A Co-Worker's Crush (The Rooftop Crew #6) - Piper Rayne Page 0,2

him like a proud father.

Still looking in the mirror, he says, “I know you don’t get it, but all my life, it’s like I’ve been stuck in this box. All my parents’ expectations, teacher expectations, peer expectations. After that truck almost ran me over, it was like bam, I thought I’m going to die, and I haven’t done one thing I truly wanted in this life.”

The tattoo needles behind me quiet. I’m sure if I looked back, I’d see Dylan and Frankie listening to his speech.

“This is the first step of my new life. So many things I’ve put on the back burner and thought ‘one day.’ Well, that day is now.” He looks at the floor for a second then looks back up. “I’m sure none of you understand because you’re the kind of people who have done what you wanted your entire life. You didn’t let anyone put you in a two-by-two box, shoving you back down every time you spoke up.”

I glance over my shoulder, and Dylan raises his eyebrows. The kid is right on one hand—no one was going to tell me what to do—but everyone has things they say they’re going to do one day and keep putting off.

“Not necessarily true,” I say.

He points at Dylan and me. “Look at you guys. You’re the epitome of tough guys.”

Frankie laughs. “I’m going to give you one piece of advice.” I hear the snap of her gloves being taken off, which means she must be done with her client as well.

Frankie and her client walk over to the kid, and Frankie holds the mirror in front of her client’s face so she can see the tattoo on the back of her neck. The kid stares at the girl and I already know how this is going to turn out.

Frankie interrupts before he can say anything. “Outward appearance has nothing to do with being tough. You think because they have tattoos and give off that ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude that they’re not afraid of things? They are. Being the only female working in this tattoo parlor, I’m here to tell you, it’s not muscle and tattoos that make someone tough. It’s perseverance, taking the shit life throws at you and not letting it tear you down. Being a good person in spite of it all.”

He nods, but I’m not sure he understands what Frankie is saying. I heard her loud and clear though.

“Do you want to go out with me?” he asks the girl without any preamble.

I wince because though I love this kid’s “take life by the horns” outlook, his delivery could use some work. I don’t want to see his newfound attitude about life deteriorate.

“Sure. But.” She takes the clip out of his hair and hands it to Frankie.

“Thanks.” The kid’s cheeks grow redder than they already are.

“That’s better,” she says and smiles.

Even Frankie turns around and raises her eyebrows in surprise as they walk out of the parlor together after paying.

“Maybe we should start a board with love matches made here,” Lyle says.

No one says anything. I can’t speak for my co-workers, but the kid got me thinking about the one thing I’ve been putting on the back burner ever since I attended the testicular cancer awareness ball with my friends and heard them talk about how it can be genetic.

When I was younger, I never put too much thought into my future, but it’s time I face my biggest fear—finding my birth parents.

Chapter Two

Frankie

* * *

When I walk in after my late shift, Sandy is asleep on the chair, the remote in her blanket-covered lap, so I slowly shut the door and tiptoe across the room.

As I place my purse on the kitchen table, my gut twists when I spot the Styrofoam cup from Nikki’s Gyros. Only one person brings that food in this house. Instead of nudging Sandy awake, I walk down the hall and peek into Jolie’s room.

Her rainbow nightlight’s glow allows me to see that she’s fast asleep with the polar bear stuffed animal snug under her arm. Jax won it for her from one of those crane games at Pizza Pies the last time we all went.

I shut the door and walk quietly back down the hall. Sandy is folding the blanket when I reach the living room.

“You can spend the night.” I always offer and she always declines.

“No. I’m good.”

I pick up the Styrofoam cup and she sighs, which means it wasn’t her who went there. She