Wild For You (Always a Bridesmaid 3) Read Free Page B

something you might really regret after the tequila wore off. A hangover you can sleep off, a tattoo…not so much.”
    Melody smiled. “No worries. But you know, I don’t think I’m in the mood for the tequila to wear off. Why don’t we go check out The Horse and Rider , have a beer or two, and call a cab when we’re done?”
    Kitty’s eyes widened, but her lips stretched into a delighted grin. “I don’t have to work tomorrow. Let’s do it, wild woman.”
    Melody and Kitty giggled as they dashed across the street.
    At least someone was enjoying Melody’s wild side. With a little luck it wouldn’t be long before Nick came around to Kitty’s way of thinking.

Chapter Two
    Nick watched Melody and her friend run across the street, unable to take his eyes off of his boss’s little sister. Melody March was something else.
    And that dress she was wearing tonight…
    “Don’t think about it,” Nick muttered beneath his breath, crossing to the door to flip the sign from “Open” to “Closed.”
    It was nearly midnight. Any customers who showed up in the next twenty minutes would probably be drunk anyway. Better to close up and head for home before he gave into the urge to follow Melody into The Horse and Rider and offer to buy her a drink.
    He could imagine how it would play out—he’d buy her a beer and apologize for being an asshole, she’d forgive him because she was a forgiving sort of person, and they would spent the rest of the night getting tipsy enough for him to forget all the reasons why he shouldn’t get close to her. Close enough to brush her honey colored hair over her shoulder, to gaze deep into those soulful brown eyes, to smell that honeysuckle perfume she wore and feel every tempting curve pressed against him until—
    “Stop,” Nick said in a louder, firmer voice. He was pretty sure Melody was interested, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t afford to be.
    “Stop what? Who are you talking to, man?” John’s voice came from the door at the back of the building.
    Seconds later, John, in his typical uniform—faded jeans and a threadbare t-shirt with an obscure band logo on the front—eased through the archway into the main portion of the shop. He still hadn’t shaved the mangy beard he’d been growing for the past three days, and Nick wasn’t entirely sure John ever brushed his curly red-brown hair. Still, John had a lovable, ruddy-cheeked Irish guy thing going, and women couldn’t seem to get enough of him.
    John’s nonchalant grooming habits would make Nick feel ridiculous about spending fifteen minutes on his hair every morning if he didn’t have a special, loving relationship with his hair that was immune to ridicule or shame.
    “No one. What’s up brother,” Nick said, turning to greet his co-owner, relieved not to be alone with his thoughts anymore.
    John was one of his oldest friends. They’d grown up drawing together and had dreamed of opening their own tattoo studio since they were seventeen. They’d lost touch after high school, but had run into each other again the first week after Nick had moved home from Atlanta.
    John had recently moved back from North Carolina, where he’d been apprenticing with a tattoo artist, and had just signed the lease on the shop in Summerville. The two old friends had gone for a beer. About three in, John had confessed he was worried about being able to afford the lease on the store on his own. Within an hour, they’d decided to join forces and open N&J’s Tattoo Emporium.
    Nick thought “Emporium” sounded more civilized than “Parlor,” and that the more civilized they sounded, the better. In a small, conservative, sleepy bedroom town like Summerville, a tattoo shop was going to have to keep it classy if it wanted to survive.
    “I came to check supplies before I called it a night,” John said, grabbing Nick’s outstretched hand and slapping him on the back before moving toward his station on the opposite side of the room. “I’m