Jean Haus - Ink My Heart

Afterward we lay in a tangle of sheets, each tracing the other’s tattoos. He’s lying on his side. I’m on my back. Thoughts and questions run through my mind. I trace the Japanese letters along his tight abdominal muscles. “What does this say?”

He glances down as if he’d forgotten he’d been inked there, then murmurs, “Just always be waiting for me.”

“Just always be waiting for me,” I repeat slowly, staring at the sharp black letters. Maybe Justin wasn’t always on the one-night-stand merry-go-round. Maybe he deals with heartbreak in reverse from the way I do. Instead of staying away from the opposite sex, he overindulges.

His fingers absently stroke my shoulder. “It’s from Peter Pan ,” he says. “The book at least. Not sure if the line was in any of the movies.”

“ Peter Pan ?”

“My nanny used to read it to me,” he adds and his gaze turns wistful. “I used to say the line to her every night after she tucked me in.”

“What did she say back?”

“Forever.”

I wistfully imagine him as a little boy. “She sounds wonderful.”

“She was, still is. But what about you? There’s this one,” he says as his fingers follow an olive branch etched on my arm. “That’s the big one.” He traces the cursive Ben on my other arm, and my fingers pause on the tribal swirl on his chest as I realize he’s counting my tattoos. “With the sunflower that makes three.”

He pulls at the sheet. Not wanting my entire body open for his perusal even in the shadowy confines of my room, I drag my leg out from under the sheet and show him my thigh. He leans close and reads the words along the top aloud: “ We can only make our pictures speak . Who’s that?”

“Van Gogh. Last letter to his brother before he died.”

“You and that ear slicer. I’m almost jealous,” he says teasingly. His fingers follow the curl of ink. “Any others?”

I twist around and show him my lower back.

He traces a wing. “Dragonfly Ink, huh?”

“It was my first.”

“Should I ask who did it?”

“Probably not.”

It’s hard to miss the sudden way his eyes narrow. “What other ones did he do?”

“The one on my thigh.” I roll over to my back again, not wanting to talk about the name on my shoulder that was removed. “Todd’s done all the others. But you’re here in my bed, and I don’t want to even think about him .”

He glances at my body covered with the sheet. “That’s it?”

I lift my leg and show him the tiny dragonfly on my ankle.

“So that’s it?”

“Yup. That’s it.”

Wrapping an arm around my sheet-covered waist, he grins slyly. “Would have thought there’d be more ink on such a badass tattooist.”

I shrug. “Between raising a kid, going to school, and inking everyone else, the ideas I have for me keep getting pushed to the side. But once I get my degree, I’ll have more time.”

“You’re keeping the shop?” he asks in a surprised tone.

“Is there something wrong with that?”

“No,” he says, shaking his dark blond head. “I’m just confused why you’re going to college at all.”

“The shop does decent, but if things ever change, I want something to fall back on. And learning about business can only help.”

His nod is thoughtful. “What about your painting?”

“I used to consider painting and tattooing separately, but really they’re both creating. And having someone hang something on their wall isn’t as thrilling as them letting you mark their skin for life.”

“You said something like that before. Your paintings are awesome though.”

“Well, I can always do both. I’m kind of planning on it. What about you?”

His eyebrows raise and I lift a finger to brush the gleaming metal of his piercing.

“Why a communication degree?”

“Thought it would be easy, and useful for law school.”

After closing my mouth and blinking at him, I ask, “You’re going to be a lawyer?”

“Is that hard to believe?”

Thinking of his BMW and his clothes, no. But then there’s him onstage. Hot. Sexy. Magnetic. “I hope you’ll still sing and play guitar in the courtroom.”

“The whole band thing happened because Romeo and I are roommates. I never considered being in a band before I met him. He was starting one, heard me sing, and the rest is history. But in my family, you’re a doctor or a lawyer. No way in hell would I ever be a doctor. So law school here I come.”

“But do you want to be a lawyer?”

He shrugs. “I’m not the driven type. I’m more the laid-back type who wants to enjoy life.” His gaze wanders over my face. “But you make me want to be ambitious, to catch the stars on a starry night and pull them down for you.”

I turn toward him, my expression serious. “I don’t want you to be anything for me. I want you to just be you.”

Tugging at a curl brushing my shoulder, he lifts his head. “Sometimes I’m not sure who I am.” He kisses me so softly I lean forward, hoping for another touch of his lips. “Except when I’m with you, pretty Allie.” Our mouths are so close his words are a light breeze on my skin. He blows gently on my lips. “Be with me?”

My fingers dig into the skin of his ribs as I scoot closer to him. “Can’t seem to help myself.”

He chuckles deep in his chest. “Quiche for lunch?”

I lean down to give his pierced nipple a wet kiss and his pectoral jumps. “Yes, definitely—later though.” I give the ring a soft jerk with my teeth.

“Maybe not even later.” He groans. “Food can wait. Exam week too.”

All four of us are crowded into a small room to the left of the stage as the stagehands finish the sound checks. Sam is bouncing up and down. Idiot likes to wind himself up before going out. Romeo is going over sheet music with Gabe one last time. He’s become Gabe’s mentor over the past couple of months, and once the stubborn prick stopped resenting being told what to do, his drumming improved immediately. Not that he sucked, but he wasn’t anywhere near our first drummer, and not even in the same galaxy as Riley.

Except for Gabe, who’s new, playing live has become almost easy for the band over the past two years. We roll through gigs onstage effortlessly. That’s why we do things like adding songs with violins, or me finally learning guitar. Shit can get boring without a challenge. Can’t say the studio stuff is easy. I’m not looking forward to our final session next weekend.

But outside of the band, life has become something to grasp with both hands and hold on to. Instead of or searching for what I can take, I want to give. Give everything to my girl. Take away her worries; erase the little crease that sometimes etches her forehead. And make her as happy as she makes me.

But Allie’s life is full. She’s got her son, her business, and school too. I don’t like it, but I accept the crumbs of time she can give. We talk over the phone late at night about art and music and Ben. We send each other dirty texts. We squeeze in visits when we can. Even though I did some studying for exams over the past week, I found time to stop by the shop to visit her twice. Between the slices of her life, we are building a relationship, something I never imagined wanting so badly, but with Allie I want everything.

That she’ll be here at our show tonight has me feeling pumped. She’s coming after work, halfway through, and I know once she shows up I won’t even notice the rest of the audience.

Some guy with stringy long hair stops by to tell us the stage is ready. Romeo reminds him to make sure the lights are turned low. Romeo has a thing for theatrics, likes to open with a boom.