Read Online Tattoo Thief (BOOK 1) by Heidi Joy Tretheway - Free Book Online

shudder. It took three people the entire business day to put Gavin’s house back in order—and that’s just the scrubbing. I don’t relish my organizational responsibilities, afraid of what I’ll find. And yet, curiosity is driving me to do it.
    “Out for drinks,” I tell him and double-check directions to the bar where I’m meeting Stella. She texted me the address, more apologies, and some really creative expletives about Blayde. But I’m not about to offer to be her roommate again.
    I head upstairs and revel in the strong, fresh smell of cleaning products. The entire apartment shines, rugs vacuumed in a perfect fern pattern, and not a single dust mote on any surface. Gavin’s white leather-and-chrome furniture looks stark and pure now that layers of grime, trash, and cigarette butts are gone.
    But his couch sits at a funny angle. It’s damaged, and I make a mental note to fix it. I also see the cleaning team has removed the dead houseplants. Another mental note: buy replacements.
    I switch to a lower-cut top, bigger earrings, brighter lipstick and my highest heels. This is New York, baby! I want to fit in with the glamorous women who seem to be everywhere, looking like polished gems next to cheap plastic tourists.
    But who am I kidding? I’m still a Girl Scout, so I stick a pair of foldable flats in my purse for when the heels get to be too much.
    I give Jasper his dinner and go meet Stella.
    The bar is half-full but the music full-blast when I enter. It’s called Perdition, maybe a take on hell for Hell’s Kitchen. I see Stella at the bar flanked by men, neither of them Blayde.
    Like I said, that girl shrugs off bad boys faster than I can change my nail polish.
    She hugs me and her perfume makes my eyes water, but I’m genuinely happy to see her. Her hair is darker, more deep red than medium brown, and it’s cut in an angular bob that looks ultra chic with her black minidress and silver-studded ankle boots.
    Stella motions for a drink for me and we push through the clog of people in the middle of the bar to back benches with overstuffed cushions. The music isn’t as loud back here so we can catch up without shouting.
    “First things first,” she says, and hands me a check—it’s all my rent money plus a hundred bucks. “I feel terrible that I forgot about your flight and that Blayde was so rude. I can’t believe you were stuck in a gross hotel.” She shudders.
    “I’ve handled worse,” I say, thinking of the decrepit apartment my mom and I shared the first few years after my dad’s death. Life insurance companies aren’t wild about private pilots and my dad put off finding a policy until it was too late. “What was so important that you forgot about me?”
    Stella’s eyes shift to the ceiling and I’m afraid she’s going to lie to me. But her face tells me she’s working up the courage to tell the truth.
    “I was kind of … wasted.”
    “All day?” I choke back my shock, trying not to channel my mother.
    Stella winces. “Well, Blayde and I got back together last Friday, and then he moved back in, and I was going to call you but I wanted to find you a new place to live first, so I called a bunch of people. But then we had a fight…”
    She trails off and knocks back her drink, then stands and signals a server for more. For a tiny person, she holds her liquor better than anybody I know, so wasted in Stella’s world means something a whole lot different than wasted in mine.
    I once saw her drink two of Jeff’s frat brothers under the table—one after another.
    “Anyway, I went out without him after our fight Saturday, and I was meaning to call you, but I had to blow off steam, you know? So I had some drinks at a club and hooked up with this guy who took me to an after-party. It was pretty wild, and sometime around dawn I just kind of passed out.”
    Stella’s words come tumbling out and she looks embarrassed. She takes the new cocktail the waitress hands her and drains half of it