Chapter One
I swallowed past the lump in my throat and leaned over to pat Chopper, the dog I’d inherited a couple of months ago from Joe, my latest asshole boyfriend. The dude skipped town without him and I didn’t have it in me to drive him to the pound.
What a damn sucker I was, because the mutt had a mind of his own, didn’t obey commands for shit, and was demanding as hell. He got along well with my older dog, Ace, when he wasn’t jockeying for position and trying to hog all the attention. Damn needy pain in the ass.
He was getting restless while I was stopped to take another swig from my water bottle. This had become my morning routine. I’d walk Chopper and Ace a couple of miles around town and always end up at Washington Park. My eyes couldn’t help but wander to the bowl, where the skaters from the hood hung out. And without fail my gaze was immediately drawn to him.
Like a damn weed to the sun. Because I’d give my left nut that Jude York was as straight as they come.
I whistled through my teeth as his lean and hard body sailed high, his knees bent in flawless formation. He landed smoothly on the far wall of the ramp, his skateboard gliding effortlessly along the curved cement.
My back was on fire again, so I readjusted myself on the uncomfortable wooden bench. Staying past last call at the bar would do that to you. At least that’s what I told myself. But deep down I knew it was due to my injury, which would always be a bleak reminder of that one tragic night.
Ignoring the discomfort, my gaze again slid beyond the statuesque trees. Jude was beautiful when he rode. Graceful and strong, the muscles in his legs taut as he climbed those hills. I never noticed him talking to the other skaters, other than with a nod, as if it was an unspoken agreement that he was simply there to do his thing.
I had no clue whether or not he knew that I watched. Might kick my ass if he found out. I always had my dogs with me, so it was a decent excuse. I’d sit on this bench, hide behind my dark shades and trusty knit cap, and refill my water bottle at the fountain behind me.
Rumor had it that Jude moved here to make a fresh start. Others said he was hiding from his past. I’d seen him around for months now, either skating in the bowl or working in the back of the shop at the Board Room. Most recently he had walked into Raw Ink, and scrolled through the portfolios in our waiting room, considering a new addition to his ink.
I’d walked a customer up front that afternoon, my gaze immediately drawn to his long fingers, rough calluses, as they flipped through the pages. Jessie gave me a look from behind the front counter. A look that told me she was just as intrigued.
Dex, another tattoo artist who spent one too many nights at the local bars, said he heard Jude was a transplant from out west. Said there was talk of a secret past, maybe some jail time, though he was hard-pressed to find anybody who had actually spoken to the guy.
Could be because Jude was quiet, kept to himself, and rarely made eye contact. But the combo of his dreads and sleeves of ink made him look threatening—hard around the edges—and that made some folks around here anxious. Add the fact that there was a darkness in his eyes, and that he seemed almost hyperaware of his surroundings. People figured he had a lot to hide.
But I didn’t see it that way. Maybe he didn’t want anyone to get close, so he performed the part. I played a role, too. After David left me three years ago, I applied for the job at Raw Ink. So little did Jude know, his darkness—which I assumed must be rooted in a pain similar to mine—only drew me nearer.
Besides, I could only imagine what had been said around town about me. I was openly gay, but understood all too well about keeping secrets. I figured Jude was a decent but silent guy, and had good reason for it.
At least that was the fantasy I kept about him in my head. Fuck, I was pathetic. But plenty of straight boys had filled my deluded brain over the years, none nearly as mysterious as him.
Hadn’t I learned early on that it was impossible to bend a straight arrow? Especially if you didn’t want that arrow to pierce your heart?
I bolted up on that thought, not wanting to feel as needy as this damn dog. Or hard up for that matter. There was plenty of fresh meat around this town anyway. Just not the kind I wanted or needed. Not anymore.
Chopper was thrilled that we were on the move again and he tugged hard on the lead. “Easy, boy. Let me get these leashes untangled.”
But as he lunged away from me, the leash cut across my shin and I tripped over the taut line, releasing my grip. Suddenly Chopper broke from my grasp and began running free. Fucker was going to get himself run over by a damn car someday. “Chopper, get your ass back here!”
At the sound of my voice, he looked behind him, his tongue wagging in an almost taunting smile. Then he kept on sailing free. Ace was barking and going ballistic beside me, so I tightened my hold on his line. As I began gaining on Chopper, my only hope was that he’d stop of his own volition.
Halfway across the grassy field, he spotted a squirrel in one of the trees and went wild, climbing halfway up the trunk, jumping and barking.
While he was distracted, I silently moved toward him, hoping to grab hold of that leash. But just as I approached, he took off again, following that same squirrel who’d taken a leap to the next large maple.
I was out of breath and now beyond frustrated. Remembering the treats in my pocket, I figured I could lure him as my final option—and it was now fast approaching. I shoved my hand in my hoodie, my fingers closing on a sturdy dog cookie.
When I looked up again, Chopper was headed straight for the skate park. Shit.