Our relationship is going strong. I still can’t get enough of her. She received her prize money and her name will be published in that scholar journal, which I know will be a big moment for her. We celebrated her success without talking about what she would do next. She’s denied her parents’ calls and emails and even told Jax to tell them she wasn’t home when they stopped by. I’m trying to stay out of it because I don’t know shit about parent issues.
Rian’s voice draws me from my thoughts. “I say we ditch the celebratory lunch and head right home then.”
“Cool. You are my favorite food,” I say as the doctor knocks and then pushes the door open.
Rian purses her lips, and I chuckle. The doctor’s cool enough to say a quick hello then wash his hands, pretending he didn’t overhear me. The man understands what I’m talking about.
“Okay, let’s get this cast off. I will warn you—your arm is going to smell pretty bad. We’ll wipe it down before you leave. And you’ve probably lost some muscle strength that you’ll need to build back up.” He sits on his chair and wheels it toward me.
The nurse comes in moments later, smiling and putting on a pair of gloves.
Rian stands and comes to my side. Usually this is the type of situation where I’d be alone. Maybe Seth would’ve tagged along, but it’s nice to have someone who cares for me. Not that Seth doesn’t care, but he’d laugh his ass off if they sawed into my arm. It’s a different kind of caring.
She grabs my right hand, running her free hand up and down my arm. “What do you think your tattoos look like under there?”
Fuck. How did I not think of that? “Let’s hope not wrinkly as shit.”
The doctor looks up over the rim of his glasses. “You’ll gain the strength back right away. We’ll give you some exercises to do at home.”
I look at Rian and she shakes her head. Amazing how she can read my mind. But she’s right—I plan on getting muscle strength back during my workouts with her. Squeezing tits, squeezing ass, finger fucking—it’s all on the agenda.
As soon as the cast comes off, I gag, staring at my arm. Where is my awesome forearm with corded muscles and unbelievable ink? This scrawny, pale limb does not belong to me.
“Uh.” Rian chokes on the bile that is probably running up her throat when the smell hits her. “That’s horrible.” But she never lets go of my hand.
“You want to wait outside?” the nurse asks.
I release her fingers because damn, that’s worse than when Seth left milk in the fridge for four months.
“No.” She swallows and tries to smile but fails miserably. “I’m good.” She kisses my cheek then coughs in my ear.
“Man, she’s a keeper, huh?” the nurse says, grabbing wipes and running them down my arm.
The doctor holds up the cast. “Do you want to keep it?”
“Hell no.”
He laughs and puts it on the counter. “You’ll need to head down to the X-ray department so we can have one last look, but I don’t expect any issues. It was a clean break. Once you’re done there, come back here and let the receptionist know you’re here. If there’s an issue, we’ll call you back into the room. Otherwise, she’ll let you know you’re free to go.”
“These are the instructions,” the nurse says, passing Rian a piece of paper. “Like the doctor said, he’ll gain strength back quickly. He’s young. But in case any of these things occur, he should come back in.”
I look at Rian and the nurse. “I am still here, right?”
The nurse laughs. “I’ve found it better to give the girlfriend the directions.”
I shake my head and snatch the instructions out of Rian’s hand. But Rian asks a few questions I didn’t really think about. Like signs of anything bad and how much pressure I can put on the limb now and of course she’s my girl because she asks about sexual activity and what precautions to take. She does it all without one hint of pink in her cheeks.
After I’m done, we all file out. I can’t stop flexing my hand open and shut, trying to work some of the stiffness out.
“See you after the X-ray,” the receptionist says.
We smile and wave, and it’s clear as we walk through the waiting room to the elevators, we’re a we now. A couple. It should terrify me. I’ve never liked the idea and responsibility of being a we.
But as Rian reads over the instructions in the elevator, I stare at her. That sliver of tongue rests between her lips when she’s reading, and I realize that I kind of like being a we.
Who would have thought? Sure as hell not me.
A couple of weeks later, Rian walks into Ink Envy on a Monday evening. I asked her here under the ruse of helping me with my paperwork, saying I needed her math expertise. But first, I made sure to work the entire weekend—my girlfriend wasn’t going to be my first tattoo after my arm finally felt better. I took the full two weeks before I felt confident enough to mark someone’s skin.
“What’s all this?” she asks staring at the row of candles on either side of the aisle leading to my station.
“Lock the door behind you,” I say.
She turns and flicks the lock. I’ve already shut the blinds so no one can see what’s about to transpire.
“I thought we were doing your paperwork?”
“Well, if you’d rather.”
She shakes her head. “I look horrible. You should’ve warned me.”
She pulls her ponytail out of her hair and shakes out the strands. But I wanted her in comfortable clothes, so I’m glad she’s wearing her yoga pants and T-shirt with a sweatshirt over.
“Warned you about what?” I slide my chair over to her and my hands land on her hips, my lips pressing to her stomach.
“This romantic evening you have planned.”
I rest my chin on her stomach and look up at her.
Her fingers weave through my hair. “What did you plan?”
I pat my table. “Sit down.”
She smiles and slides up. It’s not her first time on my table. Last Saturday night after we closed, she was on the table, and let’s just say I had to heavily sanitize it afterward.
“This is not a repeat of last Saturday,” I say, and she pouts. I pull out my sketchbook, shielding it from her eyes. “Are you serious about wanting a tattoo?”
Her eyes light up and she stares at the sketchbook, wiggling her ass on the table. “Is that it? My drawing?”
I nod and she squeals, both hands reaching out.
“Gimme,” she says like a child. I hand her the sketchbook and her jaw falls open. “But?”
Standing, I cradle her neck with my hand. “I drew this for you. I didn’t have the guts to tell you that day, but this is for you. It’s always been for you. It’s a peony, and it represents wealth and happiness. But it also means beauty and fragility. According to the Japanese, peonies symbolize risk taking. That you don’t get big rewards without big risks. So it’s you, but it’s also a little reminder to spread your wings and take the leap of faith sometimes.”
Her eyes glisten with moisture. “I love it,” she whispers.
“It’s everything I see in you. Everything that makes me more addicted to you every day. But I want you to remember forever to stand out there on your own, out of the shadows, so everyone can see how beautiful, resilient, and strong you are.”