Read Online Tattoo Thief (BOOK 1) by Heidi Joy Tretheway - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heidi Joy Tretheway
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have my doubts.
Where would getting to know Gavin get me? Nowhere , other than to satisfy my morbid curiosity. And he might be so far gone and screwed up that I wouldn’t even know what to do with him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I’m getting a little obsessed with Gavin Slater because I’m living his life by proxy: his home, his dog, his stuff. I search YouTube and find a video of his interview on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon .
“So what inspires you? What drives your music?” Jimmy asks.
Gavin looks down at his shoes for a beat, and I can see his biceps and maybe even his nipples under a thin, tight T-shirt.
“What doesn’t inspire me?” Gavin grins, and runs a hand through his hair, spiking it even higher. “Life is music, and music is life. Music is the most important thing. And I can find inspiration in the smallest little things, like the way she sighs when she’s sleeping.”
“She? So is there a woman driving this inspiration?” Fallon sits forward, eager for the answer, and I find myself leaning forward too.
“It’s hardly a secret,” Gavin reaches across the host’s desk and taps a CD case with the picture of a woman, lion-scratched and bloody. I recognize the cover art for Beast .
“So you’re taken? That’s what the ladies here want to know.” The camera cuts to a shot of the audience and I hear shrieks from Gavin’s ardent fans.
“I’m taken by her. And I’m taken with a lot of women. Let’s not make anything too official.” Gavin smirks and I sour. Players—they’re not for me.
One of the things I liked about Jeff was that even though his frat brothers had plenty of women, he never made me wonder if he was being faithful. Gavin’s insinuation leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
“So what’ll it take to settle you down?” Fallon nails it, the question I’m sure a million girls are asking. Including me. But a cloud passes over Gavin’s face and for a fraction of a second he looks lost.
“Chemistry,” Gavin says, and plays another bad-boy card with the sex-charged innuendo. “And physics.”
Fallon stutters; not much surprises him. “Physics?”
“Yeah,” Gavin hunches forward, his elbows on his knees. It’s confession time, and I really listen. “Physics. Newton’s third law says, ‘for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.’ And that’s what I’m looking for. My opposite, and my equal.”
I watch as Gavin’s band plays “Peace of Madness” on Fallon and scan the crowd shots for the woman on the CD cover. I don’t see her, but I do see Gavin working the mic, the cords on his neck straining, his jeans hanging dangerously low off chiseled hips. A close-up shot of his pale blue eyes arrests me.
Finally, I close my laptop and breathe deeply, calming my racing heartbeat. Now that I’ve seen Gavin Slater in action—albeit on my laptop screen—I’m even more charged by him than before.
But something runs deeper than sheer lust, though that’s certainly what’s got my chest heaving right now. What is it? Intrigue? Fascination?
I can’t tell if crushing on Gavin Slater is fangirl crazy-talk or some kind of stalkerish need to know. Either way, it’s bad. I can’t understand why he’s gone from a confident player to a freak show, with a trashed apartment, abandoned dog, and scant communication with the real world.
Where the hell is he? It makes no sense.
I resolve to push my fixation to the furthest corners of my mind and focus on my new clients and my growing business.
Not on fixing Gavin Slater. He’s broken.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Hey, hey, hey, let’s get this going!” A heavily tattooed, shirtless black man pushes to the middle of my subway car as the train takes off. One of his friends presses play on a boom box.
Music thumps and a third man starts jumping—a one handed-handstand, a back flip, a front flip, all executed with unbelievable precision as the subway car rattles and shakes.
It’s my first-ever ride on the subway and
Where would getting to know Gavin get me? Nowhere , other than to satisfy my morbid curiosity. And he might be so far gone and screwed up that I wouldn’t even know what to do with him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
I’m getting a little obsessed with Gavin Slater because I’m living his life by proxy: his home, his dog, his stuff. I search YouTube and find a video of his interview on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon .
“So what inspires you? What drives your music?” Jimmy asks.
Gavin looks down at his shoes for a beat, and I can see his biceps and maybe even his nipples under a thin, tight T-shirt.
“What doesn’t inspire me?” Gavin grins, and runs a hand through his hair, spiking it even higher. “Life is music, and music is life. Music is the most important thing. And I can find inspiration in the smallest little things, like the way she sighs when she’s sleeping.”
“She? So is there a woman driving this inspiration?” Fallon sits forward, eager for the answer, and I find myself leaning forward too.
“It’s hardly a secret,” Gavin reaches across the host’s desk and taps a CD case with the picture of a woman, lion-scratched and bloody. I recognize the cover art for Beast .
“So you’re taken? That’s what the ladies here want to know.” The camera cuts to a shot of the audience and I hear shrieks from Gavin’s ardent fans.
“I’m taken by her. And I’m taken with a lot of women. Let’s not make anything too official.” Gavin smirks and I sour. Players—they’re not for me.
One of the things I liked about Jeff was that even though his frat brothers had plenty of women, he never made me wonder if he was being faithful. Gavin’s insinuation leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
“So what’ll it take to settle you down?” Fallon nails it, the question I’m sure a million girls are asking. Including me. But a cloud passes over Gavin’s face and for a fraction of a second he looks lost.
“Chemistry,” Gavin says, and plays another bad-boy card with the sex-charged innuendo. “And physics.”
Fallon stutters; not much surprises him. “Physics?”
“Yeah,” Gavin hunches forward, his elbows on his knees. It’s confession time, and I really listen. “Physics. Newton’s third law says, ‘for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.’ And that’s what I’m looking for. My opposite, and my equal.”
I watch as Gavin’s band plays “Peace of Madness” on Fallon and scan the crowd shots for the woman on the CD cover. I don’t see her, but I do see Gavin working the mic, the cords on his neck straining, his jeans hanging dangerously low off chiseled hips. A close-up shot of his pale blue eyes arrests me.
Finally, I close my laptop and breathe deeply, calming my racing heartbeat. Now that I’ve seen Gavin Slater in action—albeit on my laptop screen—I’m even more charged by him than before.
But something runs deeper than sheer lust, though that’s certainly what’s got my chest heaving right now. What is it? Intrigue? Fascination?
I can’t tell if crushing on Gavin Slater is fangirl crazy-talk or some kind of stalkerish need to know. Either way, it’s bad. I can’t understand why he’s gone from a confident player to a freak show, with a trashed apartment, abandoned dog, and scant communication with the real world.
Where the hell is he? It makes no sense.
I resolve to push my fixation to the furthest corners of my mind and focus on my new clients and my growing business.
Not on fixing Gavin Slater. He’s broken.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“Hey, hey, hey, let’s get this going!” A heavily tattooed, shirtless black man pushes to the middle of my subway car as the train takes off. One of his friends presses play on a boom box.
Music thumps and a third man starts jumping—a one handed-handstand, a back flip, a front flip, all executed with unbelievable precision as the subway car rattles and shakes.
It’s my first-ever ride on the subway and
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