All the Pretty Lies (Pretty #1)(25)
Author: M. Leighton

“Okay, ready when you are,” I announce to Hemi, who is standing at the table with his back to me. He glances over his shoulder, his eyes drifting over my upper body. I see the muscle in his jaw flex before he turns back around.

“Hop up there. On your side please.” I do as he asks, my gut jittery with nerves. I stretch out, baring my right side, tucking the drape around my breast modestly. When Hemi turns back around to face me, he stops and just watches me for a few seconds before he comes forward to take his seat in front of me. I see his eyebrows come together in a small frown and I wonder what put it there—me, the situation? Is he resisting? Is he just not into it? Not into me anymore?

I close my eyes and stretch my arm up over my head, pushing all those doubts aside as Hemi preps my skin. One way or the other, I’m about to find out.

“So,” he begins, making my heart thunder inside my chest. Here we go… “tell me more about your brothers. You said the one at the bar was…was it Steven? He’s the oldest, you said? He must be pretty protective.”

My hopes and my heart plummet. This isn’t at all what I’d hoped for. “Uh, yeah. He’s very protective. They all are.”

“Seems like he’s the only one without an unusual name. Doesn’t he have a nickname or something?”

“No. He’s too straitlaced for that kind of thing. I don’t think his partner even has a nickname for him.”

“What’s his partner’s name?”

“Duncan.”

“That’s pretty normal, too. Very interesting.”

Hemi falls quiet as he gets ready to start working. I don’t quite know how to react to this—the lack of response, the devastating disappointment, the humiliation. And yes, there’s plenty of humiliation. I feel like I’ve been tricked, like he flirted with me just enough to get me hooked and then he just…left. Emotionally. And now I’m left…wanting.

I say nothing. I can’t seem to drum up the enthusiasm for small talk. I just want this to be over so I can go home and bury my face.

“You must know a lot of their cop friends, I bet,” Hemi says when he finally starts to talk again.

“Yeah,” I answer vaguely. I feel like screaming!

“Did I hear one of ‘em call the other ‘Tumblin’ one night?”

“I don’t know. The only Tumblin I know of is the street where my brother used to live. I don’t think I’ve ever heard a cop being called that.”

“Oh, shit! A street,” Hemi exclaims oddly. “Well, I guess that makes more sense.”

I don’t respond. I have no idea what the hell he’s mumbling about, and at this point, I don’t really care. I’m torn between being upset over rejection and being really pissed off over being misled. It’s not making me very keen on chit chat.

Hemi hits a particularly sensitive spot and I yelp. “Ouch! Holy shit, that hurts!”

Hemi stops inking immediately. “I’m sorry,” he says sincerely. “Are you all right?” He’s standing over me now, leaning down to look at my face where it’s half-covered by my raised arm.

“I’m fine. I just…I think you just hit a tender spot. Maybe this should be the last one. My skin might be too sensitive to go up any farther.”

Oh, how true those words really are!

Hemi rubs his palm along my arm. “Hey, are you sure you’re all right?”

His dark lagoon-blue eyes are searching mine. For the first time all night, he seems to really see me. And it only makes things that much worse.

“I’m fine.”

“Can I finish shading this one last butterfly? I’ll be as gentle as I can. I think you’ll like it much better if you’ll let me finish.”

After everything, he still makes me feel like putty. “Okay. Just this one.”

He bends his head and kisses my forearm. “I’ll be easy. It won’t hurt. I promise.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Hemi smiles down at me. “I don’t.”

Yes, you do. Everyone does. Except me.

He sits back down on his chair and resumes shading. I’m braced for it to sting, but it never does. Maybe Hemi really doesn’t make promises he can’t keep.

Or maybe he just doesn’t make many promises at all.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – Hemi

Impatiently, I listen to the muted ring at the other end of the line. “Dammit, Reese, pick up!”

When I hear the click of the voice mail picking up, I hang up and hit redial. I’m gonna bug the shit out of him until he answers.

“Hello?” a sultry feminine voice greets after the second ring.

“Uh, is Reese there?” I ask, wondering if I’ve been dialing the wrong number all along, but knowing I haven’t because I selected it from my list of contacts. No, this has to be Reese’s number.

“He’s in the shower. Can I take a message?”

“Just tell him—”

I stop, mid-sentence, when I hear my brother’s angry voice in the background. “What the hell are you doing?”

I hear the woman explain. “I got tired of listening to it ring.”

“Get your clothes and get out,” Reese demands coldly.

Ouch!

My brother has an unquenchable thirst for women, just like I do (just like all the Spencer men do, in fact), but he has no tolerance for any of them getting close to him, or dabbling in his business or his life. If I keep them at arm’s length, he keeps them at football-field length. He’s a cold bastard, but he’s my brother and I know what made him that way.

After a minute or two of listening to her apologize and beg, and then hearing her muffled crying (Reese put his hand over the mouthpiece), I finally hear his voice and only his voice. No more woman.

“What is it?”

“It’s me,” I say briefly. “It’s him. I found him. I know it’s him.”

“You did? How do you know?”

“I made the connection. His younger sister, Sloane, the girl I was telling you about, told me he used to live on Tumblin Street. That’s the missing piece. It’s him, Reese. We finally found him.”

“I’ll be damned,” he whispers. “I’ll put the word out. Start looking into him. It won’t be long now.”

“Let me know,” I say, feeling a sigh of relief build in my chest.

“I will,” Reese promises. “Good work, Hemi.”