THE RIVAL ROOMIES (The Rooftop Crew #3)

Chapter 4-1

Chapter Four

Dylan

I return from the gym, my legs burning from too many squats. I’ll still be there tomorrow though because the gym is my excuse to get out of the apartment before anyone else is awake. Rian is a creature of habit and her alarm goes off at the exact same time every day. I wake up fifteen minutes before, giving me ample time to go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and grab my gym bag. When I return, she’s already left for work. Perfect plan really.

Until today—when I walk in after my workout to find Jax at the kitchen table in his boxers, his head in a bowl of cereal. Damn it. He usually sleeps later than this.

I’m about to bypass him to hit the shower then spend the day at Ink Envy when he slides a piece of paper toward me. My footsteps stop, but I don’t pick it up.

“It’s from Rian,” he says.

I swoop up the piece of paper, knowing he’s already read it.

Roommate dinner tonight. We’re all cooking something. Initial next to your item.

Rian’s initials are next to dessert and Jax’s are next to meat.

“I’m left with vegetables?” I ball up the note and toss it onto the table.

“Come on, Phillips, you know I’ve got all the meat Rian needs.” He laughs as I slam my door.

I’m not in the mood to deal with his bullshit. I strip off my shirt and grab my towel, walking back out to the main living area.

Jax is walking back to his room, so we come face to face. Both of us are shirtless, leaving the compass tattoo on the left side of his chest visible. His eyes zero in on the anchor on my left pec. At sixteen, we had them done together, for each other. I was supposed to anchor down his wild streak, and he was supposed to push me to explore and take more chances. Unfortunately, no one could tame Jax, and my obligation to Winnie kept me from seeing the world. I’m happy with where life took me so far, but I wonder if Jax feels the same.

His gaze meets mine. “Maybe you should work out twice a day.” He smirks and side-steps me.

“Some of us own our own business. Well, one of us anyway,” I say.

He laughs and shuts his door.

I shake my head. He’s not worth the aggravation. Never has been.

Lucky for me, after I shower and get dressed, Jax is nowhere in sight.

On the elevator ride down, I retrieve my phone from my pocket in order to text Rian.

Me: What’s up with this roommate dinner?

The three dots appear immediately, as they usually do. She’s never one to leave you hanging. It’s one of the best things about her.

Rian: Because we need to set some rules in order to get along. This whole everyone ignoring everyone thing isn’t going to work.

Me: I’ll let the other guys know.

Rian: No you won’t.

Rian: It’s just us.

Rian: The three of us.

I send a gif of a man rolling on the floor in a tantrum.

Rian: Funny. But still happening. See you tonight.

I pocket my phone and walk across the street, then unlock the door of Ink Envy. My favorite part of the day is coming here in the morning when it’s quiet. Sometimes I still can’t believe it’s mine. Walking by the stations of all the tattoo artists who want to work for me feels surreal. Heading to the back, I go to my office because I have paperwork to do that I’ve been putting off.

I boot up my computer then spot a note from Frankie on my desk.

I’ll be out for a while. Call you when I can.

I crumple the note and toss it into the trash can. Seems I don’t like any notes I receive today. I was hoping to ask Frankie for some advice about Rian.

Instead of worrying about all the bullshit that will surely go down tonight, I bury my head in the part of this business I hate—the actual business bullshit.

After an hour of recording expenses, I review last month’s numbers. There’s no way last month took a loss. I inch up closer as if I’m eighty and can’t see the glaring red number on my computer screen that’s blinking like a stoplight at two in the morning.

I knew things had been slow. Frankie was out more than usual, and let’s face it, when I lost Mad Max, he took one helluva following with him to New York City. Not that I blame him for wanting to make it big. Cliffton Heights isn’t where you make a name for yourself in the tattoo industry. Although I do have some clients who come from pretty far away for me and Frankie specifically, most of our customers are from neighboring towns.

Without Mad Max and Frankie working, I’m not making a cut of their jobs which has clearly hit my bottom line.

I press my palms to the edge of the desk and push myself back. The wheels of my chair slide until it hits the wall. What the f**k can I do? I need to get another artist in here.

Pulling out my phone, I scan i********: for a newbie in the tat world who’s trying to make a name for him or herself. The first artist to pop up is Jax, so I click off my phone and toss it onto the desk.

One thing’s for sure—I’d better do something, otherwise I’m not making bills next month. The worst thing you can do in this industry is not have a functioning space for your artists to work in. Might as well lock your doors.