Trouble Read Online Free

trying to get me to look at her breasts, what is with this girl?
    “I’ve got cereal.” I tell her, pulling out a box of Captain Crunch. I slam two bowls on the counter and pour some cereal and milk in them.
    “What if I want pancakes?” She asks in a bratty tone, and I shove a bowl in her hands.
    “Too bad,” I tell her, settling down on the other end of the couch. It’s not a particularly large couch, so I put a pillow between us and grab the remote to the television. The little clock on the cable box reads four thirty in the afternoon. I guess this is dinner, not breakfast.
    It takes her about ten minutes, but when she realizes that I’m not going to entertain her with pancakes she finally eats her cereal. I flick on the news and cringe when I see an accident report that involves another eighteen wheeler. I quickly change the channel, but after that I put my bowl of half-finished cereal down and try not to throw up.
    “Listen,” she starts, and I turn to glance at her. She’s set her cereal bowl on the table and has her arms stretched out behind her. “If you let me stay here a few days I can clean, cook, and show you a thing or two between the sheets.”
    It must be some of the deals she’s made in the past, but I’m not that kind of guy. Sure, I’ve had one night stands with a few of my tattoo clients, and some pretty women from the bars. But I’ve never had to pay for it, and I’ve never had to make a deal for it. I look up from her C cups and into her eyes. Her body language contradicts what I see there, is that disgust?
    “No,” I tell her firmly, grabbing my bowl and her empty one. I dump out mine and angrily rinse them before I stuff them into the small dishwasher. I’m so glad my apartment came with one.
    “No?” She asks, standing at the opening of the small kitchen, her hands on her hips. She saunters up to me and purses her lips. “Why don’t you tell me no after a blow job, sweetie,” I gape at her and watch her start to go down on her knees. I put a hand on her shoulder and push her back from me, watching her fall on her ass on the floor.
    “Jesus, I said no!” I tell her, backing away from her. She managed to get my fly halfway down , and I zip it up quickly. “Look, you can stay here, but I don’t want you taking a step in my bedroom!” She’s crying on the floor. There are tears streaking down her face, and I hope I didn’t hurt her. Serves her right, though.
    I don’t help her up off the floor. Instead, I walk around her and grab my sneakers from by the door. I check to make sure my wallet’s in my back pocket and grab a jacket off the hook near the couch. She’s up on her feet with one of her flip flops in her hands, and as I close the door I hear it hit the wood. I narrow my eyes and walk briskly to my bike.
    It’s probably not a smart idea to leave an angry, prostitute, biker chick in my apartment. But I have a client to tattoo.

Chapter Three
    “Hey Caleb, you’re late!” I shrug a shoulder as I pull off my jacket, my hair a mess from riding. I went to a funeral last night; I can’t be late for one session?
    “ Ronnie’s funeral yesterday, got home late.” I grumble as I march past the shop owner, a man in his late forties with short, graying hair. He’s bulky like an ex-marine, probably because he is one. And he’s also a great boss, so I can’t complain too much.
    “I know, kid. How’d it go?” He puts a strong hand on my shoulder, and I stare straight ahead at the row of tattoo guns. “That bad?” I work my jaw, and he gives me a gentle squeeze before he lets go.
    “Where’s the client?” I ask, looking around the shop. I’m five minutes late . It’s not that late.
    “In the back getting dressed, she’ll be out in a few minutes.” I settle down at one of the chairs and start prepping. Like I said, Carl’s an ex-marine, he wouldn’t put up with a dirty shop. I’m cleaned up and ready to go when Delilah comes out from the bathroom wearing