Fortunately, she and AJ had fallen into a routine she could live with. He came over to her place, they had sex, hung out. Sure, they’d been making a point to see her family so Brett could push her responsibility agenda, but there were no heart-to-hearts, no promises, no longing glances.

And she didn’t mind at all.

Liar. You mind.

Nope, she wasn’t listening to the yearning voice in her head. She and AJ had a good thing going. She didn’t want a relationship. He didn’t want a relationship.

Win win.

And an extra win for the explosive sex.

“So did he pick a design yet?”

Of course, Rob just had to remind her of the one thing she wasn’t winning at.

Brett scowled at her brother. “No, he hasn’t. And don’t you dare remind me of it.”

Rob chortled. “I still can’t believe you thought it was a good idea to bet on a chess match. You suck at chess.”

Yeah, and apparently she sucked at not orgasming, too. But her family didn’t know about that. Last night, when AJ had nonchalantly revealed that she’d lost a bet and thus given him the power to choose her next tattoo, Brett had scrambled to think of a plausible, nonsexual bet they could have made. Chess was the first thing that came to mind, and now she was kicking herself for coming up with such a harebrained lie.

Damn AJ and his magic cock. She couldn’t even look at her tattoo chair anymore without remembering how quickly she’d come in his lap last week.

“I spoke to Dad, by the way.”

Rob’s offhand comment purged all the dirty thoughts from her head. “About what?” She didn’t bother masking her excitement.

“You know, about how good you’re doing, what a great help you’ve been around the shop, how smart and wonderful and brilliant you are, yada, yada, yada.”

“Did he say anything about the new Conlon Ink location?” She held her breath as she awaited his reply.

“Nothing official,” Rob admitted. “But if it helps, I was over at the house when Dad got a phone call from that artist he was talking to. The guy who works at Razor’s?”

Brett bristled with displeasure. She’d known her dad was interviewing potential candidates to run the north end parlor, but hearing Rob confirm it ticked her off. The ideal candidate was staring them all in the face, damn it.

Her.

“He canceled the interview,” Rob said lightly.

Her breath came out in an abrupt whoosh. “Really?”

“Yup. Mind you, he hasn’t said one way or the other if he’s going to give you a shot, but this is a good sign, right?”

No, it was a fabulous sign.

Brett dove off the chair and threw her arms around her brother. “Oh my God. I don’t believe it. He’s totally going to let me manage the shop!”

“Possibly.” Rob’s voice went gentle. “But don’t put the cart before the horse just yet.” He hesitated. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, I’m glad you did. Now I’m going to work even harder, until he has no choice but to admit that I’m the best person for the—”

A loud ding interrupted her. She swung her head in the direction of the door—then froze.

Brett’s jaw fell open as her ex-boyfriend entered the tattoo parlor.

What. The. Hell.

“Hey,” Troy said cautiously.

All she could do was gape at him. Holy shit. He really had the nerve to waltz in here after everything he’d put her through? The mere sight of him made Brett want to clock him.

And to add insult to injury, the bastard actually looked good. Like, really, really good. A black T-shirt hugged his chest and showed off the intricate tattoos on each of his biceps, and he’d cut his hair and shaved his goatee since she’d last seen him. Goddamn him. He didn’t deserve to be this handsome.

Brett still remembered the way he’d drawn her in last year with those killer dimples and reckless personality. But he’d been too reckless. Troy had no off button when it came to partying. For him, one beer was never enough—he had to have ten. Not only that, but he was a frickin’ sponge. He took and took and took and never once gave anything in return. Whether it was a dinner she’d prepared for him, a free tattoo she’d spotted him, or a ride home when he was too plastered to drive, the jerk had never expressed an ounce of gratitude or appreciation. Not even once.

“What are you doing here?” Brett demanded when she finally found her voice.

Troy came to the counter as if he were approaching a feral lion. “Can we talk in private?” His blue-eyed gaze darted to Rob, whose expression was frigid enough to freeze the Pacific.

Shit. Brett suddenly remembered that Rob had been with her the morning after her trip to the drunk tank. He’d played the part of bodyguard when Troy came over to pick up some things he’d left at her apartment, and the confrontation between the two men hadn’t been pretty, to say the least.

“No, we can’t,” she said coldly. “What do you want, Troy?”

“You’re really going to make me do this in front of him?” he demanded in a plaintive voice.

“Do what? There’s no reason for you to be here.” She crossed her arms, mostly so she wouldn’t act on the urge to smack him in the face. “In fact, I’d like you to leave.”

“I miss you,” Troy mumbled.