finger before I take a shot. I look at my phone, and I know I’ll be looking at this picture again later. I didn’t realize how it would effect me, with a picture of her hand in mine.

  I give her the instructions and go over everything with her.

  She’s nodding her head. “I got it. So now do we talk?”

  4

  Ginger

  I know I sound impatient, but probably because I am. I would have nixed the whole tattoo thing if I thought he would just sit here and talk to me instead, but I have the feeling he would have shoved me out the door in a rather quick manner if I didn’t get any work done.

  He claps his hands together and sits back down in his seat. He scoots his chair back as if being this close to me bothers him in some way. He tried to hide the fact that he was hard while he was working on me, but the big bulge in his jeans that I swear twitched every now and again was more than obvious. And I wasn’t able to quit looking at it.

  “All right, let’s talk.”

  I lean forward. “Let’s do it.”

  His jaw tightens. “I’ll go first.”

  I swing my legs to the side of the chair and nod in agreement.

  He coughs. “Uh, okay, so I know you said you want me.”

  I interrupt him. “I do want you.”

  His brows crease in frustration. “Listen, I’m not available.”

  I sit back surprised and look at his hand again. There’s no ring on his finger. “You have a girlfriend?”

  “Uh, no—”

  I interrupt him. Maybe
he doesn’t wear a ring when he works. “A wife?”

  “What? No.”

  I stare at him a minute and then start to get up. “Oh, I get it. I’m not your type.” I mean it’s definitely not the first time. Most men flirt with me, I think it’s because I’m always so outgoing. But not every man likes a woman that is well, on the plumper side. Maybe my soft and rounded middle is not the thing for him.

  I walk two steps before he stops me, grabbing my arm, and then when I turn around, he releases me quickly. “It’s not that. Definitely not that.”

  Because I can’t resist, I take a step toward him and put my hands on his waist. “Well, what is it?”

  My head is leaned backwards so I can look up at him, and he’s bent down to where our faces are so close I can feel his breath on my cheek. He looks shocked, and I know any minute he’s going to push me away, maybe not physically, but mentally, and I’m not going to let it happen.

  My hands slide up his chest and wrap around each side of his neck. His pulse is racing under my fingertips. “So no wife... no girlfriend... and I am your type.”

  His voice almost sounds strangled. “That’s right.”

  I raise up on my tiptoes and grip his neck tighter. “So if I kiss you, you won’t be mad.”

  He swallows hard, and I wait for his approval, but before he says anything, he dips his head and meshes his lips with mine. The kiss is everything I thought it would be. His hands are cupping my face almost painfully, but it just urges our kiss deeper. His tongue invades my mouth as his hands slide around my back, and I feel my feet come off the ground as he kisses me like he’s never going to let me go. When he pulls back, we’re both breathing hard, almost gasping for breath.

  He lets me down to the ground gently. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

  My fingers go to my lips. “I wanted it. I still do,” I tell him with all honesty.

  He runs his fingers through his hair, and in one long run-on sentence, he rambles, “I’m an ex-con, I spent three years in prison for drug possession, I’m not dating, I’m getting my life on track, so I shouldn’t have done that.”

  Pain hits me in the gut. The way he says it, he thinks I’m going to run out of here and never look back. But that’s the furthest thing from the truth.

  “Are you an addict?”

  He jerks back. “What? No!”

  Shaking my head as if I’m not fully understanding and wanting to, I ask another question. “Were you guilty?”

  He looks tormented at the question. “It doesn’t matter if I was or not. None of it changes the fact that I am in fact a felon or the fact that you are way out of my league.”

  I put my hands on my hips. “I’m not out of your league.”

  He walks to the front. “I’m not talking about this anymore. You and me, we’re not happening, and I’ll just say it’s not you—if I’d met you before I would already have you upstairs in my apartment, bent over my bed. But that’s not the case. So I need to close up shop.”

  His words are almost frantic, and I wonder if I’ve pushed him too far. He’s obviously embarrassed about his incarceration and doesn’t want to talk about it. I grab my purse off the wall and follow him, pulling my phone out along the way. “Yeah, uh sure,” I say, trying my best to keep the hurt out of my voice. “Let me call my sister to come get me. She drove me here.”

  He exhales loudly. “C’mon, I’ll take you home.”

  He’s huffy and obviously out of patience with me. “No, it’s fine. You can go on home. I’ll wait outside for her.” I start for the door, and with my hand on it, about to push it open, I stop and turn and look at him. “This isn’t over, Ozzie. I don’t care you were in prison. There’s something between us, and I’m not just going to forget about it.”

  I don’t wait for his response. I about trip over my own feet trying to get outside. I start to dial my sister when he opens the door. “Put the phone away. I’m taking you home.”

  He says it in a demanding tone, and I can feel the pull of his words in my lower belly.

  “Are you sure? I live out at the Ranchlands.”

  He motions me toward a car that is parked at the curb. “I’m sure.”

  I walk ahead of him, and he’s right there with me as he opens the door. I slide in and wait for him to walk around and get in too. I want to ask him more about his time in prison, but I know that’s a sore subject. “How’d you get into tattooing?”

  “I’ve always loved art. That’s the one thing I was good at in school. It just went from there. What about you? How’d you end up owning a produce stand?”

  “My family owns a farm, and we supply a lot of stores and restaurants in the area, but my sister and I had the idea for the stand. We wanted to provide fruits and vegetables to families too.”

  He nods approvingly. It’s dark out now, and I can barely make out all of his face, but I still can’t take my eyes off him. He must feel my stare, because he asks, “What is it?”

  I smile in the darkness. “I just like looking at you.”

  He shifts and in turn grinds the gears, the only indication that my words affect him in any way.

  We talk about the tattoo parlor and my sister and David. We talk about his mom, who sounds like a character and someone I would really like to meet.

  Before I know it, time has flown, and he’s pulling into the long driveway to our farm. I point out the produce stand on the edge of the road. I point out my parents’ big house, my sister’s smaller one, and then finally we come to my small cabin.

  “This is nice that you have your family all together.”

  I shrug. “Yeah, it’s nice, but it’s also nice having my own place too.” And then I notice the extra car in my driveway. “Oh shoot.”

  He pulls the car into my driveway and stops next to the two cars. One is mine. “What is it?” he asks.

  I jerk my chin up to the porch. “My ex. He doesn’t want to take the hint.”

  He turns his head and looks up at the porch. His hands tighten on the steering wheel before he turns back to me. “Do you want me to get rid of him?”

  I almost tell him yes, but quickly change my mind. I may not know Ozzie well, but he doesn’t seem like the kind of person that likes drama. And that’s exactly what it will be if I have him run off an ex-boyfriend. “No, that’s okay. He’s harmless. I’ll get rid of him.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks.

  But already I’m reaching for the door. “I’m sure. I know you need to get back. I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I tell him before leaning over and surprising him with a kiss on the lips. He doesn’t have time to react before I’m jumping out of the car and waving at him through the front windshield. And the whole way up to the porch, I can’t stop thinking that tomorrow can’t come fast enough.

  Ozzie

  Pull out. Put the car in reverse, turn around, and go back to Cherry Falls. I tell myself this over and over. I back up and am about to turn around, but instead I turn back into the spot. I can’t leave her, not with some man waiting for her on the porch. Even if she says he is harmless, I’m not going to take that chance. I get out of the car and stride over to the porch where Ginger is standing on the bottom step of the porch and her ex is at the top.

  She looks at me in surprise, and I reach a hand out to her. “I changed my mind. I would like to come in.”

  She doesn’t even hesitate. She grabs my hand and pulls me up the porch. “I’m sorry, Greg, that you stopped by uninvited. But as you can see, I already have plans tonight.”

  I give him a death look that tells him he’s encroaching on my territory. It’s supposed to be for show, but I swear I can feel it all the way to my toes. It’s like I’m daring this man I just met to look at Ginger again. By the way he’s looking at me and stumbling down the steps, he gets my drift.

  Ginger pulls me inside and slams the door behind us. “Oh my gosh, I think you did it. I doubt he’ll come around anymore.” She nudges me in the waist with her elbow. “I owe yo
u one.”

  She acts as if I hung the moon for running off her ex-boyfriend, but I did it partly for me. I couldn’t let myself drive away. There’s no way I could have just driven off and gone back to Cherry Falls wondering all night what was happening with Ginger, the flirty woman that seems to have already infiltrated all my thoughts.

  I look around her small and cozy cabin and then at her smiling up at me. I know I need to get out of here. Ginger is way too tempting, and I’m a weak man. At least, I’m finding when it comes to her I am.

  I hear Greg pulling out of the driveway. “I have to go.”

  She looks startled but recovers quickly, looking at me, and I know she can read the look on my face by the way she’s smiling at me. She crosses her arms over her chest, the little bandage on her finger still secure there. “Were you jealous, Oz?”

  I put my hand on the door as if doing so is going to keep me steady and on my feet. She probably thinks I’m some kind of caveman, a territorial he-man or something. And usually I’m not... at least I never have been before. But there’s something about her that brings it out of me.

  “I couldn’t leave without knowing you were okay. But you’re okay now, so I need to go.”

  She just sways back and forth on the balls of her feet. “Okay. Thanks for coming in. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I wave and walk out the door. I don’t even question her comment about seeing me tomorrow. I’m sure she’ll sleep on it tonight and figure out it’s in her best interest to stay far away from me.

  I get into my car, and she’s standing on the porch, her arms resting on the railing staring at me. I give her another wave and pull out. The whole way back to Cherry Falls I have to tell myself it’s for the best and talk myself out of turning around.

  5

  Ginger

  I spent the morning at the produce stand with my sister. Of course, Honey interrogated me on everything about last night after she saw my tattoo. I haven’t been able to stop looking at my finger. It’s like my own personal reminder of my time with Ozzie. I don’t know what it is about him that made me react to him the way I did, but it’s all consuming. I want to hug him, kiss him, and even the need to protect him is there too. He seemed upset talking about being in prison before, but it’s obvious there is a story there. I know when he said it, the way he said it, I probably should have just walked out then. Forgot the tattoo and never looked back. But there’s something in his eyes. He may be guilty of whatever he went to prison for, but to me, it looks like he’s tortured himself, possibly punishing himself more than he should have. I don’t know, but it’s a feeling I have that he really wasn’t to blame for whatever. Maybe it’s because I’m so attracted to him and it makes everything all fuzzy and I can’t look at it rationally, but I know that I need to at least get to know him better. I’ve never felt this way about a man. Yeah, I flirt a lot, I’ve had lots of boyfriends, but Ozzie would be different. I just know it.