“Like pulling your proverbial pigtails to get your attention rude or saying mean shit?” Cade’s brows narrow because he’s more than ready and willing to knock some teeth out if he has to.
“I guess proverbial pigtails.” I shrug, trying to classify Owen’s bizarre behavior. It’s like he keeps trying to rescue me, and yet there isn’t anything remotely that I need rescuing from. He’s just being an ass. Too bad he’s one ass I can’t seem to get out of my mind. And as much as I’m ashamed to admit it, Cassidy is right. That idiot has somehow managed to infiltrate my dreams. Look out, Freddy. There’s a new nightmare in town.
Cade wraps an arm around my shoulders and pauses at the steps of Union Hall. “That means he’s really into you. Go easy on him when you let him down.”
“What makes you so sure I’m going to let him down?” I give my brother a sly look because I can instinctually feel what he’s going to say right down to my creaky bones.
“Because if you don’t, I’ll have to hunt him down and kill him.” He takes a few steps backward. “Feel free to introduce me anytime. I’m up for a quick meet and greet.” He socks his hand into his palm over and over, and I laugh all the way to class. It warms my black little heart that Cade is so willing to injure anyone who even tries to hurt me.
Wish he were there for me last year. But he didn’t know the whole story, the real one.
I didn’t breathe a word.
Nor will I ever.
* * *
“My classes are freaking great!” I slurp down the rest of my iced latte as Scarlett and Cassidy scowl. They’ve both landed tough professors with a workload that’s going to have them in the library more than it will a sorority mixer.
Daisy offers up a high five, and I accept. “Here’s to a breezy fall semester, and the cute TA in my biology lab.”
“Hear, hear!” I may not have a cute TA, but I definitely don’t have five hundred papers due by December.
“I can’t believe this is my life,” Cassidy bleats, sounding a lot more East Coast than Southern Belle at the moment. Turns out, depression is the key to defusing her accent. Go figure.
Scarlett checks her phone for the zillionth time. “If my mother calls with one more dating crisis, I just might drop everything including my classes and go help her manage her love life. God knows with my schedule I won’t have one.”
“No way.” I take another quick swig of the delicious mocha lusciousness. This is my first cup of coffee from the Hallowed Grounds café, and I’m betting it won’t be my last. “You need a good education to get you where you want to be in life.”
“Not everyone needs it.” She stabs her straw into her drink again and again.
“Yes, but you’re already here, and you were more than willing to do this yesterday. What’s changed?”
“The fact my French class is going to eat six hours of my day. Not to mention I suck at writing papers, and I have to come up with twenty brilliant manifestos that I couldn’t pen if all the shoes at Neiman Marcus were at stake.”
“Drop French, and I’ll help you out with a few papers. It’s no sweat. I’m pretty good at it, actually.” Who knew the hard driving teachers at the esteemed Bentley Academy of the Eastern Seaboard would actually have prepared me for this juncture in my life? I have half a mind to text my mother and thank her for the eighteen-year lockdown.
“Drop French?” Scarlett looks affronted as if I just asked her to flash her boobs to the mob of frat boys that just sauntered in, and, no, not one of them is Winston, thankfully.
“Yes, take it in the spring. This isn’t a sprint. It’s a four-year marathon. You’ll get there. This is the first day of the rest of your life. I think you’re just overloaded right now. Your schedule sounds impossible. I don’t blame you for wanting to cry in your coffee.”
“I’m not crying in my coffee.” She makes a face. Scarlett has those bee-stung lips that girls are throwing fistfuls of dollars at aestheticians armed with big needles to achieve. “Okay, I may have been tempted for a moment.” She laughs. “Fine, I’ll drop French! This is crazy. It feels as if a serious weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Plus, now I’ll have more time to devote to archery. It’s the only thing that keeps me grounded.”
“Cool.” I shrug. “I knew you were a badass.”
Both Cassidy and Daisy offer up a round of high fives.
“Hey, I know—” Cassidy blinks those baby blues at us. “Why don’t we all go out and do something wild to commemorate this first day of the rest of our lives?”
“Like?” I’m not so sure I like that gleam in Cassidy’s eyes. I’ve long suspected she has a wild streak in her.
She leans in hard. Her eyes widen the size of golf balls. “Like get ourselves some tatties!”
“Titties?” I wince. Good God, maybe I don’t want to understand her.
“Tats!” she squawks. “Tattoos!”
“I’m in.” Scarlett doesn’t hesitate. For as feminine and gorgeous as she is, she’s right there shooting arrows and willing to get tatted up with the best of them.
“I can’t. I don’t have any tattoos,” I’m quick to offer up the totally lame excuse. Hell, I don’t even know anyone with tattoos, with the exception of Owen, and I refuse to count him as any one of my acquaintances.
“I don’t either.” Daisy physically squirms at the idea. “Plus, I’m scared to death of blood and needles.”
“There won’t be any blood.” Cassidy jumps to her feet and flips up the back of her shirt, revealing the words fly away home scrolled in neat penmanship running down her spine.
“Pretty,” I muse. “What’s it mean?” I know for a fact every tattoo should have a meaning. At least, I think that’s what they say. The Bentley Academy wasn’t exactly rife with ink, at least not the flesh-inscribed variety.
“Just something my daddy used to tell me.” She bites down on her lip, and that lightning jag of a scar ignites in silver. “Anyway, if it’s on your back, you won’t see the needle. Are you in?” She purses her lips, doing her best impression of an adorably irresistible puppy in the process.
“I’m in,” Daisy reluctantly agrees.
“I don’t have any tattoos,” Scarlett assures me. “But I’m dying to do something wild to kick off this season of my life. I’m just going to get something small, nothing showy. Come on, Piper. If you can talk me into dropping French, I can talk you into a tiny tattoo on a part of your body hardly anyone will notice. You up for getting a little wild?”
“Oh, crap.” I roll my eyes as a smile floats to my face. “I’m in!” I land my palm flat over the table, and they pile their hands on top.
“Let’s get wild, girls!” Cassidy lets out a yelp, and we howl in concert.
“Wow!” A foreign voice comes from behind, and I turn to find Marley standing there with Annie. Annie is a total doll. She’s spent a majority of her life completely deaf, until recently when she underwent surgery of some sort, and now you would never know that she couldn’t hear a whisper let alone a scream. “Looks like college life agrees with you.” Marley gives a tiny wave to the girls, so I do a quick round of introductions.
“You two need a table?” I stand, as do the rest of my newly minted wild girls.
“Please don’t leave on our account!” Annie looks horrified that she’s ejected us from our seats.
“We have a study group we need to get to,” I say it so fast that I don’t have time to process the lie, and the thought of spilling a non-truth makes me gasp. I abhor lying. I want to slap myself silly for the malfeasance, but, since it slipped out without my permission, I’m willing to let it slide just this once.
“Wyatt wants us all to get together, maybe this weekend, next weekend?” Marley shouts as we’re halfway out the door.
“You bet!” Dear God, I hope that wasn’t another lie. I’ve always prided myself on the fact I’m stealth not to let even the little infraction slip from my lips. Besides, I love getting together with my brothers, and for sure I conside
r Blake a brother, too, so I know this will be fun.
“Oh, hon, a weekend with family?” Cassidy wraps her arm through mine as we head toward the parking lot. “Have you seen that roster of events that Alpha Chi sent out this morning?”
It’s true. They’ve claimed every waking hour that we’re not in school as their own. I’ll barely have time to squeeze in the things that I need to do, like my internship.
“I don’t know how any of those girls hold down a job.” Scarlett unlocks her Jeep, and we all pile inside.
“Please,” Daisy moans. “Those rich bitches? Excuse my French.” Her eyes flit to Scarlett a moment. “They don’t have to work.” She gives her hair a disgruntled fluff in the mirror. “They’re all flying through life on Daddy’s money.” She glosses her lips. “Where’s my sugar daddy? That’s what the hell I want to know.”
“You said it, sister.” Cassidy and Daisy high-five. They both happen to be at Briggs on scholarship. It’s funny how at Bentley I never really hung out with the girls who were there on scholarship. Mostly, I attributed it to the fact they were so cliquey amongst themselves, but mainly it was because the idiots I hung out with would never have dreamed to invite them over to our table. I sink in my seat a little at the thought of shutting out anyone as nice as Cassidy or Daisy simply because they didn’t come from money—i.e., their fathers weren’t crooks who robbed other people blind in the name of finance. Most of the kids at Bentley were conceived at the altar of Wall Street.
I think about this all the way to the tattoo parlor, and like a feral ghost, Owen keeps weaving himself in my mind as if he belonged there, as if he were stalking that most sacred part of me.
Maybe he’s not the moron.
Maybe it’s me.
* * *
Think Ink is definitely on the wrong side of Jepson, with its bordered-up neighbors and throngs of derelicts freely urinating along the front of the establishment.
Scarlett pinches her nose as she leads the way inside, and surprisingly, for what looks like an opium den from the outside is quite bright and cheery—dare I say, a touch on the sanitary side on the inside.
A scrawny looking girl with brilliantly colorful tattoo sleeves waves a clipboard at us. One of her tattoos, an owl depicted over the entire length of her forearm, mesmerizes me with its big spooky eyes.
I smack Cassidy on the arm and whisper, “I don’t think I could commit to a creature with freaky eyes gazing at me all day long.” I glance around at the ornate artwork all over the walls. “Heck, I don’t think I can commit to any of this. If I want to see art, I’ll go to a museum. What the hell do I need it engraved in my flesh for? Besides, there’s no way I’ll be able to decide on any one thing. I’m the queen of indecision and regret. And if I do get something carved in my flesh—have I mentioned my affinity for regret?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Sign in if you’re here to get inked,” the girl calls out. “Pick out your tat, and fill out the paperwork.” She hands a clipboard full of waivers to each of us, and we quickly check and sign our way through it. I get up and take in the miles and miles of designs sprawled over the walls. A few fat photo albums lie split open in the middle, filled to the brim with yet more pictures to add to the mental chaos.
“Okay—you’re rubbing off on me, James. I’ll never decide what to get.” Daisy hems and haws as she takes in the designs beside me.
We look for what feels like hours. A book marked Hidden Treasures arouses our interests, and we open it up fearlessly, not expecting the onslaught of male and female genitalia to be shamelessly staring back at us. It’s all here—nipples, cocks, and that tender spot I can’t bear to look at on myself, let alone others, all decked out with floral designs surrounding it, piercings, and a few things I don’t even know how to classify. We close the treasure trove of dirty little secrets and continue undaunted on our quest for clip art that will most likely outlast most of our marriages. That’s not me being cynical—those are just raw statistics.
Then, in a rare fleeting moment, my indecisiveness up and disappears once I spot something so elegant and tiny I suddenly must have this very design imprinted forever somewhere on my body.
“I want this one.” It’s a simple design—a heart split in two, with one half purple and the other half pink. It’s small, no bigger than a thumbprint, so it shouldn’t give my mother too big of a heart attack should she see it. Speaking of which, she’s called me twice today wondering how classes have gone, so I pull out my phone and shoot her a quick generic text in the event she morphs into stalker mode and tracks me down while I’m getting myself “inked” of all things. It’s kind of nice, though. My mother doesn’t reach out often, but when she does, I really appreciate it.
College won’t change me! I chimed as she was pulling away from the airport. I’ll always be your sweet little girl! But I knew even then that was already stretching the truth to the max. I brush the past out of my head with a simple toss of my hair.
“I’m getting this one.” Cassidy points to a raving mad clown with knives in place of teeth.
“Nobody that I have to live with for the next solid year is going to have that stamped onto their body.”
The three of them break out in a spasm of laughter.
Scarlett bumps me with her shoulder. “Are you always this intense?”
“I am when I’m about to be impaled with a needle.”
“Now that you put it that way…” Daisy holds her stomach as if she might be sick.
Scarlett picks out a raven and decides to have it put on the back of her neck. The three of us file into a tiny room while some beefy, hot guy named Jet effortlessly drills it into her skin. Jet is covered with a bevy of interesting tattoos, so much so that he’s practically a walking billboard for the place. But his tats only make me think of Owen. He has dark hair like Owen, too, and eyes that glow just like— I cringe at the thought of that idiot weaseling into my every thought. He’s like one of those brain-eating amoebas, that once they bore into your gray matter you’re pretty much screwed.
Scarlett lets out a few moans and whimpers, but, for the most part, she pulls through with a smile.
Jet puts a giant white strip of gauze over his work of art and lays his hand over her gingerly.
“Don’t wash it for a good week or two.”
“What?” She squeals for the first time in twenty minutes. “I’m a germaphobe. I live in the shower. I’m practically amphibious!” That man had a needle plunged into her for twenty minutes straight, and over this she has a freak out? Now I know that if you really want to mess with Scarlett’s world, you simply take away her bar of soap.
“Relax.” He gives her knee a quick tap. “I’m kidding. Go easy on it. You did great, by the way.” He spins around on his doctor’s chair and takes the three of us in with his cellophane green eyes. “Who’s next?”
“Piper?” Scarlett nudges me.
Jet does a double take as if he knows me.
“Excuse me just a second.” He hops up. “I have to make a quick phone call.” He ditches out the door for less than ten seconds while Cassidy and I engage in a quick game of rock-paper-scissors. Rock smashes scissors, so Cassidy is up at bat.
“You girls figure it out?” He gloves up once again.
“Oh, hon,”—Cassidy fans herself, playing the part of a country fried damsel in distress to a T—“I’m next, but you’re going to have to go extra gentle on me.” She bites down on her lip flirtatiously. “I’ve got a little thing about pain.”
He winces. “Sweetheart, this isn’t for the faint at heart. You sure you want to do this?”
“You didn’t let me finish.” She does that thing where the words break apart in the most seductive way possible. “I do have a little thing about pain”—she melts into the makeshift bed that Scarlett just abandoned—“I happen to like it a lot.” She raises her shirt and points to the spot just above her navel. “Make it hurt, baby.” She gives a disarming wink. Honest to G
od, Cassidy is the only person in the world who can get away with that facial infraction.
Jet inks her up, turning her entire bellybutton into a spinning crimson rose. It’s beautiful. I was actually back to questioning her sanity when she chose that floral motif, but the way her belly opens to the dark cave of the rose, it looks magical, soothing even. God Almighty, help me if I spend the next two semesters navel gazing, literally, at the belly of my roommate.
“All right, ladies.” Jet cleans and sanitizes until he’s ready for another victim. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Who’s up next in the hot seat?”
Daisy goes pale and begins to dry heave.
“Shee-it!” Cassidy helps her to the door. “I think we need some air. I’ll pony up at the counter and wait with her in the car.”
“Oh, no, you don’t. No puking in my car!” Scarlett calls after them. “I’m going to take you home.”
“Wait! What about me? I need my tat!” Suddenly, I’m an advocate for purple-pink hearts everywhere.
“We can come back tomorrow?” Scarlett shrugs at the idea.
As much as I thought I really didn’t want it, I sort of kind of do. What’s a first day of college without a little wild side peeking through? Especially in the form of an indelible ink stain.
“A part of the thrill is looking back on this one day when I’m stuck in a nursing home and saying, ‘See this, sonny? I did that there thing on the very first day of the rest of my life.’” I sound like a drunken toddler as I try to plead my case.
Scarlett frowns at my lackluster performance. “I’ll be back.” She looks to Jet. “And she’s the sane one of the bunch.”
He raises his brows, and I try not to piss him off by making a smart-ass remark. The bell at the front of the shop chimes, and I’m truly alone with this madman and his den full of needles. Needles! Gah! What the hell am I thinking? Since when have I ever thought it was a good idea to become a human coloring book? And by way of freaking needles! Shit! Clearly, I am not the sane one of the freaking bunch. Teaches me to follow Cassidy like some lemming off the blank-canvased cliff. She probably just wanted to drag the rest of us in on what she’s already deemed a regrettable error in her life.
Wild Kisses (3:AM Kisses #7) Page 6
