Laura Wright - First Ink

But does he see it? Or was this a kickass twenty-four hour reunion/sex marathon, and it’s over now, and we both go back to our lives? Because he hasn’t said anything. Not one word about me leaving or not wanting me to leave.

“She had a run-in with Vincent,” I say. “Trying to get your address out of him.”

He teases a couple of grapes from their stem. The thing relents way easily. I know the feeling, my purple friend.

“I’m guessing that didn’t go over well. Everyone at Wicked knows not to give out my personal information.”

“Is he a bad guy, Vincent?” I ask.

Rush shakes his head. “No. Just a horny guy.”

“Like you?” I smile.

He snorts. “Oh, baby, that dude is way worse than me. I’m into one woman beneath me, on top of me, on her hands and knees in front of me.”

Every cell in my body reacts to the words, and the suggestive look he gives me while saying it. Cream freaking cheese, I want to cry out. What were you going to do with the cream cheese, dammit?!?

But Lisa’s my friend, my bestie, my beeyotch, and I will always have her back. Especially when she needs me.

“He wouldn’t act stupid, would he?” I ask. “Force something?”

“Hell, no.” Rush gives me a serious look. “The guy’s a total slut, for sure, but he’s not a pusher.” He pops the grapes in his mouth one by one, and I’ve never felt so jealous of fruit in my life. “I don’t know what went down, but if she went nuts wanting my address, he might’ve told her to take a hike in bright colors, if you know what I’m saying.”

I do. And Lisa, though fun and outgoing, a real free-spirit, has a hard time with conflict. She’s never told me everything about her home life, but from what I gathered her parents were going at each other 24/7.

My eyes travel over the tattoos on Rush’s arms and chest. Just the thought of not being able to touch him again makes me sick to my stomach.

My eyes lift to meet his. “She needs me,” I tell him. “And I’ve got school in the morning. And a paper due.” I laugh, but it comes out as more of a choke. “Haven’t even started it.”

His eyes instantly lose their light, and my heart starts bleeding. “Okay.”

“Give me a ride?”

“Course. But first…” He drops down from the table, then helps me.

Before I can say a word, he takes my hands and leads me inside the house. I wonder what he’s up to, hope stupidly that it involves his arms around me and his lips crushing against mine, but then he leads me into the bathroom and in front of the mirror.

He looks at me, brows raised. “Ready?”

His art. On me.

I can’t believe I’ve gone all morning without thinking about it. Remembering it. I’m suddenly nervous, clammy. Damn, I’ve been wanting to see the design Rush inked into me so badly, but now…I don’t know. I’m scared of what it is and what it means. Or worse, doesn’t mean. Maybe it’s some thickly-lined tribal marking or a Hawaiian pin-up girl.

I’m wearing one of Rush’s shirts, black and button down, and hits mid-thigh. And as I stand there in the middle of his gorgeous white and gray bathroom, I work buttons off with trembling hands for the second time in twenty-four hours.

After I’m done, I let him draw it off me. Wearing only a pair of his boxers, my nerves battering me, I look away from his hot, hungry eyes and glance over my shoulder. The moment my eyes connect with the stunning blast of color and form between my shoulder blades, I gasp, then cover my mouth with my hand. Eyes wide, I move around, seeing the piece from all different angles.

I turn to face him, slightly stunned by his choice. “It’s a compass.”

He nods, his leaf-green eyes a little wary.

I chew my lower lip. My heart is so close to the edge I’m almost afraid to ask. But I have to. Especially now, with all that’s happened between us. “To find my way back home?”

His eyes close and he inhales deep. When he opens them again, he looks calmer, more in control—more like Rush. He shrugs. “You said you were lost, Ads. This’ll help you find your way.”

Not to me. Not find your way back to me.

Pain sears my insides, grief too, but I’m not going to let him know it. Nothing was promised here. It was only forgiven, and isn’t that why I came? Isn’t that what I really want?

The lie in that forced belief protects me, keeps me from bursting into tears, flinging myself into his arms and begging to stay. Or shit, begging him to ask me to stay. Because in truth, what I really want is him.

My eyes lift to his, but they don’t stay long. “I should get dressed. Get back to the hotel. To my friend.”

To reality.

I take the long way to her hotel. I know it’s a completely fucked up way of keeping her close to me for as long as possible, but I don’t give a shit. Everything inside of me is raging at the idea of letting her go. And the outside’s not far behind. My skin is hardcore addicted to her. Like even now, with her arms wrapped around my waist, it’s just not fucking tight enough.

Jesus.

As we hit the Strip, I take my turns easy instead of how I like them, fast and as close to upside down as possible without getting my skin peeled off by the asphalt. Because we’re close. Too close. I don’t know what we’re doing here, what I’m doing, but I don’t want to push her. If I push her and she fucking kicks me to the curb again, I’m done for. As in, major therapy and lots of colorful pills.

When we pull into the hotel’s driveway, I don’t stop in front of the sliding glass doors. Those bozos who check bags and shuttle tourists around aren’t going to witness our farewells. Shit, I don’t want anyone to see it, especially me. Instead I park down a ways, in the shadows of the building.

I step off the bike, then help her. I think my hands are shaking, which they’ve never done—ever. But this girl, she just fucking tears me up. I watch as she pulls off my helmet and holds it out to me. Her long hair is mussed, her cheeks are pale, and those eyes—fuck me—those mismatched eyes that belong to me, well, at least the one, bore into mine. And this time, I let her. I let her look. I let her take a good, long gander inside my ribs to my newly repaired and fully-functioning heart.

What do you see, Ads? I want to ask her. Grab her by the shoulders and force her to tell me. Tell me she wants nothing else but me. But shit, that’s not fair. Twenty-four hours can’t demolish a whole life. She has friends and school. Shit, she’s graduating in a few weeks.

“Addison…”

Her eyes prick with tears and she shakes her head. Really fast, really manic. Her hands are balled into fists and she looks like she’s about to lose it. And frankly I’m not far behind.

“Call me?” she rasps out.

“Sure,” I return, my gut rolling, eating itself alive because I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I can hear her voice and not go insane. Wouldn’t it better to block her ass out, leave it here on the stained Vegas concrete and go back to real life?

She starts to walk away, but I grab her wrist and haul her back against me. She melts into me like chocolate, and I breathe in the scent of her hair. For several moments, we cling together like scared monkeys, then I release her. Our eyes connect one last time before I turn away and straddle my bike. I don’t look up as I drop my brain bucket on my head and kick start the engine. Don’t look back as I haul ass away from the curb.

“You sure about this?”

Lisa’s sitting in the passenger side of my car with the door open, grilling me for the millionth time. She’s super wary now. Of Rush, of anyone who works in that Den of Sin, as she calls it. She refuses to give me exact details of what went down when she went there last night, but I get the feeling it’s not what I thought it was. Not Vincent hitting on her hard. She did say he was a giant asshole, and had insulted her. But the thing that concerned me most was the look on her face when she said it. Like she was questioning herself, unsure of herself. And that so isn’t Lisa.

“I’m positive,” I tell her. “See you in a few days?”

She nods and gets out of the car, tosses her bag over her shoulder. I bought her a plane ticket home, back to L.A. because I’m going to need my car.

She shuts the door, but sticks her head through the open window. “Call me tonight.”

“I will. Promise.”

“Even if you’re happily being held against your will.”

“Swears.” I grin.

“You’re not missing graduation.”

“Oh, come on,” I say, all serious now. “Never. I’ll be there. You and me, side by side in our ugly gold gowns.”

She snorts. “Seriously, why did they have to choose that color?”

“Right?” I say, laughing.

She looks at me and shrugs reluctantly. “Tell Rush I said hi, okay? Then tell Vincent I said he’s an asshole, and doesn’t know anything about anything.”

I drop my chin and say pointedly, “You’re going to tell me what was said there at some point, right?”

She smiles softly and readjusts her bag. “Love you, Addy.”

“Bye, Beeyotch,” I say affectionately.

“Bye, Whore,” she returns, then blows me a kiss before she heads into the terminal.

The second she’s gone, my heart starts pounding away, bass drum-style. I pull away from the curb, and set my course for the coming sunset and the Red Rocks. I don’t know what I’m walking into. I don’t know what he’ll say or do, but I just don’t care at this point. I love the guy. Like to the moon and beyond kind of love, and I’m going to tell him so. I’m going to tell him that we belong together. Good, bad, amazing, scary, shit to work out—we’re destined.