Something seemed to drop in her gut like a lead ball. He was telling her he was having a woman there this weekend. Somehow, she just knew it.
“Not a problem. I was planning on going out on Saturday night and letting off some steam with the guys. Things have gotten a bit stifling around here.”
Something flashed in his eyes before she turned around, but his expression remained unreadable.
As usual.
* * *
Davie drove Justin’s car surely through the bustling Saturday-night Wicker Park traffic. Justin was a little tipsy after listening to the Run Around Band at McGill’s for two hours. So were Caden and Francesca, for that matter.
Thus their insane errand.
“Come on, ’Cesca,” Caden Joyner goaded from the backseat. “We’re all going to get one.”
“Even you, Davie?” Francesca asked from where she sat in the passenger seat.
Davie shrugged. “I’ve always wanted a tattoo on my biceps—one of those old-fashioned ones, like an anchor or something,” he said, flashing her a grin as he turned down North Avenue.
“He thinks it’ll get him a pirate,” Justin joked.
“Well, I’m not going to get one until I have time to draw the design myself,” she said resolutely.
“Spoilsport,” Justin accused loudly. “Where’s the fun in planning for a tattoo? You’re supposed to wake up with a truly atrocious, supersleazy one in the morning and not have a clue how you got it the night before.”
“Are you talking about a tattoo or the women you bring home?” Caden asked.
Francesca broke into laughter. She barely heard her cell phone ringing in her purse, thanks to her friends’ boisterous teasing and bickering. She peered at her cell phone, not recognizing the number.
“Hello?” she answered, forcing herself to cease laughing.
“Francesca?”
The mirth melted off her mouth.
“Ian?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes.”
Justin said something loudly from the backseat, and Caden roared with laughter. “Am I interrupting something?” Ian asked, his stiff, British-accented voice a stark contrast to her friends’ rowdy banter.
“No. I’m just out with my friends. Why are you calling?” she asked, amazement making her tone more blunt than she’d intended.
Caden cracked up, and Davie joined him. “You guys . . . hold it down,” Francesca hissed and was summarily ignored.
“I’ve been thinking about something—” Ian began.
“No! Turn left,” Justin shouted loudly. “Bart’s Dragon Signs is on North Paulina.”
She gasped when Davie slammed on the brakes and she heaved against the seat belt.
“What were you saying?” Francesca asked into the phone, more disoriented by the fact that Ian had called her than the fact that her brain had just been jostled around her skull by Davie’s abrupt change of direction. There was a long pause on the other end of the line.
“Francesca, are you drunk?”
“No,” she said coolly. Who was he to take that judgmental tone?
“You’re not driving, are you?”
“No, I’m not. Davie is. And he’s not drunk, either.”
“Who is that, ’Cesca?” Justin called from the backseat. “Your father?”
Laughter burst out of her throat. She couldn’t help it. Justin’s question had been right on target, given Ian’s holier-than-thou tone.
“Don’t tell him you’re about to get a tattoo on that gorgeous ass of yours!” Caden bellowed.
She winced. Her chuckle was a good deal weaker this time. Embarrassment flooded her at the thought of Ian overhearing her friends’ joking. She was proving that she was just as immature and gauche as he thought.
“You’re not getting a tattoo,” Ian said.
Her grin faded. It’d sounded like a decree more than a clarification.
“Yes, I am getting a tattoo as a matter of fact,” she replied fiercely. “And by the way, I wasn’t aware that you had the right to dictate my life. I agreed to do a painting for you, not become your slave.”
Caden, Davie, and Justin suddenly went dead silent.
“You’ve been drinking. You’ll regret doing something so impulsive tomorrow,” Ian said, a hint of anger ringing in his otherwise calm voice.
“How do you know?” she demanded.
“I know.”
She blinked at his taut, quiet response. For a split second, she’d been convinced he was absolutely right. Irritation spiked through her. She’d been trying to forget about him all evening—trying to make the memory of him saying he wanted to fuck her vanish from her brain—and now he had to go and ruin everything by calling her and acting so infuriating.
“Did you call for a reason? Because if you didn’t, I’m going to get a tattoo of a pirate on my ass,” she said, randomly grabbing a detail from her friends’ earlier banter.
“Francesca, don’t—”
She tapped her finger on the screen.
“’Cesca, you didn’t just—”
“She did,” Caden interrupted, sounding stunned and a little impressed. “She just told off Ian Noble and hung up on him.”
* * *
“Are you sure you want to do this, ’Cesca?” Davie asked, after she’d chosen a tattoo of a paintbrush.
“I . . . I think so,” she mumbled, her bright burst of defiance in the face of Ian’s arrogance flickering weakly.
“Of course she wants to do it. Here, have another drink for courage,” Justin suggested wisely, handing her his etched silver flask.