by Piper Lawson
“Tuesday.”
“And Drew?”
I stiffen. “Drew’s OK.”
“You should see him more.”
“That’s not fair. I would, if things were different. You know I would.”
Tor shoots me a look.
A group of people come in and we fall into a rhythm serving drinks. It’s one we’ve done before. I begged Tor to let me bartend when I was younger, but he only let me work in the back or the kitchen until I turned twenty-one.
“You seem calmer than usual,” Tor says when the last of the group has gotten their beers. “Have anything to do with the company you’re keeping?”
I shrug as I wipe glasses. I’d told him about my deal with Varis.
And Ariel’s something, that’s for sure. She sits there watching her dead mother smile at the world, drinking a beer and talking about cute meetings. She’s like a fucking unicorn, that girl.
My eyes connect with Tor’s and I realize he’s been watching me. There’s an uneasy feeling the old Scot can see in my head and I’m not sure I want him to see there.
“I gotta work, Tor,” I say as I shuffle down the bar to fix drinks. “You don’t pay me to stand around and talk.”
Amos, Tor’s nephew, joins me on bar once the place starts to get busy around eleven.
“That your girl, Owens?”
It’s too early for Ash. She’ll be partying with friends until at least one, then show up after. She knows she won’t get any of my attention until close but sometimes shows up a bit early to dance and drink and try to make me jealous.
“I don’t have a—“ But I follow his gaze.
Before I can say anything Amos responds “alright, bro,” under his breath. Then flashes a big smile at…
Ariel.
Hastings is hovering in the doorway with her shit-for-brains roommate. The one who kicked her out in the middle of the night over some stupid girl crush.
And I really don’t know her name because all I see is Ariel wearing a black tank top and cutoff shorts over mile long legs. I’ve seen them a million fucking times and it shouldn’t affect me.
She waves and walks over. I realize she’s wearing make-up too. Not the piles that some girls wear. Just enough it makes her pink mouth look pinker and her eyes shine like silver.
“She’s twenty, Amos,” I mutter.
“You want me to kick them out?” He shoots me a look, knowing I’m not going to say yes. “What can I get you?” Amos is all charm when he turns to Ariel.
She beams back at him. “How about a really great club soda? With limes or something else exciting? I don’t think he’ll let me have anything harder,” she says, grinning at me.
“I’d let you have something harder,” Amos winks at her and I feel my lip curl. “So you two do know each other,” he adds.
Ariel looks at me in surprise. “Chase! Are you embarrassed of me?”
“He asked if you were my girl.”
“Ohhhh,” she says like that explains everything. Turns back to Amos. “No, I’m Chase’s project.” Ariel makes air quotes with her fingers around project. She seems entertained by her self-imposed label, but it bothers me.
“I’m Amos.” He reaches out a hand good-naturedly.
“Ariel.” She grins as he takes her hand, kisses it.
The other girl – Tess, I remember now – is making eyes at me. To my irritation Ariel introduces us like she’s matchmaking. I shoot a glare but she’s already back talking to Amos.
“Tess, I gotta work. I’ll see you around.”
An hour later Ash shows up in a skintight black dress. She makes a beeline right for me. “Hey soldier.”
I don’t waste my breath to correct her and say I’m not a soldier, a sailor, a tiger or any of the other million things she likes to call me.
“How’s your night?”
I shrug.
She leans over the bar, exposing cleavage that’s proudly displayed with the intention of making men beg. “I’ve been thinking of all the things I want you to do to me, Chase.”
“Uh-huh.”
Amos is slacking big time. He’s moved to the corner to he can chat up Ariel and I’ve been left to fend three-quarters of the bar. Ariel laughs at something he said, tucking a strand of golden hair behind her ear.
He better still be feeding her club soda.
Traffic picks up again, keeping my hands and my brain busy with a steady stream of drinkers until close. Tor helps usher people out of the bar at two-thirty.
“We can drive you home,” I say to Ariel and Tess. Ash’s glaring at me, or them but I ignore it.
“It’s ok,” Amos says jovially. “I’ll drive Ari. We’re practically best friends.”
My brain can’t get over how wrong that is. “Ari’s staying at my place. Why don’t you drop Tess off at—“ I look at her questioningly and she names an address.
The girl who’s not mine puts the nail in the coffin. “It’s OK,” Ariel says brightly. “I’ll go with Amos – I know where the key is – and you can drop Tess off.” She says it like she’s doing me a damned favor.
“Fine,” I bite out. “Why don’t you guys get out of here. There’s not much to finish.” And I don’t want to leave the two of them alone here. Amos is a good guy and I know he wont take advantage, but Ariel’s not the most experienced. Besides, she needs to train tomorrow and staying up any later than this won’t help.
Amos nods. “Alright. See you.”
Ten minutes later, “Babe are you coming?” Ash whines from the bar. It sounds like she and Tess were trying, and failing, to make small talk. Odd since I figured they were pretty similar.
I’m in the kitchen scrubbing every last bit of dirt off the dish in my hand.
Conveniently my spot has a perfect view of the back parking lot.
Amos and Ariel appear out the back door. I forget until it’s too late that Amos has a motorcycle.
Ariel won’t like that. Maybe she’ll have to come with us after all.
But she grabs the second helmet from Amos, beaming, and slides on. He pulls her arms tight around him and takes off out of the parking lot. I can hear her laugh with delight through the open window.
Suddenly I don’t feel relaxed. I feel like I’m going to come out of my fucking skull.
Saturday morning rolls around and I wake up way too late. My head’s pounding like I’m hungover but I haven’t had a drop to drink.
Ash isn’t beside me. I vaguely remember her leaving but I’m in a bad fucking mood.
I pull on a t-shirt and jeans, skip my morning routine altogether. At the top of the stairs I smell something baking.
At the bottom, I see her.
Ariel’s bent over the oven. She’s not dressed to run. Instead she’s wearing a short denim skirt and a white tank, and bare feet. I see the way the fabric stretches over her ass when she bends over. It reminds me of the way she looked last night. Disturbingly alive, and fresh, and fucking ripe.
“It’s late. What are you doing here?” I ask roughly.
Ariel looks up, raising a brow and standing. She crosses her arms across her chest and leans a hip against the counter. “Is that any way to treat someone making you presents?” she teases.
I cross to the oven, peering inside when she tugs the door open. Fuck, it smells good.
“Cake?”
“Not just any cake. It’s chocolate zucchini cake!” Her voice rings with pride and her eyes light up. “It’s practically a vegetable, Chase,” she explains.
“You made that for me.”
“Yup.”
“Huh.”
She’s killing me and she doesn’t even know it. Standing here in my kitchen, making me food she thinks I’ll eat.
“What happened with Ash? She stormed out. Seemed pretty upset.”
“Ash and I are done,” I mutter. She’d come home, all over me, but I had zero interest. Couldn’t even get it up. Ash had hurled some accusations at me, all of which were completely true. That
I wasn’t into her. That I didn’t want to date. Plus one more I wasn’t ready to cop to. “Did she say anything to you?”
“Not really. Just something about you being a bust.”
“Yeah.” I scrub a hand through my hair. “Where’s Amos?”
When we’d gotten home last night Amos’ bike had been parked outside. I’d resisted the urge to run it over. He and Ariel were laughing on the couch when I walked in. Ash had practically dragged me upstairs and I’d gone with her.
She shoots me a look. “Probably at home. He left last night.”
“Good.” My chest loosens but only briefly.
“He’s sweet.”
“He’s not looking to be sweet to you, Ariel.”
She frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you saying he’s a bad guy, or are you just being overprotective?”
I’m getting exasperated. “Amos isn’t a bad guy, it’s just... Fuck.” This girl’s supposed to be untouchable. The last couple days, I’d been able to think of her more like a sister. But she showed up last night in the last place I have to get away from her, then let Amos drive her home. Now here she is, sexy as hell with her hair loose around her shoulders and completely oblivious to the fact that I can’t take my eyes off her. My chest actually aches just looking at her.
Which is why I’m now looking at the floor and trying to get a fucking grip.
“What the hell is that?” I ask, my eyes stopping on her ankle.
“What?” She whirls around, eyes on the linoleum. “Do you have mice in here?”
“There.” I bend over and grab her heel, tugging it up toward her ass. She fights to keep my balance and compromises by leaning on the counter.
“Ow! What the heck, Chase?”
My finger’s tracing a pattern just below her anklebone.
“You have a tattoo,” I say accusingly. The charcoal gray, feathered angel’s wing is shorter than my thumb. Subtle and perfect. Like Ariel.
“Yeah,” she says like I’m a moron. “I have one on the other side too. They don’t show under socks. It’s my running mantra. You know, flutter flutter.”
I drop her heel.
“Any others I should know about?” I’m angry, though I have no right. It feels like this sweet girl I’d been telling myself to stay the hell away from, the one who’d lost her mother and didn’t deserve a fuck-up like me anywhere near her, had been hiding these from me.
“That you should know about? No.” Her eyes spark. “What’s on my body is none of your business. Do you have tattoos?”
“Yeah.”
She tilts her chin up. “Then why are you being such a judgemental jerk?”
Which just makes it worse. “Because I am a jerk. I told you that from the start,” I grunt out.
“But you’re not, Chase.” Ariel stares into me like she can make me how she sees me. “You’re not.”
I know I’m being unreasonable, but I can’t take it anymore. I grab the hem of her shirt and tug it up to the top of her flat abs, searching with my eyes. Then I spin her around and do the same at her back.
“Chase! What the hell are you doing?”
I ignore her. Nothing there. Just perfect damn skin.
My finger skims the top of her skirt, hooking in the top, tugging it down an inch and running it across her back. Lots of girls have tattoos on their lower back, I just hadn’t pegged her for one. And she isn’t, I realize after inspecting her.
I turn her back to face me, expecting her to call me out. To shove me away. Both are more than justified. Because the truth is I’m nearly stripping her without a single word of explanation.
But she doesn’t.
Her gray blue eyes are wide and wild on mine. The rest of her is still.
I haven’t been this close to her since the party, when I leaned in and smelled her. Now she’s all around me again and I can’t get out. I’m struggling, trying to swim but fuck me, I’m drowning.
“You won’t find anything. Not there,” she whispers. I can feel her heart hammering and I know it’s me that made it do that.
I drop my head back so my eyes meet the ceiling. And I groan. “You shouldn’t have told me that, Ariel. Now I’m going to be wondering…Shit.” I look back at her and I wonder if she can see my soul. See the war I’m waging against myself.
I’ve got her wedged against the counter and her hands are braced against it. She’s looking up at me with those big eyes but she’s not afraid anymore.
Maybe she should be.
Her voice is braver when she speaks again. “Chase, you said once that skin’s just skin. Well, ink is just ink. Show me yours and I’ll show you mine,” she challenges softly.
“Done,” I say without thinking. I pull my shirt over my head before either of us can catch up to the bad idea we just created together.
When I drop the tank to the floor, her eyes are on me. Taking in my chest, my shoulders, my abs.
And it’s hot. Like I can feel her touch me with her hands. Her mouth.
She zeroes in on the tattoos. Small, like hers. Black lines over my left pec, each identical to the next, no more than an inch long. Every fifth line crosses diagonally over the four like it’s counting.
“What are they?” Ariel asks. She traces her finger over the lines and I suck in a breath. It seems innocent, I practically asked her to do it. But now her fingers are on my heart and I’m afraid she can feel it stutter.
“They’re wins,” I say roughly. “One for every race.”
“Why?”
“Bragging rights.”
Her eyes cut to me and I know she sees through it. Sees through me.
“Fine,” I concede. “They remind me of the times I ran fast enough.” She looks back to the marks, counting quietly.
“Do you have any—” she moves around to my back and I grab her, keep her in place.
“Don’t.”
She’s quick and today I’m slow, uncoordinated and drunk on her, and she ducks under my arms.
Sees the white lines across my shoulders. Old scars, faded.
I never look at them but know they’re there. Dozens.
“Chase—what are hell are these?” Her voice is low.
I swallow, my gaze falling to the floor for a moment. Old shame. My mind flashes back, I can’t help it, and my muscles tighten on instinct. I force my chin up. “They’re from the times I didn’t run fast enough.”
“I didn’t know it was that bad,” she murmurs.
“It was a long time ago.”
But her finger strokes the marks, and I don’t feel the marks anymore. Just feel her, touching me. My muscles relax, except my gut which tightens at her touch.
Abruptly I turn back toward her, capture her hand. “Hey,” I manage. “I can’t take it. When you touch me like that.”
Her eyes are confused, compassionate. “Does it hurt?”
“No. Well, yeah. But not the way you think.”
“Oh.” She’s waiting, watching me. “Do you want to see mine?”
Do I want to see hers.
Fuck.
I’ve already seen every bit of her that would normally be exposed. Do I want to see more of her?
I nod.
She reaches down and tugs her shirt over her head.
The truth is I’ve imagined her in even less. And I want to look at her everywhere. My eyes soak in her body but it’s her damn face that gets me. The shyness. The vulnerability. The strength.
My heart’s in my throat as her finger hooks under the bottom of her bra on one side and tugs it up, carefully like she’s trying not to reveal more than necessary. And every quarter inch of flesh pushes me that closer to the edge.
Then I see it. The small sun image, just an inch across, under her breast.
“It’s stupid,” she says, and her voice is shy. “But my mom used to sing ‘you are my sunshine’ to me the days before she died. I don’t remember it, but my dad talks about it. I know it’s weird but I wanted to have it on me. So my body woul
d remember it even if I didn’t.” Ariel breathes. “You’re the first person to see it. Even Larissa doesn’t know I have it.”
She drops her bra back in place. We’re standing inches apart and I can’t stay out here, floating like an island when Ariel’s closer than she’s ever been.
I settle my hands on her hips, my thumbs just brushing the skin above the waistband of her skirt.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” she says quietly. “Not knowing someone at all or wishing you didn’t.”
She thinking of my scars again, I can tell.
“Me either,” I say honestly.
Even as my eyes run down her, the pain’s falling away, being replaced by something else. I feel like we’re the same. I had no idea when we’d first met that she would take up so much of my mind. That she’d make me open old wounds. That I’d find someone completely different who understands what it’s like to hurt.
My thumbs keep stroking her bare hips, just above her skirt. Suddenly she shivers and my eyes flick up to hers.
“Cold?”
Her hands go to my forearms but she doesn’t push me away. “It’s not that. You’re smoldering at me again, Chase.”
“I’m what?”
Her gaze flicks down, then back up to mine. “Sometimes, you look at me and I’d swear your eyes are so hot they’d burn me if I touched them. You’re doing it right now.”
My breath catches. “Do you like it?” I breathe.
Surprise crosses her features. “What?”
“When I do that,” I murmur, “do you like it?”
“Yes,” she admits, stretching out a finger to trace the lines on my pec again. She looks fascinated by them.
Power surges through me. And suddenly this feels so damn right. I don’t recognize the voice that says, “show me again.”
Ariel lifts her eyes to mine. She’s vulnerable, uncertain, but as in this charged moment as I am. She pulls up her bra, carefully, and I run my thumb over the tattoo, right where her breast meets her ribs.
Her breath hitches, but I’ve stopped needing to breathe. All I fucking need in this moment is to feel her silky softness under my thumb. Her fucking perfect skin and sweetness. It’s fascinating and I stroke it again, seeing her ribs rise and fall with her breath.
