Ink My Heart

He rests a hand next to the brick on the side of my head and leans close. I swallow tightly. His eyes roam over my face too long. “My past is my past. I can’t change it, but I can tell you this—haven’t slept with anyone since I met you. Not saying there weren’t opportunities or I didn’t consider it. But since we met, nobody compares to you. Those other girls don’t have your soulful eyes. Or your sexy voice. Or that lip ring. I want you. And I’ve only wanted you since the first night at your shop.”

The clearness of his gaze and the conviction in his voice make my breath catch. And his words about me? What girl wouldn’t be awestruck by this moment? As I look up into his face, the rain falls over both of us and his one-night-stand merry-go-round fades into oblivion. The sincerity in his expression and voice make every part of me want to believe him.

“And you’re right,” he says, stroking a wet strand of hair away from my cheek with a gentle finger. “I’m practically responsibility free, but I’d like the responsibility of making you happy.”

“Justin…,” I say as my knees threaten to buckle.

He leans until our noses almost touch. “I can make you happy, Allie. Don’t tell me you don’t feel the connection between us. Don’t give me excuses about responsibilities. You can be with me and still run your shop and be a good mother. Quit trying to extinguish the possibilities between us.”

He’s seducing me with words and with his touch, and my entire body warms as his finger traces the line of my cheekbone. He’s disorienting me and getting past all my reservations except one.

I reach up and catch his hand, pulling it away from my face. “Like possible heartbreak?”

His fingers grip mine and he gently touches his forehead to mine. “You don’t think I’m confused too?” He draws in a deep breath. “You terrify me. I haven’t opened my heart in a long, long time. Shit, I was sure I didn’t have one. But somehow you cracked it open without even trying.”

My heart tightens at his words, at his openness. Feeling completely overwhelmed, I step away. Tugging at my hand, he tries to pull me closer. “I just need some space to breathe and think, Justin.”

He quits tugging but doesn’t let go of my hand while calm patience fills his moss-green eyes. Raindrops trickle along the strong lines of his face and drip from his hair. He’s so beautiful I can’t consider anything else with him in my sight.

I glance down at our hands, and his words wash over me like the rain that’s pelting down. I don’t have time to make myself happy, but my heart tells me it could be possible with him.

Inside, I feel like I’m falling but I want to keep things slow. I say, “Maybe we could start over.” I peer at him through rain-wet lashes. “Saturday night? Like a first blind date?”

His expression is placid as he nods gently, but his grip tightens on my hand.

“I have to go,” I say. He doesn’t let go. A smile escapes me as I tug. I gesture to my wet hair with the hand that’s still holding the macaroni container. “Really. I have an appointment to get ready for.”

He finally releases my hand. “I suppose we’re strangers right now.”

I laugh as we walk around the corner of the building. “Until Saturday.”

The purr of the Z4’s engine sounds as I enter the shop, then right inside the door, I stop short, startled. Trevor is standing in the window, watching Justin drive away. “You still seeing that douche bag?”

“It’s none of your business who I’m seeing.” I march past him to the counter.

He follows me. “But it is my business who sees Ben.”

I whip around. “We’ve been on a few dates. He hasn’t even met Ben. And I’m not planning on it anytime soon.”

He leans on the counter. “How about never?”

“When are you going back to California?” I glare at him.

He drums his fingers on the counter. “How about never?” His smile is not warm.

I’m getting tired of Trevor and the constant reminders of our past that tear through me each time I see him or hear his voice. Though I feel like ripping open the plastic container and smashing the macaroni in his smug face, I say, “Since you’re into the word never at the moment, let me be clear it applies to us.” With that I leave him standing at the counter, looking pissed.

Chapter 19 Justin

Saturday night takes forever to come, but when Allie opens the door to her apartment, the sight of her makes the wait worth it. The smile on her face is warm and welcoming, and her gray eyes are bright. She’s dressed simply in a tank and flowing skirt that doesn’t reach her knees, and she looks beautiful from the top of her head all the way to her sandal-clad feet. Those bare legs are going to drive me shit-crazy all night. The nerves I tried to conquer in the car detonate inside of me at how badly I want this second chance to be perfect.

“Hello.” She gestures for me to come inside. “You must be Justin.”

I grin at her way of starting over and roll with it. “And you must be Allie. Your picture on the website doesn’t do you justice. You’re far more beautiful in person.”

“Ah, thank you,” she says, laughing.

Stepping inside, I hand her the flowers and bottle of wine in my hands. Sam is getting sick of me dragging him to the wine store, but by summer I’ll be legal.

Her smile grows. “You didn’t need to bring anything.” She lifts the bouquet of sunflowers, and whatever else the florist put in there. “But they’re lovely.”

“There’s need and there’s want. I wanted to.”

Still smiling, she shakes her head slightly. “Well, I suppose we did need the wine. I didn’t have time to get creative. Busy week at work. So we’re having dinner here.”

“Sounds perfect.”

She shuts the door and I glance around the apartment. If I keep looking at her, we won’t be eating dinner.

We’re in a big, carpeted room with a small dining table at one end and a leather couch across from a TV at the other. The tall tiled counter/bar behind the table opens to a narrow galley kitchen. Everything is plain and simple, from the wooden table to the cotton curtains. Except for the paintings on the walls. They’re bright and vibrant. I walk to one that hangs above the square dining table. Decrepit old buildings lining the edges of the painting frame the colorful swirling sky at its center.

“This yours?” I ask as she sets the wine on the counter/bar and reaches for an empty vase near the sink.

“Yes…you like?”

“It’s amazing.” I lean closer, studying the paint strokes. “There appears to be a contrast with the deteriorating buildings and the beauty of sunset.”

“Pretty much what I was going for,” she says, unwrapping the flowers and turning on the kitchen faucet.

I move toward the painting above the couch. “Your son?”

“Yes, Ben at two months.”

The wide-eyed baby lies in a bright blanket, with swirling colors leaping out of the painting. I let out a low whistle. “And I thought your tats were good.”

Setting the flower-filled vase on the table, Allie smiles with satisfaction. I’d love to see that look in bed. “Thank you. That’s quite a compliment coming from someone who has been to as many museums and galleries as you.”

I glance at a painting of wilting sunflowers, obviously van Gogh inspired, in the kitchen. “You’re almost too good to be inking.”

“I used to think so. At first.” She frowns slightly and absently rearranges the flowers in the vase. “There’s just something about creating on skin. Having someone put your work on their wall doesn’t compare to them letting you permanently mark their body. Body art doesn’t stay home. It’s carried around all the time. Forever.”