Laura Wright - Shattered Ink

“Definitely.”

He flips the switch in one easy movement, then hauls me into his arms and kisses me again. And this time, it’s totally hungry and I-want-to-fuck-the-shit-out-of-you. And you know what? We can eat later.

My mom cups my face and stares at me with tears in her eyes. “You looked so beautiful up there, darling. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

It’s crazy time. All around us, graduates in caps and gowns are celebrating. Some with their families, some with their friends.

“Now, if they’d have just allowed you to wear something other than black.”

I ease away from her hold. “Mom—”

“It’s just so drab, darling.” She lowers her voice. “And Kevin was watching.”

“You think Kevin would prefer me in…pink, purple?”

She lifts one perfectly penciled brow. “Don’t be a shit, darling.”

I laugh. At just that moment, my father, Kevin and his parents join us. Mr. and Mrs. Stanfield are pretty much a carbon copy of my parents. Tan, toned, aging beautifully, dressed in tailored pastels. It’s the world I grew up in, and honestly—and sadly—the world I feel most comfortable in. But I try as best I can to venture out and be bad. I think I’ve succeeded a few times.

My dad scoops me up in his arms and swings me around like I’m six. “My little college graduate.” He places me down and glances over at the Stanfields. “They grow up so fast. Leave the nest and fly off for parts unknown.”

I laugh. “Dad, I’m not flying off. Not until I find a job that sends me places.”

“A job,” my mother says, clucking her tongue and fingering her pearls. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’m not worried,” I lie. “I’m ready.”

My mother’s steely gaze drifts over to Kevin, who is looking at me with soft affection. I cringe. The last thing in the world I want is another date with The Tongue.

“You know, I was already married with a baby on the way when I was your age, Lisa.” My mother touches the sleeve of Kevin’s ultra-pressed white shirt. “Do you like children, Kevin?”

He looks momentarily startled, so his mother answers for him. “Adores them.”

Oh, Jesus. I need to get to an after-party, like now. Before they start planning our wedding.

“Brunch at the Biltmore, Meredith?” my father asks.

She nods. “Yes. We have reservations for one o’clock.”

“Then we’d better get going.” My father turns to me. “Why don’t you ride with Kevin, honey? We old folk like to stick together.” He gives me a wink.

Real subtle, Dad .

“I brought the Porsche today,” Kevin says, moving closer to me. “I remember you how much you like it. The seats especially.” His eyebrows drift up and down a couple times in an effort to be provocative.

Real subtle, Kev .

He tries to put his arm around me, but I feint right. I seriously can’t bear him touching me again. Just the memory of his tongue coming at me like a knight’s lance, ready to do battle. BARF.

He’s so not deterred. “After brunch we can take it for a ride on the beach. I know a strip of sand that’s totally abandoned. Maybe there’s a few animals around, but I can get them out of my way. Permanently, if you know what I mean.”

I do. I really do. I stare at his shirt and all the buttons. I really do hate buttons.

“Hey, girl!” Someone jumps me from behind, then whispers in my ear, “What’s up, whore?”

Oh, thank god.

“Addy, where have you been?” I say, turning around to verbally flog her for not being by my side as my parents attempt to marry me off to Mega Buttons. But she’s not alone. And I very much mean NOT ALONE.

I eye the two guys dressed completely out of place for a morning graduation ceremony in Santa Barbara. Jeans and t-shirts and lots of ink. “Hey, Rush. Vincent.”

Now, I knew Addison’s man was coming to the ceremony, obviously, but I had not been informed that she had also invited his jerkoff friend.

“Well, Lisa dear,” my mother says behind me. “Are you going to introduce us to your…friends?”

Oh, yeah, sure. This won’t be awkward. “Mom, Dad, Mrs. and Mrs. Stanfield, Kevin, you know my best friend, Addison.” I wait for the little nods between them all to cease before I continue. “And this is her boyfriend, Rush. And this is…” The hottest guy that ever walked the earth. No. That’s not right. I’m flustered. “This is…” The guy who once—oh, god. No, No, No... “This is one of Rush’s employees, Vincent.” Better. But not much.

Addison’s looking at me like I’m having a stroke or something. Rush is shaking hands with my parents and Mr. and Mrs. Stanfield. And Vincent, with his ‘Suck Me Raw’ t-shirt and nearly shaved skull, is just staring at Kevin like he’s about to bust out laughing.

“You both have some nice artwork there,” Kevin says politely, first pointing at Rush’s neck, then at Vincent’s sleeve tattoo—the one with pussy wagon scrawled down the forearm.

“Thanks, man,” Rush says.

“Yeah, thanks,” Vincent says like he means the exact opposite. “Hey, if you’re ever in Vegas, come by. I can hook you up.”

“For a tattoo?” Kevin says, surprised and slightly uncomfortable. “Oh. Yeah, I don’t know. Maybe.”

“A pin-up with a skull face would look really sharp on your neck.”

Someone clears their throat behind me.

“My son will not be getting a tattoo,” Mrs. Stanfield says sharply. “He’s a lawyer.”

“Right.” Vincent’s gaze flickers to me. “No blue ink for the blue blood.”

“Lisa?” my father begins. “What is he talking about?”

I turn and death-stare at Vincent. “I have no idea,” I utter through gritted teeth.

His lips drift upward. “Yeah you do.”

“V,” Rush says under his breath. “Don’t.”

Vincent’s gaze flickers over to Kevin, then back to me. “Perfect. Your own kind, Lis. It’s where you belong.”

“Shall we go? On y va ?” my mom purrs in her I’ve-been-to-Paris-more-times-than-you-can-count French accent. “Brunch awaits.”

I roll my eyes. Good to know Vincent isn’t the only asshole in this crowd.

“It was lovely to meet you all,” my mother says. But her tone pretty much says the opposite.

“You too,” Addison says quickly, giving me the most heartfelt I’m-sooooooo-sorry look.

She pulls both boys away by their offensive t-shirts, but not before Vincent gives me the biggest shit-eating grin on the planet. For one second, I stare after him. Black jeans, fine ass, broad shoulders, sleeves of tattoos, and the words Bite Me shaved into the back of his head.

I turn back to Kevin. He’s smiling at me and holding up the keys to his Porsche.

Fuck, I hate buttons.

The End