Tempting

by Crystal Kaswell

  "Besides having dinner with your parents?"

  "Yeah."

  "I have an appointment to get a tattoo."

  He slides his hand under my chin and tilts it so we're eye to eye. "No fucking way."

  "Yeah, I asked Joel for a recommendation."

  Ethan laughs. "That hurts, Vi. You like his ink better than mine?"

  "No." I drag my fingers over the tattoo on Ethan's chest then I start tracing the sleeve on his right shoulder for good measure. "It's up in Los Angeles."

  "Hate to say it but you better get dressed." He presses his palm to my lower back. "Getting Ethan with a few butterflies."

  "In your dreams."

  "You want it right here." He drags his fingertips over the swell of my breast.

  I shake my head.

  He drags his fingertips up my inner thigh. "If you lived here you'd be home now."

  "Ew." I stick out my tongue. "Tacky."

  He smiles. "Guitarists do it with their hands?"

  Again, I shake my head. Admitting this makes me feel even more naked, but I'm running out of time for shyness.

  I'm getting this tattoo in a few hours.

  I lock eyes with Ethan. "An ash tree with the dates… an in memoriam for Asher. Is it stupid?"

  He presses his forehead to mine. "No, Vi, it's perfect."

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Violet

  My heart thuds against my chest as I pull the tattoo parlor's door open. The shop's bell sounds with a gentle ring. It's much too gentle for the location. Needles jamming into skin deserves a louder, angrier bell. It deserves cymbals clanging. It deserves noise.

  I squeeze my cell phone between my palms. I can do this. I can absolutely do this. Brendon, the guy who owns the shop, has a great reputation and he comes highly recommended by Joel. As little as I wish to think about Joel's body—he feels like a brother or at least a cousin—I have to admit he has nice ink.

  He knows his shit.

  And Brendon seems to know his shit too, at least if our email chain is any indication. He squeezed me in last minute and he busted his ass doing this mock up.

  He steps out of the back room with a nod. At least he looks like the photo on the shop's website. He's tall and broad enough that his presence is imposing. The short dark hair, dark eyes, and eyebrow piercings don't hurt. Nor does the fact that every inch of him—save above the neck and past the wrists—is covered in ink.

  Ethan is one step behind me. He runs his calloused fingertips over the skin on the inside of my wrist. His touch calms me. Not enough to get my heartbeat back to double digits. Not enough to make breathing easy.

  But enough to keep me from throwing up.

  There's a tattoo artist working on a gruff-looking biker dude's calf. The artist seems to be an expert. He's got the gloves and the technique and the laser focus.

  God, that needle is huge.

  And it's jamming into the large man's muscular calf again and again and again. The man grimaces with unspeakable agony.

  "Violet, right?" Brendon steps up to the front desk. He extends his hand. "I'm Brendon. It's nice to meet you."

  Somehow, I peel my eyes away from the horror of the needle attacking the large man's skin enough to give Brendon a proper hello. "Yeah, thanks for squeezing me in."

  Despite his imposing presence, he has a friendly smile. "Anytime. Wouldn't have heard the end of it from Joel if I hadn't."

  "That's Joel," I say.

  Brendon looks to Ethan. "You're Joel's friend, right?"

  Ethan nods. "Ethan."

  Brendon's eyes light up with recognition. "The guitarist, right?"

  Ethan nods.

  "Got to admit, I don't listen to your band. What's it called?"

  "Don't worry about it. Nice to be a normal person for once," Ethan says.

  Brendon gives Ethan a long once-over. Mostly, he studies Ethan's sleeve tattoos. "That's nice work." He looks to me. "Don't worry. Yours will be just as nice."

  "Uh…" Don't worry? Is he seriously telling me not to worry about a needle jamming into my skin several thousand times? I try to say something, anything, sensible but all I manage is a slack-jawed stare.

  "This is your first tat, huh?" Brendon asks.

  That needle is still buzzing, still attacking the biker guy.

  Ethan laughs. "Yeah, it's her first. She's afraid of needles." He rubs my shoulder and leans in to whisper. "You don't have to do this."

  I shake my head. I do have to do it. And more— "I want to." I take a deep breath. Somehow, I manage to look Brendon in the eyes again. "Is it going to hurt?"

  He nods. "Yeah, but it's not as bad as it looks. And it's worth it. Can you think of anything else guaranteed to last forever?"

  "Technically, a tattoo lasts only as long as you have skin," I say.

  Brendon chuckles. He taps a few keys on the shop's computer then the printer whirs with a new design. "This is a stencil. We'll play around with where it goes and how it looks until it's perfect." He grabs the stencil from the printer and hands it to me. "It's a mirror image, but you'll get the idea."

  It looks exactly like the image he sent me. It's an ash tree. The branches are shaded black. The leaves are green. At the top, birds fly into the heavens. Below the tree are roots and the dates of Asher's life.

  A tear stings my eye. It's perfect.

  I hand the stencil back to Brendon. He talks me through the application of the stencil, but I'm barely listening. I'm too caught up in the sound of the buzzing needle.

  Thankfully, I came prepared in a low-back tanktop, no bra. All I have to do is push the strap of my top off my shoulder to make room for the stencil.

  Once it's applied, he motions wait a minute to Ethan and guides me to a secluded suite in the back, right between two mirrors. "How does that look?"

  I stare back at my reflection. It looks like a real tattoo and it's right there on my shoulder blade.

  In a few hours, it will be there forever.

  It takes me almost a minute to muster up enough breath to speak. "It's perfect."

  "You sure? We can play around with the placement?"

  "I'm sure."

  "It's normal you're scared, especially for your first tat. But I want you to know: I've had people regret a lot of ink. Straightedge tattoos, ex's names, bands or sports teams. But nobody has ever regretted a tribute. This one is touching."

  I barely manage to nod.

  "You want your boyfriend in here or you want him to wait outside?"

  I'm about to say here when I bite my tongue. Ethan isn't my boyfriend yet. We haven't really talked about what happens after we get to New York.

  Not that I need to tell Brendon my life story.

  I play as casual as I can while surrounded by needles (not very casual). "He's not my boyfriend."

  Brendon cocks a brow. "Guy holding your hand while you get ink isn't your boyfriend?"

  "Yeah, well, he was my boyfriend, but we broke up a while back. Now we're… It's complicated."

  Brendon shakes his head. "It's never complicated. If you want someone in your life, you make it happen."

  Ah, so he's a wise tattoo artist. Normally, I'd come back with something smart and sassy. At the moment, I'm a little distracted by thoughts of needles.

  It is good advice.

  I wish I could see things that black and white. If you want someone in your life, you make it happen. Period. End of story. The end.

  The wise tattoo artist calls Ethan into the suite. Then he closes the door and sets up the bench seat so I can sit backwards with my chest against the back. "Take a seat."

  Ethan's blue eyes are filled with concern. "You okay?"

  I nod. I'm okay. But okay is good. Okay is the best it's going to get until I'm away from all the needles.

  I keep my eyes on the wall in front of me. It's covered in framed images of tattoo designs. They're nice, traditional designs—mermaids, tigers, skulls and crossbones, hearts devoted to Mom or Dad.

  "I'll tak
e this slow. You breathing, Violet?" Brendon asks.

  "Yeah. Barely."

  He addresses Ethan. "Give her your hand."

  Ethan presses his palm against mine. He rubs the space between my thumb and forefinger with his thumb. It calms me enough I can take a deep breath.

  "Squeeze his hand as tight as you want. If that's not enough, tell me to stop." Brendon's voice is equal parts soothing and authoritative. "Okay?"

  My voice is equal parts terrified and nervous. "Okay."

  Nerves flutter in my stomach and chest as he finishes pouring ink and setting up needles.

  My heart nearly leaps out of my chest when the needle turns on. The buzz is much louder when it's this close.

  Am I breathing?

  Is it possible to breathe?

  Ethan squeezes my hand. "You're okay, Vi."

  I'm okay. He's right. I'm okay. I look up at him, at his clear blue eyes, at his boyish smile, at the dimple on his cheek.

  His presence calms me. It really does.

  "You're going to feel a prick," Brendon says.

  I squeeze Ethan's hand until I can't feel my fingers. Words barely make it to my lips. "Okay."

  The needle hits my skin. It's more than a prick. It's like a flu shot. Actually, it's like several flu shots every second.

  It fucking hurts.

  I chew on my bottom lip. I dig my nails into the back of Ethan's hand. My heartbeat slows. My breath steadies. It hurts, yes, but at least now I know what I'm dealing with. I'm not trembling with anticipation.

  "You're got this, Vi." Ethan rubs my hand with his thumb.

  I've got this.

  Not enough to respond, but I do have it.

  I let my eyelids press together. Slowly, my endorphins kick in. The needle hurts like hell but it's exhilarating too.

  I'm marking my body forever.

  Hell, that's scary.

  This pain is the last pain I'm going to force myself to suffer over Asher. After this, I'm done punishing myself. I'm done wallowing.

  I'm ready to feel good again.

  I'm ready to be happy.

  Ethan's palm is warm against mine. His eyes are glued to me and they're filled with this amazing mix of concern and excitement.

  The tattoo takes an hour and a half. The entire time, Ethan stays next to me, his palm pressed against mine, his eyes glued to mine.

  When I'm done, Brendon steps away. He gives me a minute to take in my new ink.

  It's just like the stencil, only it's forever.

  It's perfect.

  I push myself to my feet, but I'm not steady yet. I stumble. I stumble right into Ethan's arms.

  "Careful, Vi." He holds my body against his. "What do you think?"

  I look into his clear blue eyes. "It's perfect."

  "Yeah, it is."

  This moment, him staring at me with all that care and affection, is perfect too.

  Ethan releases me so Brendon can tend to my fresh ink. The tattoo artist applies a balm and plastic wrap. He's explaining how I take care of the ink, how I need to stay away from swimming for a few weeks.

  And Ethan is smiling and making a joke about how I'll barely survive two weeks, being such a Cali girl.

  And I'm lost in his eyes and his smile. But more than that, I'm lost in the feelings bursting through my chest. They're stronger than nerves, stronger than grief, stronger than adrenaline.

  I'm in love with Ethan.

  I'm madly, passionately, desperately in love with Ethan.

  "Vi, you okay?" Ethan slides his arm around my waist. He looks to Brendon. "It's been an intense few days. I'll make sure she takes care of her ink."

  Brendon nods. "It was nice to meet you two." He shakes my hand. "Hope things get less complicated."

  Maybe they just did.

  Or maybe they got a whole lot more complicated.

  I'm not sure. My legs are still jelly. My tongue is still stuck to the roof of my mouth.

  Ethan laughs. "What am I going to do with you?"

  Love me.

  That's what I want him to do with me. I want him to love me as much as I love him.

  But I'm not ready to say that yet. Instead, I exhale all my nervous energy. "I should pay for the tattoo."

  Brendon shakes his head. "Sorry, Joel already paid."

  "At least let me tip," I say.

  "He left a generous tip and he made me swear not to let you pay a dime. Can't go back on my word." Brendon looks from me to Ethan. "You have enough to worry about."

  I nod. "Thank you."

  He nods back then steps out of the way.

  Then it's just me and Ethan and the feelings that are ready to burst out of my chest.

  "Damn, I was gonna pay," Ethan mumbles. "Joel's making me look bad."

  I want to scream out the words, but I'm not ready yet. I swallow hard. "You can buy me a matcha latte."

  He smiles. "Deal."

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Violet

  My parents are surprisingly friendly with Ethan over dinner. It helps that Piper chimes in to sing his praises every thirty to sixty seconds.

  We spend the evening with her in the Strong living room. She gushes over my tattoo, listens with rapt attention as I explain my current project, and fills us in on all the entertainment news gossip about the band.

  Just like old times, I fall asleep in Ethan's bed, in his arms, and I wake up to the smell of coffee and a very sweaty, post-gym Ethan making me tea.

  My jaw nearly drops to the floor as he runs his hand through his hair. I've seen the gesture a thousand times. Turns out time a thousand and one is just as good.

  "Hey." He smiles.

  "Hey." I smile back. The sun is pouring through the deck's sliding door. The ocean breeze too. It smells like salt. I can hear the faint roar of waves crashing.

  And Ethan is smiling at me as he makes breakfast.

  It's not our kitchen, but it could be. This could be our life. There are practicalities in the way. At the moment, I don't care. I don't care about tomorrow or what happens after Ethan's show in New York. I don't even care about my birthday next week.

  This moment is what I care about.

  I nearly squeal with glee when he slides a plate of scrambled eggs and a halved avocado in front of me.

  "Rock god, sex god, avocado god." I stare into Ethan's gorgeous blue eyes. "That's a dangerous combination."

  He grabs the hot sauce and slides into the seat across from mine. "Shouldn't it be an avocado goddess? They're an awfully feminine fruit." He traces the outline of a halved avocado. "It's got a shape to it."

  "Pervert!"

  He laughs. "Not in a sexual way. In an all life springs from the womb kind of way."

  I stick out my tongue in distaste. "Did you become a hippie when I wasn't looking?"

  "No. Still a rock star."

  "You really are." I scoop avocado onto my eggs. Then hot sauce. "Don't you get recognized at the gym?"

  "There's a fancy gym at the mall next to main street now. I get is that him stares, but people know better than to interrupt."

  "Rich people would never want to seem uncouth."

  "Or admit to liking the commoners' music." He digs into his eggs. "These are good."

  "You made them."

  "Still, didn't expect them to turn out this good."

  I reach over to run my fingers through his hair. "You're good at lots of things."

  He looks me in the eyes. "Do I make you happy?"

  "Yeah, you do."

  "Then I'm good at the two things that matter to me."

  "Making eggs and making me happy?" I tease.

  "Music and you." He takes another bite. This time, he chews slowly. His voice gets soft, cautious. "We have to leave in a few hours. The show tonight is in Albany. They're three hours ahead of us."

  "Sure." I take a few bites. The eggs really are good. And I really do appreciate Ethan cooking and making tea. He's really taking care of me.

  Right now, life really is per
fect.

  The next few days with Ethan are a blur of afternoons on the bus, evenings at shows, and nights in his room.

  Joel is no longer arranging his own transport but he isn't talking to Mal either. The two of them seem content to give each other the cold shoulder indefinitely.

  Between studying and job applications, I stay busy enough to stay out of the fray. One of the genetics labs in Orange County wants to hire me, based entirely on my published articles, resume, and cover letter. Ethan will be home all summer. He'll be home whenever he's not on tour.

  We could be together.

  It's a great lab too. On paper, it's perfect.

  I should wait to hear back from the labs in other parts of the country. They might offer better salaries or more responsibilities. They might be better for my future career.

  None of that seems as important as being someplace that feels like home. My parents' place has plenty of room to grow on that front, but being with Ethan, that feels like home.

  I force myself to arrange a Skype interview, to make sure it's a good fit, but deep down, I know I want to take the job.

  This time, I'm ready to bend.

  I just hope Ethan is ready to meet me halfway.

  The show at Madison Square Garden is like something out of a dream, even from my spot on the side of the stage. That's Ethan, the man I love, the guy who grew up dreaming about performing on the famous stage, playing to ten thousand screaming fans. This show is huge, at least twice the size of any of the previous tour stops.

  I force myself to take in all the Dangerous Noise guys. Mal and Ethan have a fun stage dynamic. They riff off each other's energy, tease each other, even swap places and guitars mid song. The singer stays coy and untouchable. Ethan stays energetic and welcoming.

  Joel shows no signs of his frustration with Mal. He's an animal on his drum kit and he captivates the crowd every time he pauses to wipe his sweat with his shirt or blow kisses.

  Kit is in his corner of the stage, rocking his bass guitar, inviting the crowd to look but not touch. Every time he brushes his mass of curly hair from his eyes or waves at the crowd, a thousand women scream his name.