by Piper Rayne
The waitress comes over to take my empty milkshake glass.
I turn in her direction. “Can I please get a piece of blueberry pie?”
“A la mode?”
“No. Just plain. To-go.”
She smiles and disappears behind the counter.
Should I think this over some more? Weigh the pros and cons?
My phone dings in my purse, and I pull it out.
Liam: Why do I feel oddly competitive with pie tonight?
I laugh.
Me: Not sure how to respond to that.
Liam: Are you dodging my question? I’m not going to be able to concentrate. Tell me you didn’t orgasm from pie.
Me: I didn’t orgasm from pie.
Liam: Phew. That’s good to hear. My last client canceled so I’ll be home a little earlier. You know in case you wanted to greet me naked on my bed. No complaints here.
The waitress brings the pie over, and my phone vibrates in my hand.
Liam: That was a joke. Kind of. I mean I’ll fully support you naked on my bed if you feel strongly about it, but I know we’re supposed to have this line drawn in the sand so you can wear lingerie in my bed, too. Your choice. ;)
I laugh again.
The waitress catches my eye. “The ones who make you laugh are always the keepers.”
I tuck my phone into my purse, slide out of the booth, and grab the pie. “You’re right about that. Thank you so much.” I hand her some money. “Keep the change.”
“Don’t try too many of those positions. You want to be able to walk in the morning.”
My face heats up as I turn back to see her grinning.
Okay, Liam, be careful what you wish for, because your wish is about to be granted.
Twenty-Five
Savannah
One bell announces my departure while another announces my arrival. Smokin’ Guns Tattoo shop is jam-packed tonight and I’m wondering how Liam can leave when this many people are waiting.
“Savannah?” Rhys is sitting at the front desk. “Did Liam know you were coming?”
I approach the desk with a million drawings scribbled on top. Everything here seems to be fair game for the artists.
“No. I brought him pie,” I say like an idiot. Maybe if I brought him a beer or something, it would’ve made more sense.
Rhys’s perfect eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, and I realize what he’s thinking.
“Oh crap, not like that pie.” I hold up the clear to-go container that contains the actual pie. “This pie. Blueberry pie. A real pie. Not.” I glance down between my legs.
Rhys laughs but sucks in his lips to stop himself when he sees my complete mortification. My face hasn’t felt this hot in years. I look behind me and thankfully don’t recognize anyone.
“Gotcha. Let me check in with him. He’s in the private room, working on a client,” he says.
“Oh. Well, I don’t want to interrupt.”
He shakes his head. “It’s for the customer’s privacy. Sometimes tattoos are in… well, you know.”
“Yep.” The P pops out of my mouth as I rock back on my flats. “Tell him no rush.”
Rhys winks and walks behind the counter and past the other tattoo artist, who looks my way. Some I recognize, but it’s not as though I hang around in here.
Rhys returns a minute later. “He’s almost done. Asked if you’d feel more comfortable waiting in his office?”
“I’m good here, but thank you.”
“Want anything to drink?”
Some kid who’s definitely not twenty-one raises his hand. “I’d like something to drink. Alcohol preferably.”
Rhys ignores him.
“I’ll just wait out here.”
“He was very intrigued when I told you came bearing pie.” Rhys winks again. I’m pretty sure this guy is trouble. But the good kind.
I wink back. “Now I’ll just look like a tease.”
He laughs, snapping his fingers and pointing at me. “I don’t remember you having such a funny side.”
I take a seat in the rows of chairs. Two girls across from me eye me curiously.
One leans forward and whispers, “You’re waiting for Liam Kelly?”
“Yeah.” I nod.
“He’s with our friend right now. Getting a heart tattoo right by her area.” She points a little lower than her hip bone.
I understand the need for privacy now. They’re probably in their twenties. “Nice. He gave me one years ago and I love it. He does great work.”
They look at me with wide eyes. “You have a tattoo?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” They lean back and cross their legs, snickering to one another.
Ignoring their juvenile behavior, my mind drifts to that night I came in here, lost in my grief.
Liam had opened Smokin’ Guns a year prior, but his reputation was such that people were coming down from Anchorage to have him do their tattoos. When a friend of mine showed me a tattoo she’d gotten, it planted the seed in my head, but I rolled it around for a few months because I wanted something unique.
When I walked into Smokin’ Guns, Liam and Rhys were at the front desk. Rhys’s Vans-clad feet were up on the edge of the desk, and Liam had a sketchpad in his hands. He wasn’t as muscular as he is now, but he still made my heart race. Maybe because he’s always looked at me like he was thirsty, and I was his favorite thirst-quenching beer.
Walking in was risky, because of my brothers—Denver was known to spend the majority of his time at Smokin’ Guns. Not to mention anyone could walk in and see me and I’d be fodder for gossip. The president of Bailey Timber shouldn’t be getting a tattoo.
But that night, after Liam dropped the sketchbook on the table and rounded the desk, I didn’t care. I wanted to do something for me. Something I wasn’t supposed to. Something I could look at in years to come.
“Savannah?”
Liam came so close, I backed up. He shoved his hands into his pockets and my nerves surfaced, doubts leaking in past the strong pep talk I’d given myself in the car. What was I doing? I should be anywhere but there. I should be at Bailey Timber or at the house, helping Austin with the twins.
“Hi,” I said.
“I’m going to head to the back for a second.” Rhys’s feet fell to the floor and he disappeared into the back.
“Hold on a sec.” Liam rushed past me, flipped over the ‘Open’ sign, and locked the door.
I held my purse tighter by my side. “Oh, I’m sorry. Are you closing?”
“Are you here for a tattoo?” He lowered his head to look straight into my eyes.
I swallowed and nodded, unable to say the words. Seriously, what had happened between the car and the shop? I had been all strong and confident before walking in. Who the hell cared if I got a tattoo? To hell with everyone’s expectations of me.
“And you want me to do it?” He pointed at himself as if he’d be the last person I would trust.
“Yeah, but if you’re closing, I can come back.” I turned.
He lightly grasped my elbow—similar to how he does now. Not a lot of pressure, but the surge of electricity I felt that night still happens today. “No. We’re open… for you. I just figured you’d feel better if no one came in while we were doing it.”
I smiled and my shoulders relaxed. “Thank you.”
“No problem.” He waved me forward. “Come on over to my station. Do you know what you want, or do you want to look through some books?”
“I don’t want something from the book. I want something original, I think.”
His smile widened, and he grabbed his sketchpad on the way to his station. He didn’t have nearly the amount of stations set up that he has now, and there was no privacy room back then. Although he did put up a partition for me after he got started.
He patted his bench and I slid onto it, putting my purse next to me. Sitting in his rolling chair, he propped his ankle on his knee and grabbed the pencil from behind his ear. “What do
you want it to represent?”
“My parents. Something to remember them by.”
“Names?”
I shake my head.
“Date?”
“Date?” I ask.
He clears his throat. “Death date? Some people want it.”
“No.”
He nods. “Anything personal about them?”
I inhaled deeply, and he tossed his sketchpad on the bench, rolled up between my legs and placed his large hands on my thighs. My blonde hair had fallen like a veil on either side of my face and tears threatened to fall.
“Sorry, I just wanted to get a feel for what you were looking for,” he said. “I promise I’ll never ink anything unless it’s perfect. You can trust me.”
I stared into his blue eyes that nearly matched my own. They held sincerity and empathy and kindness. I believed him, and the scared little girl crawled back inside. “Thanks.”
“Give me five minutes. I have something in mind.”
“Okay, I’ll just come back?”
He laughed. “No. You can just sit there and wait.”
He grabbed his sketchpad again and propped his ankle on his knee. Five minutes later, he hopped up alongside me. Thigh to thigh, upper arm to upper arm, and handed me his sketchbook.
I looked at the drawing of two blackbirds flying away. One larger than the other but practically side by side. My mom and dad used to play The Beatles song “Blackbird” all the time. It was one of their favorites. It wasn’t their wedding song but over the years it kind of became their song and my dad would always try to buy my mom things with blackbirds on it—greeting cards, tea towels, paintings. Liam must’ve remembered. A tear slipped off my cheek, blotting the perfect picture.
“I’m so sorry.” I wiped at it, but that only made it worse.
“It’s okay.” He took it from me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off it. “So is this good?”
“Yeah. I love it.”
He hopped down. “If you have any hesitancy, I can keep working. It doesn’t have to be done tonight.”
“No, I really want it.”
He smiled again. A perfect mouth full of straight white teeth. “Perfect. Where do you want it?”
I cringed, and he tilted his head. Hopping off the bench as well, I pointed at my hipbone but inside, closer to my private area. He nodded, but I saw his Adam’s apple bob.
“If you’d rather someone else do it, I understand,” I rushed to say. “You’re my brothers’ best friend and all.”
“No.” The word croaked out of him. “I’ll do it.”
“Great. I hoped it wouldn’t be a problem.”
“I’ll be right back. Let me get the stencil done.”
Just as he said that, Rhys came back into the big room. “Getting ink, huh?”
“You can call it a night. I’m going to close up,” Liam said to him.
“Oh.” Rhys looked at me. “Oh. Gotcha.” He went to the front desk and returned a second later with his coat and backpack. “Have a great night, you two.” He winked just like he still does.
I laugh now, remembering how uncomfortable I felt in that moment. As though Rhys would spread gossip that I was sleeping with Liam. I wondered how that would look. What my family would say.
I remember how Liam came over with a partition and laid out everything. “Now’s the time for you to strip down. We can do this two ways. You can take off pants off completely, or you can lower them to your knees. Your choice.” He looked nervous. The tips of his ears were pink, and he kept dodging my gaze.
I lowered my pants to my knees and laid on the table as he directed. Liam did all the prep work, put on gloves, and applied the stencil. After I approved the placement, he slid forward and one hand reached out to touch my hipbone. I retracted slightly.
“Last chance?” he said.
I shook my head. “I’m good.”
The music over the speakers changed and Counting Crows, “Colorblind” came on. Between the buzz of the needle, Liam’s hands on my body, and the lyrics to the song, tears leaked from me like drops from a faucet. Slow and steady and consistent.
Liam said nothing, allowing me to have my moment. His hands were steady on my bare skin, and he didn’t feel the need to fill the silence with words. He didn’t assure me that things would get better. He was just there, and it was the first time since my parents died that I felt some sort of acceptance creep in.
He finished, and I missed his presence as soon as he rolled away. He wiped the tattoo one last time and held up a mirror for me to look at it. I could have stared all day.
“Liam, it’s beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it. Do you mind if I snap a picture? It’s just for original tattoos I do myself.” I nodded, and he pulled out his phone and took a shot. He showed me the picture. “Just the tat. None of you.”
“Thanks.”
“Let me put some ointment on it and bandage it up.” He went back to work, and after he took off his gloves, he disappeared before returning with a box of tissues.
I wiped my eyes, and he still didn’t say anything about my meltdown.
“What do I owe you?”
He put his hand on mine as I reached for my wallet. “It’s on the house. Do you need a ride home?”
I shook my head. He unlocked the front door, and I stepped out into the cold winter weather.
When I turned around, he was still in the open doorway. “Thank you, Liam.”
“I’m here whenever you need me.”
I waved, and he watched me slide into my car and drive away. If I had to pinpoint when things shifted between us, I’d have to say it was that moment.
“Savannah?”
My name being called pulls me back from the memory and into the present.
Rhys waves. “He said two minutes.”
I nod and notice the two girls who were across from me are now standing with a third girl. Her shirt is all tangled, the buttons not aligned, and my stomach clenches. I quickly remind myself that it’s his job to tattoo people and I myself was pant-less on his table once.
“So?” one girl asks.
“He said he’s kind of with someone. That he wasn’t interested,” the girl who got the tattoo says.
The other girl glances my way and murmurs to the other two. The third nods.
I’m so busy watching their interaction that I don’t notice Liam coming out from the back.
“I heard someone has pie?” he says, hopping over the small partition.
I stand and hand it to him. “Here you go.”
“Oh. Okay.” He rocks forward. “I have to be honest, I was hoping for a different kind of pie.” He gives me that sexy grin that makes it impossible not to smile back.
Rhys finishes running the girl’s credit card and she signs, her two friends ushering her out.
“Do you get a lot of offers like that?” I ask him.
He looks at the girl who just left. “No, but I’m rarely asked point-blank. It sucks, but I’m just a tattoo artist, and I’m not giving any mixed signals.”
Perfect. Now that that’s out of the way, I gather my courage so I can say what I came here to say. I nod and step closer to him. “Take me home, Liam.”
He turns but he must hear something in my voice because he does a double-take, asking me with his eyes my definition of “take me home.” When we lock eyes, he shouts, “Rhys, close up!”
Someone groans behind me as Liam puts his hand on the small of my back, escorting me out of the shop.
“I think someone else wanted your services.”
He grabs my hand and we walk by the three girls, which I kinda feel shitty about.
“I’m only servicing you tonight.” He picks me up over his shoulder and I squeal.
Why have I held out this long? It’s been Liam since he branded me with ink. How was I so blind?
Twenty-Six
Liam
I shouldn’t press my luck, but when Savannah slides into the front seat of my ca
r, agreeing to leave her SUV behind and get it tomorrow, a question rattles around in my head. And I’m probably the world’s biggest dumbass for asking, because it could derail this entire thing, but I have to know.
“Hey, Sav?”
She’s grabbing the seatbelt, so she can’t see that I’m not moving to start the car yet. “Yeah?” After she fastens her seatbelt, she finally notices.
“Why the change of mind?” I insert the key into the ignition to get the air conditioning going but turn down the music.
She swivels in the leather seat, the pie sitting between us. Her heated gaze in my direction diminishes, and I grab her hand before she can run in the opposite direction. She doesn’t pull away and my heart catapults at the idea that she finally might feel what I do. What I have for so long. That there’s something here we need to explore.
“I want to be here. With you. These past few weeks, things have shifted. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been attracted to you for years, but I’ve used every available excuse as to why we wouldn’t work. You’re younger. You’re my brothers’ best friend. You’re easygoing and I’m uptight. But I’ve figured out that I never knew the real you. I thought I did, but I didn’t.”
“And?” I can’t keep the hope from my voice.
She smiles a bit. “I don’t have all the answers, if that’s what you’re looking for. All I know is I’m exhausted from fighting whatever is happening between us. My arm is weak from holding you back.”
I tighten my grip on her hand, bringing it up to my lips to kiss the inside of her wrist. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
I nod. If I’ve learned anything about Savannah, it’s that she can’t be pushed. It’s taken me months to get her here. I tried to strong-arm her into seeing it and that didn’t work. Who knew standing back and being her friend would change her opinion of us? Asking her to define what we are right now isn’t the way to win her long term.