A thought suddenly occurred to her. “That’s another reason you don’t have any tattoos, isn’t it? Because they’d freak?”
He nodded, looking resigned.
“Well, I still think it’s a damn shame. That hot bod of yours needs some ink.” She batted her eyelashes. “And when you decide to get it, I know a great tattoo artist.”
He snickered. “Not until I cash in on that bet, remember? You’re the one who’s getting another tattoo. Maybe a…hmmm…what are your thoughts on unicorns? Pink unicorns.”
Brett gave him the finger. “Go ahead and keep threatening to choose something awful. We both know you won’t follow through on it.”
“You sure about that?”
She ignored his mocking smirk. “Oh, I’m sure. Because if you pick something mortifying, I’ll strap you down to my chair and tattoo the words ‘fuck you’ on your ass. And I have experience with that, too—I did it for a client last month.”
“Ha. I’m not letting you and your tattoo gun anywhere near me. Especially if you’re in the same kind of mood you were in last night.”
“She broke up with Damon!” Brett burst out, her disbelief over their TV marathon swiftly breaching the surface again. “How could I not be mad?”
Granted, yesterday’s outburst might have been a tad excessive. But she refused to apologize for being passionate about her interests.
“Besides,” she said accusingly. “You totally agreed with me. You know Elena belongs with Damon.”
“Yeah…maybe…” AJ pursed his lips. “Sometimes I think she and Stefan might be soul mates, though.”
“They are not. Damon is way more interesting.”
“You girls just can’t get enough of the bad boy, huh? Nice guys like me don’t stand a chance.”
“Ha,” she mimicked. “You’re not nice. Not after what you did last night.”
A.k.a. shutting off the TV midepisode and taking her right there on the living room floor. Doggy style.
Nope, he wasn’t nice. He was wicked.
Deliciously wicked.
“You enjoyed every second of it,” he said smugly. His hand moved to the gearshift. “C’mon, let’s get this show on the road.”
Fifteen minutes later, he parked in front of a two-story home in a quiet neighborhood in lower Southie. The house was a lot more modest than Brett had expected, small and pleasant, with a lovingly tended garden and a white-picket fence, just as AJ had said.
She reached into the backseat to grab the dessert box she’d brought, then followed AJ to the bright green front door. He strode into the house without knocking, calling out a cheerful hello.
“We’re out back,” came a muffled male response.
From the pool, no doubt. Crap. Brett cursed the cardigan she’d worn, and mentally prepared for a couple of hours of being hot and sweaty.
AJ gave her a quick tour on their way to the rear of the house. They stopped in a spacious, cozy kitchen so Brett could put the pie in the fridge, then walked through the sliding door onto a large outdoor patio. The weathered deck led down to a small, kidney-shaped pool surrounded by another spectacular garden. There was a patio there as well, and Brett’s pulse sped up as she spotted AJ’s parents.
Blond hair like their son, but AJ had gotten his green eyes from his father. His mom’s were deep brown, with thick eyelashes and faint wrinkles around the edges.
AJ wasted no time approaching his folks. He slapped hands with his dad, then hugged his mother before stepping back to introduce Brett.
“Hi,” she said, feeling uncharacteristically shy as she shook hands with both of them. “It’s so nice to meet you.”
“Well, aren’t you a tiny thing,” Tom Walsh teased. He gripped her hand gently, as if he were afraid he might crush it.
And he probably could. The man was as tall and broad as his son, and far more muscular than she thought a windows and doors salesman would be.
“I’m tougher than I look,” Brett answered, grinning as she gave his hand a firm shake.
AJ’s mother was more guarded than her husband, her curious gaze sweeping up and down to assess the woman her son had brought home. Then the older woman’s face relaxed, and she smiled widely, as if Brett had passed her unspoken test.
“I’m tougher than I look, too,” Karen told her, then hooked a thumb at her husband. “If only this one would quit coddling me. He’s still keeping me from my garden.”
Brett softened her tone. “AJ said you were ill a while back. I’m really sorry to hear that.”
“Aw, thanks, sweetie. But I’m fine now.” Karen tapped her left breast with gusto. “This heart of mine is stronger than ever. Come on, let’s have a seat. AJ, pour Brett a glass of lemonade, will you?”
A moment later, Brett was seated next to AJ’s mother, who was so sweet and bubbly that Brett couldn’t help but like her. The four of them gathered at the table and chatted for a while. AJ’s parents were intrigued when she told them she was an artist, but she left out the tattoo aspect of it and spoke instead about the black-and-white drawings she sold on the side. Eventually, AJ went inside to grab the apple pie Brett had brought, which delighted his mother, who thanked her profusely for the gesture.
So far, so good. Actually, things were going far better than Brett had anticipated.
She should’ve known her luck would run out.
“Lord, it’s humid out today,” Karen exclaimed, wiping beads of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. “Let’s go dip our feet in the pool, sweetie. It’ll be refreshing.”
Brett tensed.
Crap.
Crappity-crap-crap-crap.
She glanced at AJ, whose face had gone expressionless. He didn’t shake his head, didn’t convey an unspoken warning, but she thought she spotted a muscle tic in his jaw.
She was helpless to argue, though. Karen was already dragging her toward the edge of the pool. The woman took off her sandals and dipped her toes into the crystal-clear water, sighing happily when her feet were submerged.
Brett remained standing, frantically trying to think of an excuse.
And then…she stopped trying.
So what if Karen saw the little blue sparrows tattooed on her feet? She loved her sparrows. They made her happy. In fact, all her tattoos made her happy. Every line, every curve, every bit of shading and flash of color. She was an artist and her body was her canvas, and if Tom and Karen Walsh couldn’t appreciate that, then to hell with them.
Because how was she ever supposed to convince AJ to be proud of himself if she didn’t set an example?
Lifting her chin in defiance, Brett unlaced her shoes and peeled off her socks, then slid her cardigan off her shoulders and flopped down beside AJ’s mother.
…
As Brett’s arms were revealed, AJ swallowed a lump of dread, praying that his folks wouldn’t comment. Or judge. Or do anything but continue to treat Brett with the same level of welcoming warmth they’d shown her this past hour.
But that was too much to hope for.
“Oh,” his mother squeaked in surprise. She stared at Brett’s angel as if she couldn’t figure out what she was seeing. “Look at that.”
A laugh rose in his throat, but he choked that down, too. His mother’s eyes had traveled to Brett’s dainty feet, which she was wiggling in the water, causing the sparrows to ripple as if they were about to take flight.