by Jo Raven
“What’s that on your shoulder?” Bella steps closer. “A drawing?”
Oh right. After hooking up with sexy guys, other girls have hickeys. I have a ballpoint pen drawing. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s pretty. Who’s the artist?” Bella is studying graphic design, like me, and has an eye for art.
“You don’t know him,” I lie and pull my blouse up, so she can’t see the signature. Zane is quite known in the local tattoo scene.
“Are you getting a tattoo and not telling me?” She narrows her chocolate eyes at me. The silver stud in her tiny nose catches the light.
“Maybe.” A dragon. By Zane. One day…
“It’s too warm. It’s a day for ice cream,” Bella says and sighs but then wanders away without saying if she would like to go have some or not.
So I go back to gathering my stuff, packing it in cardboard boxes, sorting through things I’ve hoarded over the years. I’m a hoarder. I hang on to memories. Saving mementos, putting them in files and shoeboxes, makes me happy. It’s as if I can keep the moments intact.
Nonsense, of course, and I do my best to throw away old receipts and postcards and souvenirs. I can’t take everything with me. Wherever it is I’m going. Because, let’s face it, I haven’t put much energy into finding a new place.
Oh, I’ve asked Zane, but we both knew it wasn’t gonna happen. He probably already has someone else in mind. Not that he doesn’t like me. I think he does. He finds me amusing, and he wouldn’t mind dipping his fingers in my cookie jar, but that’s the end of it.
I catch myself staring at the far wall, my lips pressed together tight, so I force myself to resume packing. What Zane does is his own business. Maybe he’ll move in with one of his buddies. Though… Erin, from what I gathered, is something of a mother hen. Maybe that’s what he’s looking for?
Whatever it is, it’s obviously not me. He made that clear.
Hot and cold. Desire and anger. I chew on my lip as I close a box, sitting cross-legged in my bedroom. He was the first to get the dragon tattoo, according to Audrey, who asked Asher. Zane had it inked when he was thirteen, too young to need a mark on his body to convince himself he could survive.
But survive what? Nobody can tell me—or, rather, those who can, won’t. Like Asher, Dylan or Rafe. Whenever I ask, they clam up.
Who is his family? Does he have siblings? Where do his parents live? Hm… I should ask Audrey, maybe she knows.
Where is the dragon tat inked on his body? What are the designs tattooed on his forearms? What other tats does he have and, what do they mean to him? How did he come to be a professional tattoo artist before he even turned eighteen?
Ugh, I want to scream with frustration. I want to know all about him.
Uh-oh. No, Dakota. Don’t.
First things first. Find an apartment, find a roommate. I should have another look at Craigslist and also go check the boards on campus again. If I don’t find something, I’ll have to sleep on the couch and be the third wheel. Not sure my friendship with Bella can take it.
My cell chimes. It’s Audrey. ‘Picnic in the park!’ the text reads. ‘Coming?’
Oh hell yeah! It’s summer! I won’t let this moving crisis distract me from the fun of it. I missed having fun long enough to appreciate it. Hell, I missed walking. I missed running and dancing and hoping for the future.
All that’s now behind me. I want to run around and look at the water, eat ice cream and lounge in the sun. Wear my new bikini and get a suntan.
The thought of the lake, all that water, twists my stomach into a knot of unease, but I ignore it. I don’t have to even get my feet wet. And I’m over my fear. Well, mostly.
“Hey, Bella!” I get up and peek around the door into the living room. She’s reading a book—something about men and women relationships. “Park picnic with Audrey? What do you say?”
She drops her book, squeals and jumps up. “Oh, yes! I’m dying of heatstroke here. Ice cream!”
I laugh. “If you were dying to go for ice cream, why didn’t you say so?”
She rarely does. Bella is like that—waiting to see what the other person wants, first. It’s endearing in a way, frustrating in others.
“I did drop a hint, didn’t I?”
I roll my eyes. “Drop it harder next time.”
Yeah, the day is looking up.
If only Zane would come, too… I can imagine him dressed only in surfer shorts, his naked chest gleaming with sweat, those defined abs in full display…
Nah, he won’t be there. He works until late at night at the tattoo shop anyway.
But, hey, a girl can dream.
Chapter Three
Zane
My heart hammers. My brain is blank. I’m leaning against the counter in my booth in Damage Control, staring at a text message that arrived on my cell an hour ago. It’s from Matt, Emma’s husband.
‘No change.’
Just two words, but they hit me like bullets. I feel paralyzed. This last therapy was supposed to be great. It has saved people. But not Emma, not my sister.
The doctors will save her. This is Emma, the one who stuck with me through foster care, who took care of me when things got rough, who found me when she turned eighteen and took me in, in her tiny apartment with her noisy roomies. It was home for the very first time.
They have to save her. They will save her. They’ll try another treatment. That’s what Matt told me the other day. He’s holding out hope.
I should be doing the same. I should find my hope before I visit them this weekend, because we’ll have to talk about all this, all that my mind refuses to even consider.
“Zen-man.” It’s Ocean, one of the other two tattoo artists of Damage. His light blue hair is sticking up in spikes. “Your customer called to cancel. He’ll make another appointment for next week.”
I blink at him, his words echoing in my ears. “What?”
“Zane.” Tyler appears at the opening of my booth, glaring at me. “Get out.”
“What the fuck’s wrong?” I glance around my booth, trying to detect a fire, a leak, anything that might call for such a demand.
“Your customer cancelled. You look like hell warmed over. Go out. It’s summer. Go do something fun.”
“Fun,” I repeat, my dark mood spreading like an oil spill. “Screw you, Tyler, and leave me the fuck alone.”
He grunts, exchanges a quick look with Ocean—what the hell?—and leans against the wall of the booth, making it creak. He gazes at me impassively.
Shit. I rub a hand over my face. Why can’t I be civil to my friends anymore? I should at least try. “Look, I’m sorry, fucker. Didn’t mean to yell in your face. I just… got work to do. Designs to finish.”
Tyler nods, his eyes never leaving me. “I called Ash. He’s passing by to get you.”
“Get me. What do you mean?”
“I mean, he is driving by to get you and take you to the park, where I’ll join you later with Erin. It’s a party. They have beers and sandwiches and music, and I hope they throw you into the lake to lighten you up a bit.”
I suppress a shiver at the thought of being thrown into the lake. Tyler has no idea. He’s acting like he’s my older brother lately, and it’s funny, only he is older than me, and maybe… maybe it’s not bad, having an older brother. Just…
Wait a minute. “Did you say party?”
“Uh-huh.” Tyler is watching me with a gleam in his eye.
“I’m not in the mood for parties.” My hands clench into fists so tight my nails are biting into my palms. “Tell him I can’t go.”
“Forgot to say…” Again that quick look exchange between him and Ocean, and then Tyler winks at me. “That girl you like will be there. She seems to pop up everywhere these days, doesn’t she? It’s almost as if she likes your ugly face or something.”
“There’s no accounting for taste,” Ocean says cheerfully and walks away from my booth.
“What girl?” I ask, my thoughts
full of Dakota, her tight little body, her large eyes, those soft lips. I lick mine.
Tyler winks. “That one.”
“If you’re done playing games...”
“I mean Koko.” He pushes off the wall.
She’ll be there? “Her name’s Dakota, dammit.”
“As I said,” he says and tsks, “that one. Now get ready. Asher will be here in two minutes.”
It isn’t until I’m sitting in Asher’s—well, Audrey’s—car, and we’re driving away that I realize how screwed up I am. Just a mention of Dakota’s name is enough to make me drop everything and follow like a puppy.
Dammit, this ain’t right. I need to exercise some self-control.
“How’s it going?” Ash shoots me a sideways look as he shifts gears in the old Mazda. Audrey got it as a present from her mom last month. “Man, you look like something a sick bird chucked up.”
“Nice seeing you, too, fucker,” I say, and I glare at him for good measure, but I mean what I said.
Ash and Tyler. The two members of my adopted family who are doing fine. The two I wasn’t sure would survive the years of abuse and come out sane. But they did. And now they are the strongest. They make me proud.
They often also make me want to punch their faces in, but I guess that’s what brothers are like.
I wish I could see every single person around me survive and live happily. Too much to ask, huh? Must be. People around me have been falling like flies all my damn life, and it doesn’t matter what I do, how hard I try.
All useless.
“Hope you brought your swim trunks,” Asher says as he turns into Olin Park.
“You must be fucking kidding me.”
“Wanna swing by your place to grab them? Come on, man, what if Dakota is in the water and needs you to rescue her?”
I shake my head. “Dakota doesn’t like swimming.”
“And how do you know that?”
“I just do.” She said it once, and I filed it under my Dakota file. Now, how ridiculous is that, having a mental file for her?
For instance, I know she likes strawberry ice cream, that she hates classical music, that she loves collecting big watches, and gardening and oriental cuisine, and… and I like the fact she doesn’t like water. Water makes me uneasy, too.
“Come on, Z-man. Have some fun. Everyone will be in the water. You can swim. I’ve seen you.”
“So what? Doesn’t mean I enjoy it. I do lots of stuff I don’t like.”
“What are you talking about? It’s summer. The water’s refreshing.”
“As if you’re going to swim.”
“Damn right I am.”
Shit, he is serious. A few months ago he’d think twice about showing his scarred back to random strangers. Life with Audrey is good for him. He’s never been so relaxed before.
Doesn’t mean I have to be, though. Doesn’t mean I can.
The heat and humidity drown me as I walk through the park in my jeans, boots and T-shirt. Ash is dressed in shorts and sandals, the bastard.
We cross toward the lake. People sit on blankets, eating and talking and laughing, and kids run about, chasing each other. So much fucking joy.
What the hell am I doing here? I’m just about to tell Ash to forget it, turn around and leave, when I hear my name.
It’s Tessa. Of course. College students are on vacation. I can’t even imagine what it must be like, studying and dreaming of your future. All I’ve ever had is the now, the present, and that’s on the good days. The days when the past isn’t sucking me down.
“Zane.” She’s breathless and flushed, her blond hair caught in two pigtails, like a five-year-old. It makes me grin. “You came.”
“Looks like it.”
“Good job, Ash.” She is jumping up and down. Maybe five-year-old was an exaggeration. More like a three-year-old. “How did you get him to leave work for once?”
“Ty did it. I just picked him up.” Ash shrugs and looks around. “Where’s Audrey?”
“This way.” Tessa flicks her pigtails with her hands and skips toward the lake.
She fucking skips. Jesus.
Ash claps me on the back and bares his teeth at me. “Ready, man?”
Of course not. This is a royally bad idea. This is kindergarten, and I’m not in the mood for hide-and-seek, or whatever else is going on here.
Ash drags me along before I can sort out my thoughts. There’s a blanket on the grass with baskets and Tupperware, but everyone is in the water, as Asher predicted. I can see Audrey and Erin, splashing in the lake, and talking with a brunette I don’t know.
They look happy. They look like they’re having fun.
Time to hightail it out of here.
I turn, but then I see Dakota at the water’s edge, and I just stop and gape. Can’t help it. Fucking hell.
She’s wearing a yellow bikini top and hot shorts that leave her slender legs bare. Her dark hair with its pink streaks is caught up in a wild ponytail, and she’s eating a red popsicle.
Correction: she’s licking a red popsicle, and her expression… Eyes closed, mouth wrapped around the ice… Giving it a goddamn blow job, and she looks like she’s having an orgasm, right there, in front of me. She hasn’t seen me yet, and it makes it all that much hotter.
This chick’s killing me. There’s nothing I want more in the world right now than to throw her to the grass and enter her, fill her up and thrust into her until she screams my name. And then… taste those lips, so full and pouty, tasting the sweetness of the ice cream on her tongue.
Oh shit, this ain’t good. Not good at all. I need to go before I lose my last shred of control.
A heavy arm swings around my shoulders, holding me in place and drenching me in cold water. “See something you like, Zen-man?” Dylan drawls.
I keep my gaze forward. It’s a much nicer view, anyway. “None of your business, fucker.”
At the sound of our voices, Dakota turns, her eyes round. The popsicle almost falls from her hand, and I step forward to rescue it. Can’t have that.
If possible, her eyes go even rounder as I offer it back. “Zane?” She glances down at the popsicle and takes it. Her hand shakes slightly. “I thought you were working.”
“Tyler kicked me out.”
She smiles, and God, I need to taste her lips. I mean, I’m not just hard. It fucking hurts, that’s how hard I am. And she’s looking at me like she doesn’t have a clue, the yellow bikini hugging her small, round breasts and the shorts riding low, exposing her flat, golden belly and smooth legs.
“Gonna grab a drink,” Dylan says, his voice distant in my ears. “I’ll bring you one.”
Who gives a fuck? I take a step toward Dakota, and her mouth opens. No words come out.
“Your popsicle is melting,” I whisper, and she jerks.
“True,” she whispers back and smiles. It makes her blue eyes narrow.
“Can I get you another one?”
She points at a cooler in the shade of a tree, and I’m there and back before she even lowers her hand. Look, I can move at the speed of light. Call me Super Zane. Hey, it’s an important mission. Have to see Dakota lick her popsicle. I feel as if my life depends on it.
“Here,” I say. “It’s on me.”
“Is it?” This time she watches me as she peels off the wrapper and wraps her mouth around the long red cone.
Oh, baby. Holy shit. She’s distracting all right, taking my mind off all the shit lurking in the corners of my head. This is just what I need. Perfect diversion.
But something in my chest clenches, and sweat breaks on my face. What’s this? It’s as if she’s scaring me, and that’s bullshit. She’s just a pretty chick. Maybe it’s because she’s different from what I’m used to, her curves slight and smooth. I usually go for bigger tits, bigger asses.
So what? A pussy’s a pussy.
I hear voices behind me, but I’m transfixed by Dakota’s strawberry lips around the ice, her tongue licking the underside. Fu
cking it with her mouth.
Her eyes travel over my body, stopping at my crotch. She gives her popsicle a long, lazy lick, and my dick twitches. My throat has gone dry. I’m in serious danger of shooting my load.
“Excuse me,” a voice says by my ear, and the next moment hands go under my armpits, and someone grabs my legs, swinging me up into the air.
Wha…? “Ash? What the fuck?” I struggle and twist, but Ash just grins at me, walking backward, holding my legs.
“I think he needs to cool down,” Dylan pipes up from behind my back, and just as the words sink in, Ash wades into water, and I’m dropped into the lake.
Impact. Cold. Water in my eyes, my mouth, my nose.
A dark space in my mind expands, sucking me in. Terror grips me. I can’t move. A scream builds in my throat, but I can’t let it out. It chokes me.
So I do what I always do, even if I know it’s in vain: I fight. I struggle. I kick and punch and hit right and left.
And it’s just never enough.
So much for distractions and a fun afternoon. Shit.
Ash parks right in front of my building and turns to look at me. “Z-man. You okay?”
I’m wrapped in the picnic blanket, still in my soaked clothes and shoes. I sure as hell am not okay. And yet... just how sick is it that having seen Dakota lick her popsicle makes it all worth it?
“I’m fine,” I say, and even I wince at how dead my voice sounds. I open the car door. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Zane.”
The use of my full name from Ash stops me. He rarely uses it. I see his hand hovering by my elbow, but he isn’t touching me.
Of course he isn’t. If there’s one guy who knows me—who knows more about me than any other—it’s Ash. He’s been through his own hell. Back in high school, we hung out together talking when something bad happened to either of us. There were times I knew I wouldn’t have pulled through if not for him.
And then, when his dad went apeshit on him and almost killed him, when he joined an illegal fight club to escape home and was fucking stabbed and almost died in the cold, I refused to see the signs. Failed him. Found him at the last possible moment.