My hands are on either side of her hips, my body between her open legs. We’re so close, it’s nearly impossible to ignore the pull my lips feel toward hers.
“Let’s do it. Just go slow and steady,” I say in a gravelly voice.
I’m a little worried about how this will turn out. But if I’ve figured out anything in the past five days, it’s that I’m not ambidextrous. Rian had to open up the pickle jar for me yesterday. Hold on while I hang up my man card until this cast is off.
“Tell me about your tattoos,” she says. “I can’t do this in silence.”
“Which ones?”
“All, any, whatever.” Her hand shakes as she raises the razor to my face.
I grip her wrist, my thumb smoothing along the surface. “Relax. Nothing horrible is gonna happen.”
She nods, but the worry is alive in her eyes, so I do as she requested. I talk about my tattoos.
“The ones on my legs, I did to myself mostly. When I was practicing.”
“You did them yourself?” Her eyes are on my sideburns, watching the razor move down my face.
“Yeah.” I move my jaw as little as possible when I speak so I don’t mess her up. “A few of my friends, like Big Man, trusted me to tattoo them. But to get the feel of the needle to know how deep to go, you have to feel that for yourself.”
“I’ve never really looked at your legs,” she says, pulling the razor down my skin.
“Funny, I’ve checked out yours.”
She glances at me as she washes off the razor. “I don’t have any tattoos.”
“Your legs, Rian. I’ve checked out your legs.”
Her flush is the most gorgeous thing I’ve seen on a woman. She believes that she’s not beautiful. If I confessed to her how many guys I told she wasn’t available, she’d be pissed, but truth is, none of them were good enough for her. They would have broken her, and seeing Rian broken? I’d rather gouge out my eyes.
“Stop the flirting and let me concentrate. Tell me about your arms.”
I want to glance down to know which specific tattoo she’s asking about. “They all have different meanings. The apple is for Winnie, because she made a killer apple pie in the fall.”
“Not for a teacher, huh?” She rinses the razor.
“Nope, although I did have some teachers who had an impact on my life. The phoenix on my back is self-explanatory. I think every foster kid gets one.” I laugh to settle her sympathetic heart from giving me that pitying look. “The wolf is to remind me to be noble and loyal to those who are to me. A lot of the roses, stars, and other things are just filler. Things my friends thought would look killer. But all of them have a memory of some kind. Whether it’s who did it or what it represents.”
Her gaze skates across my chest. “What does the anchor mean?”
“Anyone tell you that you have a knack of digging crap out of people?”
She smiles softly, the razor grazing along my cheek. “I think only you. Maybe you want to tell someone. Have you ever thought of that?”
I’m not sure if she purposely doesn’t look at me after that comment. She might be right. Maybe I’ve held all this shit in for so long, I want to purge to someone. Maybe it’s a way to prove to her that I might not be good enough for her—but then look how far I’ve come. Maybe in my lifetime, we’ll be equals.
My hands slide closer and rest beside her hips.
She wiggles, washing the razor off in the sink. “So the anchor?”
“The anchor.” I nod. “Jax and I went into a tattoo place when we were sixteen. We knew a kid who was working under someone, so they didn’t card. He got the compass and I got the anchor. It’s not our most brilliant plan. I was supposed to see the compass on his chest and that’d tell me to explore the world. Don’t stay in one spot. And if he looked at my anchor, he should remember to have a place to call home.”
“So in truth, maybe you should’ve gotten the compass and he should have gotten the anchor?” She chuckles.
“Yeah, which is exactly why I make sure to tell my clients if their ideas are stupid. I’m blunt and have insulted more than one customer, but I won’t have it on my conscience. Plus, if you knew how many calls we get days after we do a tattoo.” I shake my head.
Regrets. People with regrets. I’ve never wanted to have them, which is probably why I’ve never ventured too far from where I grew up.
“And do you want to travel? Be like Jax?”
There’s a hitch in her voice. She doesn’t know if she wants the answer. I don’t blame her, because I’m not sure I want to give it to her.
I shrug. “I don’t want to be like Jax, but sometimes I wonder. Who doesn’t wonder, right? Either about some old boyfriend or girlfriend. The what-ifs life leaves you with. But then I never would have come here to Cliffton Heights or moved into the Rooftop Apartments. I wouldn’t have met Ethan or Sierra, or Seth, or you. You’ve all given me a sense of family.”
She swallows, and the small room grows quiet except for the sound of the razor against skin.
“Rian?” I say, and her gaze dips up from my chin.
The tension in the room becomes a living, breathing thing.
A fake smile lands on her lips. “What?” She’s trying to be flippant.
“Me and you. I can’t imagine you not in my life.”
Her smile turns real as her entire face beams. “You don’t have to worry about that unless you’re going to travel the world like Jax.”
I say nothing. Jax’s life isn’t for me.
We go through the motions without saying much more. I’m not sure if we’re both lost in thought. I hold court in my head on whether to tell her that there’s a reason I never made a move on her. That fear paralyzes me. But then she’ll look at me like I’m weak, which I am. She swipes up the last strip of my neck and looks over my face.
“It’s coming though,” she says, never making eye contact.
“What is?”
“Ethan’s engaged. Sierra’s not far behind. Knox and Leilani are practically moving in together. Eventually, every one of us will find someone to share our life with.”
I doubt Knox and Leilani have any happy ever after in their future if the past is an indicator, but I keep my opinion to myself. “Doesn’t mean we won’t still be in each other’s life.”
She nods and wets a washcloth, wiping it down my face. “Not every day. Not like we are now. You don’t hear about married couples who all live together with their kids.” Her hand pauses. “But you don’t plan on getting married.”
She says it like a fact. I’ve never said that, but I guess I’ve never disputed it either. Mostly because I never thought marriage was for me. Not because I’m into juggling a million girls at one time. It’s mostly because the girls I’ve dated aren’t the marrying type and girls like Rian… I’m not even going there.
“True. I guess it’s inevitable for me to be the fun uncle, huh?”
Her hands fall to her lap as though the washcloth is now too heavy to hold up. “Why don’t you want to get serious with anyone?”
I step back, shift over, and look in the mirror, my hand sliding over the smooth skin. “Wouldn’t you like to feel this along your inner thighs?” I pull her hand up to my face.