“Take a seat then.” Drew slaps his hand against the leather chair.
Grace takes a deep breath and sits down. “Please don’t give me something stupid,” she begs.
“Trust me, sweetheart, I’ve got this. You have nothing to worry about.”
She surprises me by nodding and not arguing with me.
“What are you getting today?” Drew asks.
“This.” I hand him a piece of paper where I sketched my idea. “I’m not the best artist so you can take that and make it better, but that’s it.”
Drew unfolds the paper and chuckles.
Grace looks at him in horror. “Is it bad? You have to tell me—this is permanent,” she adds like he doesn’t know.
Drew shakes his head. “It’s not bad. You’ll be fine.”
Grace sighs and nibbles on her bottom lip. I take the seat beside her while Drew makes my drawing better. It’s a simple design but it needed some improvement. Drew finishes and hands the paper back to me.
I grin. “It’s perfect.”
“Excellent.”
He goes to work putting it on the transfer paper. “Where do you want it?” he asks Grace.
She looks to me. “You pick.”
I’m surprised she’s giving me so much control, but I’m not about to argue with her.
“There.” I point to her wrist. Drew begins transferring the design to her skin and I warn, “No peeking.”
She lifts her eyes to mine. “Then come sit over here and hold my other hand.”
I chuckle and pull the other chair in the room over to her side. She turns away from Drew and holds her hand out to me. “Is this going to hurt?” She looks worried.
“It’s not that bad.” She looks doubtful. “Scout’s honor.” I lift my fingers.
“I think you’d have to have been a Boy Scout for that to mean anything.” She jumps when Drew moves away to grab the ink and tattoo needle.
I gasp. “I can’t believe you don’t think I could’ve been a Boy Scout.”
“Well, were you?” she asks with a raised brow.
“For like three years,” I admit. “Then I discovered hockey and girls.”
She snorts. “Of course.”
“You’re going to have to hold still,” Drew warns.
Grace holds on tight to my hand. “It won’t take long,” I tell her, trying to comfort her. “It’s small.” She nods. “Have you figured out what I’m going to get?”
“No. I’m too nervous to think.”
“Well you better hurry up and decide, sweetheart,” I say just as the needle pierces her skin.
She winces. “I thought you said this wouldn’t hurt?” she accuses.
I chuckle. “It doesn’t hurt that bad.”
“I’d beg to differ.”
“Wimp,” I joke.
She sticks her tongue out at me.
It doesn’t take Drew long to finish her tattoo.
“You’re not allowed to look at it until I get mine,” I tell her. “Then we’ll see them together.”
She nods. “That seems fair.”
“Does that mean you’ve decided what I’m getting?”
She grins like the cat that ate the damn canary and now I’m worried. “Yep.”
We switch places and she whispers to Drew what he’s supposed to give me. “Where do you want me to put it?” he asks her.
“I’d say his ass just because but that’s too mean for even me.” She winks at me. “How about the same spot you did mine?”
“I can do that,” Drew says, messing around at his station.
“Are you going to come hold my hand?” I pout and hold out my hand to her.
She laughs. “Aw, is the baby worried it’ll hurt?”
I look at my other tattoos. “Nah, I just want my girl to sit here with me.”
Her eyes flare at the my girl comment and she perches her cute ass on the chair I was sitting in a few minutes ago. She slides her hand into mine and her eyes linger on my face like she’s searching for answers there.
Drew sketches out my tattoo and gets her approval.
She grins at the drawing. “It’s perfect.”
“Now I’m scared.” I chuckle, rubbing my face nervously with my free hand before Drew starts.
“Don’t be,” she tells me. “You trust me, right?” she throws my words back at me.
“Yes,” I answer, and I do. I surprisingly do. I don’t trust many people—I’ve been screwed over a lot—but Grace is someone I know would never do me harm.
I can feel Drew outlining the tattoo but I still can’t figure out what it is. He shades it in and Grace smiles as she watches. I look away, even though I want to peek. Grace didn’t look at hers so I owe it to her to do the same until the big reveal.
Drew finishes and says, “Are you ready to see?”
“Fuck yes,” I blurt.
Grace laughs. “You and your dirty mouth.”
“Ready, Princess?” I ask her.
“You bet.”
“We’ll close our eyes while Drew uncovers yours,” I tell her, “and then when he says ready, we’ll look, okay?”
“Okay,” she agrees.
We close our eyes and Drew removes the bandage from Grace’s.
“One, two, three,” Drew counts. “You can look now.”
Grace and I both hold out our arms and look at the tattoos on our wrists.
I bust out laughing. “Good one, Princess.” A red Sour Patch Kid is tattooed on my wrist. It’s silly, but it’s me, and every time I look at it I’ll be reminded of Grace and that trip to Target. “This is perfect,” I tell her. Grace is quiet, though, and I worry that she’s mad about my choice. I bend, trying to see her face. She looks like she’s close to tears. “Grace?” I prompt. She says nothing. “Fuck,” I curse. “You hate it.” She shakes her head. “You don’t hate it, then?” A nod. “Fuck, sweetheart, talk to me,” I beg. Her silence worries me.
“I hate that stupid nickname but this is … it’s perfect.” She smiles wistfully at the small crown-shaped tattoo.
I bend and kiss the top of her head. She looks so small and vulnerable and I can’t help but show her some sort of affection. I mean—I’d like to do a whole lot more, but we are in public.
“Just so you know, I don’t mean to call you Princess in a bad way.” She snorts. “Seriously,” I add. “It just … suits you.”
She looks up at me, her hair falling behind her shoulders. “Why don’t I believe you?”
I chuckle and hold up my fingers with a little space in between. “Okay, so maybe I did mean it sarcastically just a little bit.”
“Only a little bit, huh?” She laughs, and her eyes sparkle with amusement.
God, I love this girl.
My thoughts stop me cold.
Love? I love this girl?
Fuck, I think I do. No, I know I do.
I’ve never loved another girl before—have nothing to compare this feeling to—but I know that’s what it is.
Somewhere along the way, I fell in love with Grace.
I fell in love with her smile.
Her laugh.
The way she mocks me every chance she gets.
I fell in love with her love of chocolate and coffee.
I fell in love with every little thing that makes her her.
Six months ago, the thought of falling in love would’ve made me laugh, but something I’ve learned in my life is that things never seem to happen the way you expect them to.
I stare at her with a newfound wonder in my eyes, and she doesn’t miss it.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks. “Is there something on my face?”
Now that I know I love her—that I’m in love with her—I want to blurt the words out, but I don’t want to scare her. I haven’t even talked to her about making our arrangement official—becoming a real couple—but it’s something that’s been weighing heavily on my mind the past few days. Being near her twenty-four-seven has made me fall
harder for her instead of scaring me away.
“Nah. You’re perfect,” I whisper.
“Then why are you looking at me like that?” She wrinkles her nose.
I shrug. “I was just thinking, I guess.”
“About what?”
You. Us. A future. “About our awesome tattoos,” I lie.
She laughs and looks down at the black outline of a crown. “Yeah, I think we both did good.”
We finish up and pay and walk to a coffee shop we passed on our way here.
It’s cold outside and the sky is a swirling gray, promising snow. Snow had already fallen on campus when we left, but the grass has been bare here.
I open the door to the coffee shop and let Grace go in first. The smell of coffee hits me as do the sounds of orders being placed and called out. There are a few people in line so Grace and I step up behind the last person. A few people in the shop watch us with curiosity. I’m learning that Grace and her family are practically local celebrities due to their wealth and ties to the band Willow Creek. I’m used to people staring at us because of me, and I have to admit it’s nice to have the tables turned for a change.
We place our order and I pay—no way in hell am I letting her pay—and then we stand off to the side to wait for our order.
I feel nervous—jumpy, even—because I know what I have to do and I’m scared she won’t like it. Rejection isn’t something I have to deal with often. At least, not with women, but Grace is always putting me in my place.
Our order is called out and Grace scurries forward to grab our mugs—yeah, they put it in mugs—before I can move. She has the biggest smile on her face as she turns back to me, and I’d like to think she’s smiling at me like that, but she really fucking loves her coffee. I follow her through the coffee shop and to a back area with tables. She picks a table in the corner and sets our mugs down.
“Tattoo and coffees, I like this mix,” she says, sliding into a chair.
I chuckle. “Funny, because you were opposed to the tattoo thing at first.”
She lifts her mug and takes a tentative sip so she doesn’t scald her tongue. She sets the mug back down and her lips quirk. “Hey, I changed my mind. I’m allowed to do that.”
I want to ask her if that means I’m allowed to change my mind, but I bite my tongue. For now.
Grace holds out her wrist, admiring the crown tattoo.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” When I thought of it, I knew it was perfect for her, but that doesn’t mean she likes it.
She smiles and nods, wrapping her long fingers around her mug of coffee. Several rings adorn her fingers and her favorite watch sits on her wrist. “I really do love it,” she promises. “What about yours?” She eyes my tattoo.
“It’s fucking perfect.”
Someone at a nearby table glares at me for cussing and I wave sheepishly.
Grace laughs. “You’re going to get us in trouble.”
“While we’re being bad we might as well go full out,” I tell her, waggling my brows. I pick up a sugar packet from the table and rub it between my fingers, waiting for her to speak.
“What do you have in mind?”
“Is there a bathroom here?” I ask.
“Why?” She looks scared now.
My voice lowers to a whisper. “I think you know why.”
She shivers—and it’s not because she’s scared, but because she’s turned on by this. Underneath her prissy attitude and dresses lies a wild heart. Anyone who says you can’t be good and a rebel doesn’t know how to live.
I stand and offer her my hand. We leave our mugs on the table and head down a narrow hall to the bathrooms. It’s unisex—this couldn’t get any better—and empty. I push open the door and she stumbles inside, breathing heavily. I know if I felt her chest I’d feel her heart beating madly behind her rib cage.
I close the door behind us, but I don’t lock it. Her eyes flick to the lock and she raises her brow in question. “Aren’t you going to lock that?”
“No.” I shake my head. “That’s part of the thrill.”
“Getting caught?” she asks, backing against the porcelain sink.
I shake my head. “Thinking you’re going to get caught.”
She swallows thickly as I stalk closer to her. I plant my hands on either side of the sink, caging her in.
“What are you going to do?”
I bite her bottom lip, pulling it between my teeth before letting it go. “Whatever you want to do.”
“I’m in charge?” Her voice shakes and she reaches up a tentative hand to touch my chest.
I nod. “You’re always in charge.”
She smiles at that and leans in to kiss me. She doesn’t have to lean far since she wears a pair of ridiculously long heels. My hands move to her waist and I can’t get a good grip on her hips thanks to the heavy coat she wears. I find the tie around her waist and undo it, pushing the coat off her shoulders. It falls to the floor and she breaks the kiss with a laugh.
“I thought I was in charge?”
“You are.” I go in to kiss her again.
“And yet you’re already trying to get me naked.”
I shake my head. “Just the coat. It was in my way.”
“In the way of what?” She challenges.
“This.” I grab her ass and she laughs, wrapping her arms around my neck.
“You’re ridiculous.”
I kiss her to shut her up. She kisses me back with fervor and the heat between us grows. I haven’t gotten to hold her like this since that night at the hotel. It seems like there’s always someone around us and we never get a moment alone.
Grace moans into my mouth, and it’s the softest fucking sound I’ve ever heard, almost like a cat’s purr. Her nails rake through my hair and she wraps her fingers around the strands, pulling my mouth down to hers. Her tongue tangles with mine and I groan as I hold myself back. I want to rip her clothes off and fuck her hard and fast, but I’m putting this in her hands. I won’t push her to do anything she’s not comfortable doing.
Her hands tentatively move down my chest to my stomach. She curls them under the fabric of my sweater and pushes it up and over my head. I’m wearing a shirt beneath it and she makes quick work of getting rid of that one as well. She glides her hands over my bare skin and my abs contract from the touch. She bites her lip and I know she’s thinking deeply about what she wants to do next. It takes all my willpower not to touch her, or kiss her, or do something, but this is for her. Not me. This is her chance to be the bad girl. To take what she wants.
“We have to hurry,” she whispers.
I startle at her words. “Do you really want to do this?” I ask her, gliding my fingers over her cheek. “We don’t have to.”
I don’t normally give her an out when I’m making her do something ‘bad’ but this is something I would never force her to do.
She nods. “I want this. Please don’t make me beg.”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I crash my lips to hers and she undoes my belt. I pick her up and back her against the wall. She wraps her legs around my waist and slides down my pants. I set her down long enough to grab a condom and put it on. She’s in a skirt so that makes is easier. I pick her up again and move her underwear to the side before sliding inside her. I want to push in hard but this is only her second time so I move as gentle as I can.
She breathes into my mouth. “You’re not going to break me. Fuck me.”
If she’s trying to kill me, it’s working.
I move hard and fast. I don’t make love to her the way I did the other night. A public bathroom isn’t exactly made for slow sweet fucking. You either fuck as fast as you can or you don’t fuck at all.
She holds onto my shoulders, her fingernails digging in so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if she doesn’t draw blood. She pants loudly and small cries leave her parted lips.
“Keep going,” she encourages. “I’m almost there.”
I bite her lip and the heat
in her eyes nearly sets me on fire. “You love this, don’t you?” I kiss her deeply. “You fucking love the thought of someone opening that door and seeing my cock inside you.”
“Yes,” she gasps, her eyes hooded with desire.
My fingers dig into her thighs and she clenches around my dick. I know she’s close and I fight my own release so she can have hers.
Finally, she comes, and I groan into the skin of her neck as I come too.
Her whole body quakes in my arms and I hold on tight so that she doesn’t fall. She lowers her legs from around my waist and little beads of sweat dot her forehead.
“That was…”
I silence her with a kiss. There are no adequate words for what that was.
She rights her clothes while I get rid of the condom and pull my pants up. My shirt and sweater lay scattered on the floor along with her coat. I pick them all up and hold out her coat to her. I slip my t-shirt on and tuck it into my pants before putting on the sweater.
Grace looks me up and down. “We look like we just fucked in the bathroom.”
“That’s because we did, sweetheart.” I laugh and reach out to try to tame her hair a bit. It’s a wild mess and I selfishly love seeing it that way—knowing it’s from us fucking—but everyone else would know too.
She eyes her reflection in the mirror and wipes her smeared lip gloss off her lips and fixes her hair better than I did.
We can’t put off the inevitable, so I open the door and we step out into the hall. It’s—thankfully—empty.
Our coffee still sits on the table we had occupied and we sit back down, acting like nothing happened.
Grace raises her mug to her lips and takes a sip, her eyes shifting around the room. It’s probably catching up with her, what we did, and I don’t want her to freak out.
I take her hand and bring it to my lips, kissing the tops of her fingers.
She bites her lip and looks from our hands to my face. “Everyone knows,” she hisses.
“Nah, sweetheart. We’d be in a police car if they did.” She pales. “I was kidding,” I hasten to add.
“Oh.” Her shoulders sag in relief.
“Grace?” I say her name hesitantly. Now is the most wrong fucking time to bring this up, but I can’t keep quiet anymore.
“What?” She looks scared, and I can’t blame her: my voice shakes and I sound so unlike myself.
The Game That Breaks Us Page 20
