“I’ll be sitting beside you, so you could just ask me.”
He kissed me, reluctantly breaking away when one of the tattoo artists appeared. He recognized Heath and they greeted each other warmly. His name was Ari and he looked like a six-foot commando, covered in artwork. He had nice eyes and when he smiled, his teeth were like a floodlight.
“My girl wants some ink,” Heath explained.
“Did you have anything in particular in mind?” Ari asked me.
“I’d like the infinity symbol.”
He nodded. “The infinity symbol is cool.”
I picked up a pen and scribbled three words onto a post-it note.
“With these words.” I slid the paper across the counter.
Heath looked questioningly at me.
Ari nodded. “How about you guys give me half an hour and let me come up with a design for you? See what I can work out.”
While Ari worked on my tattoo design we walked down to the Pier. It was cold for summer but the beach was still dotted with holidaymakers and families. Heath bought us Reubens for lunch and we ate them on the Pier, while trying to keep our hands off each another. Less than an hour later we were back at the tattoo parlor standing in front of Ari as he showed us his design.
“That’s it. That’s exactly what I want.”
It took half an hour with Heath firmly clutching my right hand as Ari worked on the inside of my left wrist. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. In fact, it was more irritating than anything.
When Ari finished, I looked down at it excitedly. Written in fine black script ‘make it real’ broke through the elegant black scrolls and decorative swirls of the infinity symbol.
“Make it real?” Heath asked.
“Another way of saying follow your dreams, I guess.” I looked from the tattoo to him. “I wouldn’t be sitting here, in California, with you, if I hadn’t made it happen. And I am so grateful that I did. I made it real.”
After Ari dressed it with an antiseptic cream and covered it with a protective bandage he told me how to take care of it while it healed. Not that it was necessary. I had a walking art gallery sitting next to me who would make sure I looked after it properly.
“I was right. You really are a bad ass rock chick,” he said as we left the dimly lit tattoo parlor and climbed onto his bike.
I laughed and nodded. “I guess I’m not so innocent after all.”
Heath threw me a smoldering look. “You showed me that in the shower three days ago and you seem pretty determined to drive that point home.”
Careful to avoid knocking my bandaged wrist, I wrapped my arms around his waist and rested my chin on his shoulder. “And if you stop wasting time, I’d like to get back to your place and drive that point home even further.”
He smiled and with a flick of his wrist, the Harley rumbled to life.
* * * * *
HEATH
I didn’t know what I’d done, but God knows I must have done something right for my life to be this good. It just didn’t get any better than lying there with my girl in my arms. Everything in my life was coming together. I had my girl. The band had our first record deal with a big record label, as well as a nice fat cash advance.
In a few hours we would leave for Vegas, where we would perform in front of a 20,000 strong crowd and then next month we would be heading out on a five-week tour with the Masters of Mayhem Music Festival.
Yeah, life was fucking amazing.
“What are you smiling about?” Harlow was awake and shifted beside me to lean up on her elbow. She rested her palm flat against my belly.
“I was just thinking how good life is.” I smiled up at her.
“Yeah?” Her fingers traced the outline of my shoulder tattoo. “Why?”
That was easy. “Because you’re mine.”
Her fingers found the taut curves of my belly and gently rolled over the bumps of each abdominal muscle. “Why is it that you say all the right things, Mr. Dillinger?”
“That’s because I am a very smart man.”
“Not bad looking either.”
Her lips curled into a wicked closed-lipped smile as her fingers found the black ink that flanked my right obliques. She was seducing me with her fingertips and their featherlike delicacy against my skin. They were such tiny touches but they sent pleasure to every part of my body.
“Do you know what it says?” I asked as her fingers whispered against the black ink etched into my flesh.
She nodded. “It’s the final verse to Stairway to Heaven.”
Beautiful and smart. I was so fucking pleased she was my girl.
“Why did you choose them?” she asked.
I thought about it for a moment. “I know it can be interpreted in so many ways. But to me, it’s a reminder to trust your instincts, no matter how wild they may seem.” I shivered beneath her touch as the tips of her finger swirled around the elegant script of the last sentence. “When we first started the band no-one truly believed we’d become anything. They told me to get a real job. But I just knew we could become something if we persevered. And I was right. Our hard work and faith paid off. When we released our first album, I got the tat to remind me to always follow my instincts.” Her feather-like caresses were making made me hard. “It’s a reminder to be a good person. No matter how successful you become.”
“You are a good person.”
Hearing her say it, almost made me believe it. And the way she was looking at me, the way her fingers caressed my skin, the way her dark eyes smoldered across at me … the front of my boxers started to rise. I was going to have to make love to her again.
In one swift move I rolled her until I was on top, pressing my pelvis into her. I would never get tired of this.
But the knock on the front door couldn’t have been any more badly timed.
“Ignore it,” she whispered, teasingly shifting beneath me so all I would have to do would be to move slightly and I would slide into her. My body begged me to ignore whoever was at the door. But a second round of knocking distracted me.
Growling, I kissed her and reluctantly climbed off the bed. Every part of me protested. The insistent knocking continued.
Walking down the hallway, I shoved on my sweatpants, ready to get rid of our visitor quickly so I could get back to bed with Harlow and finish what I’d just started.
When I reached the front door and opened it, fire ripped through my chest.
Straight away, I knew who was standing across from me.
I’d just come face to face with Harlow’s past.
Colton.
He smiled and I swear to God I wanted to punch him in it.
He was like something out of a fucking shaving commercial. Strong jaw. Dark eyes. Clean cut. Typically handsome. He was an unwelcome introduction to Harlow’s other life.
The one before me.
I remained poker faced despite the rise of anxiety I felt in my core. It seemed to be my only defense against such an unwanted intrusion.
“You must be the renowned lead singer extraordinaire,” he said in his thick Southern accent. He followed it up with a million dollar smile, like we were old friends. But there was something in his eyes. A wicked gleam. An arrogance. A mockery.
“I was hoping to see Harlow. I believe this is the right place. The Dillinger residence, am I right?”
Just hearing him say Harlow’s name was like a razor blade to the brain.
I didn’t want him there. I’d just found and landed the girl of my dreams—I didn’t need this polar opposite of me turning up to ruin it.
Feigning ignorance, I asked, “And who are you?”
He smiled as if privy to something I wasn’t, then looked at the gold signet ring on his pinky finger. When he looked up, he fixed me with the arrogant stare only known by those of old money and privilege.
Dark eyes fixed on mine and he smirked.
“I’m her boyfriend.”
* * * * *
HARLOW