by Piper Rayne
He stares at me in confusion. “Why are you crying?”
I sit up and rest my back on the headboard, shrugging because I have no idea why I’m crying.
Sitting next to me, he pulls me into him. “This is a good thing. A happy moment. You should be on cloud nine.”
My tears run down his chest while my fingers follow an intricate tattoo on his thigh. Maybe it’s because Dylan and I were friends before we got together, or maybe because Dylan is kind of a private person, but we rarely ever talk about our feelings other than toward one another. I’m not sure how he’ll take me opening my heart and laying all my problems out in front of him. This might not be what he signed up for.
“Talk to me,” he says.
I sigh. “I’m happy. But I’m upset too. I did it as a big FU to my parents, but I never thought I’d feel this good about doing it.”
“Then why the crying?”
I sit up on my knees and face him. “When my parents find out, they’re going to be so happy. Like I made their world.”
“They are your parents,” he says, but he doesn’t understand.
“All I’ve ever done is disappoint them. No matter all the great things I’ve accomplished, it’s never been enough. I think I’m upset because I did this to prove to them I could do it, but all that will happen now is they’ll demand more. When will it stop? When will it ever be enough just to be their daughter?”
He takes my hands. “I know you did this for them, but be happy for yourself. And do what you want with that twenty-five grand. I’m not joking that I think you should open a bakery. But do what you want to do. Your parents will always be your parents. I don’t have a lot of experiences with parents, but at some point, you have to stop looking for their praise.”
“I’m not looking for their praise,” I say, sitting down and loosening my hands to lay limp in my lap.
“Truth is, you kind of are. You might’ve done it with a middle finger, but you did it to prove to them you’re smart.”
I narrow my eyes. So much for him understanding. “That’s not true.”
My phone rings with my parents’ ringtone.
He brings his knees up to his chest. “They’re going to find out, and you’re right, they’re going to expect more from you. The question is how important is it to you?” His phone goes off on the nightstand and he slides out of bed. Staring at the name, he silences it. “I don’t say it to be mean, but you chase their approval. Except for me, I imagine. They probably don’t know we’re dating, right?”
I sit on the bed, crossing my legs. That balloon I was floating on pops.
He leans over and kisses my cheek. “I’m going to take a shower. Call them and get it over with.”
As the door shuts with his departure, I stare at my hands. Is Dylan right? Maybe he is. I slide off the bed, grab my phone, and dial my parents.
They both answer.
“Was it you? We heard that Johann didn’t solve it, but someone did.” My mom acts as if she’s been waiting to find out if a loved one came of surgery okay. This isn’t life or death.
I say, “I’d like to set up a dinner. Us and my new boyfriend.”
“Sweetheart, did you not hear your mother?” my dad asks.
“Did you not hear me?” I snip.
“Fine. We’ll do a dinner, but answer the question,” my mom says.
“My boyfriend is Dylan. We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks.”
“Well, we’ve met Dylan, sweetheart,” my dad says. “And I hoped you were dating him since you were kissing him.”
“He’s in a different role in my life now. I want you to have dinner with him as my boyfriend.”
“This is ridiculous. Answer the question, Rian. Did you solve the problem?” My mom’s last ounce of patience runs out.
Part of me wants to tell them no, that it wasn’t me, but they won’t stop until they find out. Then I’d have a whole other host of problems. “I did.”
“You did?” my mom’s shocked voice says she didn’t have a lot of faith in me.
“Yes.”
“Oh, my God. Okay. Okay.” My mom can’t get a hold of her breath.
“You okay there, honey?” my dad asks. “Are you hyperventilating?”
“I’m good. We’ll call you back. I have to call the Fredericksons. Plan the dinner or whatever you want.”
“Way to go, sweetheart,” my dad says right before the line dies.
I turn off my phone and sit on the edge of the bed.
Dylan is right. I’m allowing them to treat me like this, and I’m the one who needs to make it stop.
Dylan’s acting weird. He left to go to work with only a small peck on my lips. Usually I have to push him out the door. As I enter Ink Envy with a dinner for everyone, I’m not sure what I’ll be walking into. But I didn’t plan on finding Dylan on a table with Lyle holding a tattoo machine to his calf. An array of girls are circled around, asking Dylan a million questions.
“Hey, babe,” Frankie says, looking up as she tattoos some guy.
“Forget Phillips. I’m starving,” Jax says from behind the table in the front.
I set the boxes of pizza on the counter. Dylan doesn’t even notice that I walked in. A redhead on his right paws at his arm, asking questions about his tattoos. He still hasn’t seen me, and it probably says something about my trust level that I prefer it that way.
“What are we doing?” Jax leans forward, putting his chin in his palm and staring at the scene.
“Just observing,” I say.
Dylan moves his arm so her finger falls off, and he explains nicely about the tattoo.
“Observing if he’s flirting?” Jax asks.
I look at him and his eyebrows are raised. I wave Jax off and he chuckles, sitting back down.
“Asking for trouble,” he says, picking up the journal thing I’ve seen him carrying around lately.
The redhead blocks my view again as Dylan lifts his T-shirt to show some tattoo that they’re talking about. Her hand reaches out to touch him, but he drops the T-shirt and says something to her that makes her face red. She goes to stand next to her friends.
“And you thought you couldn’t trust the guy,” Jax says, shaking his head. His feet fall with a thud on the floor. “Lack of trust is the number one killer of a relationship.”
“Shut up. I was just…”
He raises those damn eyebrows at me again.
I sigh. “So sue me.”
“Hey, Phillips,” Jax calls, and Dylan peeks up. “Your girl is here.”
“Come here. I’m letting Lyle tattoo me.” Dylan waves me over. When I get to the table, he cradles my cheek, kissing me so deep that my knees actually weaken. “I missed you. These are Lyle’s fans,” Dylan says, winking at me.
I nod. Yeah, right.
After Lyle finishes the small tattoo, the girls—who found out Dylan is off the market—are chatting in the waiting area. He gets up off the table and stands in front of me.
“Can we talk?” I ask.
Dylan tilts his head, but we both know things weren’t comfortable this morning. I can’t help but think it has to do with my parents. One thing I know about Dylan is that the future scares him. Like when he thought I was ready to walk down the aisle and pop out a bunch of babies. Or when I flippantly made a comment about going on a vacation together next year when a commercial came on. Other than a joke about a nude beach, I got nothing.
“Sure.” Dylan grabs one pizza box and nods toward his office.
“Thanks, Rian!” Frankie smiles. “And no little people in there to stop you from doing whatever you want to do.”
I laugh.
Once we’re behind closed doors, Dylan drops the pizza on his desk and sits, patting his lap. “What’s up?”
I sit down and put my arms around his neck. “We’re okay?”
“Yeah.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “We’re great. Why?”
“Just this morning. When I said you were w
rong about my parents… it felt weird after.”
He runs a hand up and down my outer thigh. “I shouldn’t have given you advice. What do I know about parents?”
“You were right. When I called them and told them about us dating and how I wanted to plan a dinner, all my mom cared about was whether I won. As soon as I told her I had, she hung up to call Johann’s parents.”
He frowns. “I’m sorry. But I still think you should celebrate for yourself.”
I nod.
“Hey.” He squeezes my thigh. “I’m taking you out tomorrow. A fancy restaurant where we toast to your accomplishment.”
“We don’t have to.” I look away.
He puts his finger under my chin, bringing my gaze back to him. “Yes, we do.”
I smile and rest my head on his shoulder. “Thanks.”
“You’re my girl. This is boyfriend duties, right?”
I chuckle and kiss the hollow of his neck. I guess it doesn’t matter how many small things come up as long as we get through them. That’s what makes a strong couple.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Dylan
The day has finally come. Rian and I sit in the doctor’s office, waiting for him to come in and take off this damn cast.
Rian sits in a chair against the wall. “I want you to prepare yourself, because once I have use of both arms, all bets are off. You will be thoroughly fucked tonight.”
She giggles and crosses her legs. “You’ll hear no complaints from me.”
“You might once you see what I can do with two hands.” I wink, and she blushes.
Our relationship is going strong. I still can’t get enough of her. She received her prize money and her name will be published in that scholar journal, which I know will be a big moment for her. We celebrated her success without talking about what she would do next. She’s denied her parents’ calls and emails and even told Jax to tell them she wasn’t home when they stopped by. I’m trying to stay out of it because I don’t know shit about parent issues.
Rian’s voice draws me from my thoughts. “I say we ditch the celebratory lunch and head right home then.”
“Cool. You are my favorite food,” I say as the doctor knocks and then pushes the door open.
Rian purses her lips, and I chuckle. The doctor’s cool enough to say a quick hello then wash his hands, pretending he didn’t overhear me. The man understands what I’m talking about.
“Okay, let’s get this cast off. I will warn you—your arm is going to smell pretty bad. We’ll wipe it down before you leave. And you’ve probably lost some muscle strength that you’ll need to build back up.” He sits on his chair and wheels it toward me.
The nurse comes in moments later, smiling and putting on a pair of gloves.
Rian stands and comes to my side. Usually this is the type of situation where I’d be alone. Maybe Seth would’ve tagged along, but it’s nice to have someone who cares for me. Not that Seth doesn’t care, but he’d laugh his ass off if they sawed into my arm. It’s a different kind of caring.
She grabs my right hand, running her free hand up and down my arm. “What do you think your tattoos look like under there?”
Fuck. How did I not think of that? “Let’s hope not wrinkly as shit.”
The doctor looks up over the rim of his glasses. “You’ll gain the strength back right away. We’ll give you some exercises to do at home.”
I look at Rian and she shakes her head. Amazing how she can read my mind. But she’s right—I plan on getting muscle strength back during my workouts with her. Squeezing tits, squeezing ass, finger fucking—it’s all on the agenda.
As soon as the cast comes off, I gag, staring at my arm. Where is my awesome forearm with corded muscles and unbelievable ink? This scrawny, pale limb does not belong to me.
“Uh.” Rian chokes on the bile that is probably running up her throat when the smell hits her. “That’s horrible.” But she never lets go of my hand.
“You want to wait outside?” the nurse asks.
I release her fingers because damn, that’s worse than when Seth left milk in the fridge for four months.
“No.” She swallows and tries to smile but fails miserably. “I’m good.” She kisses my cheek then coughs in my ear.
“Man, she’s a keeper, huh?” the nurse says, grabbing wipes and running them down my arm.
The doctor holds up the cast. “Do you want to keep it?”
“Hell no.”
He laughs and puts it on the counter. “You’ll need to head down to the X-ray department so we can have one last look, but I don’t expect any issues. It was a clean break. Once you’re done there, come back here and let the receptionist know you’re here. If there’s an issue, we’ll call you back into the room. Otherwise, she’ll let you know you’re free to go.”
“These are the instructions,” the nurse says, passing Rian a piece of paper. “Like the doctor said, he’ll gain strength back quickly. He’s young. But in case any of these things occur, he should come back in.”
I look at Rian and the nurse. “I am still here, right?”
The nurse laughs. “I’ve found it better to give the girlfriend the directions.”
I shake my head and snatch the instructions out of Rian’s hand. But Rian asks a few questions I didn’t really think about. Like signs of anything bad and how much pressure I can put on the limb now and of course she’s my girl because she asks about sexual activity and what precautions to take. She does it all without one hint of pink in her cheeks.
After I’m done, we all file out. I can’t stop flexing my hand open and shut, trying to work some of the stiffness out.
“See you after the X-ray,” the receptionist says.
We smile and wave, and it’s clear as we walk through the waiting room to the elevators, we’re a we now. A couple. It should terrify me. I’ve never liked the idea and responsibility of being a we.
But as Rian reads over the instructions in the elevator, I stare at her. That sliver of tongue rests between her lips when she’s reading, and I realize that I kind of like being a we.
Who would have thought? Sure as hell not me.
A couple of weeks later, Rian walks into Ink Envy on a Monday evening. I asked her here under the ruse of helping me with my paperwork, saying I needed her math expertise. But first, I made sure to work the entire weekend—my girlfriend wasn’t going to be my first tattoo after my arm finally felt better. I took the full two weeks before I felt confident enough to mark someone’s skin.
“What’s all this?” she asks staring at the row of candles on either side of the aisle leading to my station.
“Lock the door behind you,” I say.
She turns and flicks the lock. I’ve already shut the blinds so no one can see what’s about to transpire.
“I thought we were doing your paperwork?”
“Well, if you’d rather.”
She shakes her head. “I look horrible. You should’ve warned me.”
She pulls her ponytail out of her hair and shakes out the strands. But I wanted her in comfortable clothes, so I’m glad she’s wearing her yoga pants and T-shirt with a sweatshirt over.
“Warned you about what?” I slide my chair over to her and my hands land on her hips, my lips pressing to her stomach.
“This romantic evening you have planned.”
I rest my chin on her stomach and look up at her.
Her fingers weave through my hair. “What did you plan?”
I pat my table. “Sit down.”
She smiles and slides up. It’s not her first time on my table. Last Saturday night after we closed, she was on the table, and let’s just say I had to heavily sanitize it afterward.
“This is not a repeat of last Saturday,” I say, and she pouts. I pull out my sketchbook, shielding it from her eyes. “Are you serious about wanting a tattoo?”
Her eyes light up and she stares at the sketchbook, wiggling her ass on the table. “Is that it? My drawing?”
>
I nod and she squeals, both hands reaching out.
“Gimme,” she says like a child. I hand her the sketchbook and her jaw falls open. “But?”
Standing, I cradle her neck with my hand. “I drew this for you. I didn’t have the guts to tell you that day, but this is for you. It’s always been for you. It’s a peony, and it represents wealth and happiness. But it also means beauty and fragility. According to the Japanese, peonies symbolize risk taking. That you don’t get big rewards without big risks. So it’s you, but it’s also a little reminder to spread your wings and take the leap of faith sometimes.”
Her eyes glisten with moisture. “I love it,” she whispers.
“It’s everything I see in you. Everything that makes me more addicted to you every day. But I want you to remember forever to stand out there on your own, out of the shadows, so everyone can see how beautiful, resilient, and strong you are.”
Her hand covers mine and I dip my head for a kiss. But I end the kiss because if I don’t, we’ll never get to the tattooing.
“Do you trust me to put it where I want?” I murmur against her lips.
“I trust you fully.” A tear slips from her eye and I wipe it away with my thumb.
How did we get here? How did my life change in a matter of months? She’s ingrained herself into my life and my being. There’s more transforming between us. I feel it, but I can’t describe it.
“Take off your shirt and sweatshirt,” I say.
She grabs the hem of both at the same time and tosses them over her head.
I reach across her chest and unhook her bra, kissing her one more time. “Lie on your left side.”
She follows my directions and I pull out the transparency I already did because I knew she loved the peony when she saw it weeks ago. I just had to find the balls to tell her I was drawing it for her before we were anything.
“I’m going to try to make this as painless as I can, but it’s your ribs, so just tell me if you need a break.”
She nods. I hook up my phone to the shop speakers through Bluetooth and hit Play on a playlist I put together. It’s sappy and romantic, but I’ve never been good with expressing my emotions with words, so I picked others to say them for me. “Bad Things” by Machine Gun Kelly comes through the speakers.
