by Ashley, Ava
With every smile, every kind word, every casual, incidental touch—none of which are casual to me, since every accidental brush sends shocks through my body and fills me to overflowing with longing—he makes me fall for him that little bit more. And he doesn't know that being with me would be a death sentence. I can't do that to him.
I can't do that to anyone. But I definitely can't do that to him.
It just hurts.
There's a knock at my door. "I picked up some fresh OJ," Cooper says through the door. "You're welcome to it."
I try to stifle my sobs and pull myself together so he doesn't get that something is wrong, but I can't. My attempt to hold my breath in and be quiet ends up in a choked gasp. It's loud in my otherwise empty room.
"Savannah?" He sounds worried, knocking again. "Savannah, are you okay?"
I can't trust my voice. I know that if I try to say anything, it will betray me. Instead, I use all of my self-control to pull myself together enough for a reasonably okay-sounding, “Mm-hmm.”
But Cooper knows better. He rips the door open and is at my bed in three big steps, his face filled with concern.
"Savannah," he says. "Savannah, what's wrong?" The care in his voice makes me lose it entirely and I'm a bawling mess in moments. Before I can even comprehend what's going on, he's sitting on my bed, taking me in his strong arms and shifting my head onto his lap. One arm is over my body, an approximation of a hug, and he strokes my hair with the other. "It's okay, Savannah. I'm here. It's okay."
I cry harder. This physical contact is what I so missed just a few weeks ago, when I had my lonely eighteenth birthday in that dingy old motel. I sat by myself on a moth-eaten bedspread from the 1970s, trying to pretend that there was something helpful or positive about that birthday. I had picked up a stale cupcake from the day-old section of the nearby grocery store's bakery that morning, because it was half-off, but the frosting had hardened into a fossilized swirl of unnatural blue. The only birthday-themed cupcake left was for a little boy, so there was a plastic green dinosaur with a nine on its chest on the top of the frosting mound. I sat there on my bed, a birthday cupcake in my hand that was fit only for a pre-teen boy who had gone taste-blind, and felt like I was the only person in my world. Each dry bite of day-old cupcake tasted like sawdust sticking in my throat and no matter how hard I swallowed, I couldn't get the lump to go down. I gave up on the cupcake three bites in, but I had to drink a tall glass of water before I realized that the lump in my throat wasn't from the sub-par baked goods, but from the emotion I was trying to swallow down with my lonely birthday treat. But here I am now, suddenly not alone anymore.
I'm not sure how long we stay like that, but I feel simultaneously very safe and unbearably, unendingly sad. I finally understand heartbreak.
But better that I feel heartbreak without having gotten to love at all, than that I destroy the man I love by letting myself love him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Cooper
I have had an easier time getting heavily-trained, grown men to crack during military interrogations, completely without violation of the Geneva Convention, than I have had getting Savannah to open up about her past and her story. I'm getting to know Savannah, and she's the most beautiful girl I've known in a long time, inside and out, but I still know no more about what's haunting her. I still don't know what her personal demons are, but I know they're big.
I'm really starting to feel for this girl, though, and I know that whatever her deal is, she's already hurting enough. She doesn't need me to add to that by prying into her business and pushing her to tell me more. So when I find her in a heap on her bed, crying like her world just ended, I don't try to get her to tell me what's wrong. I want to know more than anything, because I feel this need to fix it and make everything better for her. But I know she just needs some comfort. Instead of pushing her, I just hold her in my arms.
She's this beautiful, strong woman with this beautiful, strong body, but at that moment, she felt so frail, so vulnerable. She felt as delicate as a china doll and looked infinitely more beautiful, even with the tears streaming and her face flushed from crying. Even though I was sitting there, on a passable bed with a halfway decent mattress and a beautiful girl's head in my lap, her shiny black hair splayed out over my legs, I didn't want to fuck her.
Any other girl, I'd either fuck or send home. But not Savannah. She's the kind of girl that's so beautiful you just want to stare at her, and so special you don't even want to fuck her— you just want to hold her, instead. And, when she's ready, make love to her slowly and gently and missionary style, just so that you can look her in the eyes the whole time.
When Savannah stops crying, I let her have some time alone to calm down a bit and clean herself up. She comes out of her room fifteen minutes later, looking a little sheepish but otherwise normal. I figure the best thing to do is not to say anything about earlier and let her bring it up if she wants to. As I guessed, she doesn't. But she seems grateful that I don't, either, and even invites me along to jog the pregnant lady's fat dog again.
"What?" I tease, "You actually want me to come?"
"Nah," she teases me right back, grinning, "I just know you'll come along either way, so I may as well get the good roomie points by inviting you."
God, how I love to see that woman smile.
"Smart girl," I say, "What, do I owe you dinner now?"
"Do you?" She raises an eyebrow.
"I've exhausted my cooking skills already," I say, lifting my hands in surrender, "But there's this great sandwich place that I have to show you."
"I don't know," she says.
She looks a little conflicted again. "Come on," I say. "The tuna will knock your socks clear off."
"Oh, really?" She is smiling again.
"Really," I say.
"Okay." She bites her bottom lip and smiles.
Every time I think she can't get any cuter, she does.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Savannah
Cooper is unbelievable. He's built like Adonis with a face like a movie star, but the most amazing part about him is just who he is under all of that. I would have never imagined when I first met him that the same man who rushed a scantily clad lady of the night lookalike out of his place seconds before giving an apartment showing would make me feel safe in his arms just weeks later. I was the most vulnerable I had allowed myself to be since I was a child, and more vulnerable than I had been with anyone since the death of my mother and sister all those years ago.
And yet I surprised myself by feeling safe given the things I felt, and wearing those feelings the way that I did, with Cooper. It is honestly beyond all logic. But whether or not I can understand it doesn't change the fact that that's what it was and I felt the way that I did.
Lack of logic does not change the fact that I feel the way that I do.
Reason doesn't change the fact that, though I know I should stay out of Cooper's way, I can't. It doesn't change the fact that I'm happy when he accompanies me on my jog with Maxie, even though I know I should be hoping that he won't. It doesn't change the fact that I'm thrilled when he invites me to grab a sandwich with him after the jog. It doesn't change the fact that I find myself nursing my Coke long after we're both done with our sandwiches, just to have an excuse to stay with him, and keep talking to him, a little longer. It doesn't change the fact that being around him fills me with happiness.
"Savannah? Sa- VAN-nahhhhhhh!"
It takes me a minute to realize that Tamryn has been trying to get my attention.
"Sorry," I say. "My mind was in the clouds." If 'clouds' is another word for Cooper.
"Uh-huh." Tamryn waggles her eyes at me. "Is there something you need to tell me?"
"No!" I breathe in and try again, this time less pitchy and quieter. "I mean, no. No. Nothing happened." It's true. Nothing happened. Cooper didn't try to kiss me. He didn't try to push for anything. I'm still as pure as the driven snow. I'm still the owner of a perfectl
y intact hymen and an untouched, untainted sex.
Unfortunately.
"Fine, fine!" Tamryn pretends to be hurt. "Don't tell me, then. Just wait and see. I won' t share a word of gossip with you ever again. Not a word!"
I give her a look. "Uh-huh," I say, skeptically. I'm pretty sure Tamryn would burst if she tried to keep something to herself. We've become fast friends, but the girl really can't keep anything to herself. Heck, she'd probably explode if she didn't tell me about her neighbors hanging out the laundry, much less something actually interesting.
"Okay, fine." She rolls her eyes, giving in. "I'll tell you stuff. But only because I'm an awesome friend."
"You are." I lean over and give her a quick mini-hug. "But Tamryn, are you forgetting something?"
"Yeah?" She looks confused for a second. "Oh, right! I have exciting news for you!" She does a little happy dance with her shoulders.
"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow. "I could use some good news."
"Today is your big day!" she squeals and bounces on her toes a little. "You're getting to do your first professional ink."
"WHAT?" I'm usually fairly composed, thanks to my upbringing, but this excites me so much that I can't contain myself. I leap out of my chair, knocking over the pile of paperwork I had been sorting through and flipping my chair clear over. "What the—how did—when—why—am I? But, but, but!"
I can't even put together a sentence. I have been waiting for this moment, dreaming of this moment, for as long as I can remember. Since long before it was even a possibility, I have held the idea of becoming a professional tattoo artist in my heart. I dreamt of being a professional inker, creating works of art that last a lifetime, just like my mother's tats. I knew that it could never happen, because I would never be allowed to do something as common as work a job, but I still wanted it.
And here it is.
Tamryn looks a little amused. "I would suggest that you pull yourself together a little before your first client arrives in two hours."
"Wait," I say again, collecting my wits. "What happened? How did this happen?"
Tamryn shrugs. "Apparently the guy called and asked for you by name. Roxie tried to explain that you're just support staff and not an artist, but he wasn't having any of it. He insisted that he wanted ink by you and only you. The look on Roxie's face was priceless!" Tamryn savors the memory for a second. Roxie is the owner of The Ink Joint and Tamryn has a love-hate thing going with her. Tamryn loves that Roxie gives her a job and a regular paycheck, without always been around to hover, but she hates that Roxie has such a strict hierarchy among her employees. She plays clear favorites and leaves little room for vertical growth in the parlor. Tamryn's been ticked off, on my account, that Roxie wouldn't even take a look at my art after hiring me. She really only hired me as a favor and kept me around because I work hard.
"Who is it?" I ask.
"Don't interrupt! Rude," Tamryn chides, jokingly. "Anyway, then Roxie tries to convince him to set his appointment for a month or two from now, so she can 'train' you first." Tamryn makes a face.
"And?" I prompt.
"And he wasn't having that, either! He says he has a special piece in mind and he needs it done today, by you, because it needs to be healed enough by Saturday night for his big fight!"
"Fight?" My mind is racing. It couldn't be. He wouldn't. But in the split second that my eyes are closed when I blink, I see Cooper's sleeves, etched onto his rock-hard biceps and running all the way down over his hard forearms. They aren't the usual colorful, cheap-looking, poorly done pieces that some tough guys like to get, but really solid artwork. There are interesting patterns, interesting designs, and probably all sorts of great meaningful art etched in just black all the way down both arms. I've wanted to examine them, and have him tell me all about them, but I can't go there. That would be too personal.
Still, I haven't seen collective ink on anyone that I appreciate as much as I appreciate Cooper's since my mother. To get to add to that? The idea of that honor has me speechless.
I can't say the same for Tamryn.
"Wooo-eeeee, how did you land that hunk of a man?" Tamryn asks, plopping herself down on her desk. "Seriously, girl, dish. What do you do in bed? Is it the deepthroat thing? Or do you let him—you know—during sex?"
I didn't know. But the thought of Cooper's naked body on top of mine, him thrusting his hard erection deep into my wet pussy, was enough to send an electric shock up my body, originating in my sex. I clench my legs together.
"Tamryn, I told you," I say. "There's nothing going on between us. We're just roommates."
"Uh-huh" she says, raising an eyebrow. She's not buying it.
"Let me do my work!" I'm still blushing, and as hard as I try to be stern with her, I can't stop smiling. "He's just a nice guy."
"You go, girl," Tamryn says. "You get yourself that man!"
Chapter Twenty-Three
Savannah
I don't get much done over the next two hours. I file maybe ten files, and end up having to re-file three of those when I realize that I’d filed by first instead of last name. I'm so busy staring at the framed photos on the wall of some of the most impressive works done in the parlor that I keep tripping over things and bumping into the furniture. Finally, Tamryn gives up entirely on getting any useful work out of me and sends me to the back room with a book of designs to flip through until it's 4:30.
I lose myself in the designs for a bit, but by 4:15 p.m. I'm out of the back room and bustling around the store, eyes trained on the door like I'm expecting a miracle to come walking through the door. I kind of am.
At exactly 4:30 p.m. on the dot, my miracle comes walking through the door, looking as crushingly handsome as ever, with an easy smile on his face.
He walks up to the front desk. "I'm here for a 4:30 p.m. appointment with Savannah."
"Hi," squeaks Tamryn. "Can I have your autograph?" Her voice is at least five octaves higher than normal. She clears her throat. "It's for my, um, nephew. He wants to be a fighter."
"Sure thing," says Cooper. "Tell your nephew he better hit the gym hard before he gets to the ring. Maybe I'll get to fight him someday."
Tamryn pretty much slides right down off of her seat in a swoon. She giggles and hands Cooper a piece of paper to sign. It's sweet of him to do it, and I know it's making Tamryn's day, but I want them to hurry up so I can get started on his new tat. I've only been waiting for this moment for all of my life!
"Thanks," Tamryn breathes, as she takes the signed paper back from Cooper and folds it carefully before placing it tenderly back in her desk drawer. "Right this way, sir." She gets up and leads him back to the backroom. I'm confused for a moment. Why would she bring him to the private bodywork room? I hear her say, "Savannah will be with you momentarily." Then she comes back out of the room and winks at me.
As she passes me as I head back to the bodywork room and she returns to the front desk, she whispers in my ear, "You're welcome for the private time with Hunk McSteamy."
I open my mouth to protest, but she waves me off.
"I'm a great friend, I know." She rolls her eyes. "I guess you're just a lucky girl to have a friend like me."
I shake my head and smile as I walk back towards the bodywork room.
"Hi, there," says Cooper. "Where do you want me?" He raises an eyebrow and I can tell he phrased it that way on purpose. My stomach swoops.
"Listen, thanks for this," I say. "Really. But you didn't have to...I mean, understand if you want someone who's done this before. Your tats are perfect. I don't want to pretend like I've done this professionally before."
"Don't give me that." Cooper's face is serious now. "Can you do it." It's not a question.
"Yes," I say, putting my chin up.
"I know." Cooper nods. "So don't think you're the grunt worker around here because you aren't more talented than everyone else here. I want a tattoo from a talented artist. That's why I'm here to see you. Now, where do you want me?
"
Over there is good," I say, pointing at the padded table. "What do you want to get today?"
"Whatever you want to give me," Cooper says. It sends shivers up my spine.
"But—" I protest.
He holds up a hand and shakes his head. "Give me what I need and what you dare to give. That's all I'm asking."
I wonder if he's still talking only about the tattoo, but I nod.
"My sleeves are done, but I want something on my left shoulder blade," Cooper
says. Right behind his heart.
"Do you mind if I take a look at your other ink first?" I ask.
"Help yourself," Cooper says. He pulls his shirt over his head. I breathe in at the sight of his perfect, naked chest. I resist the urge to reach out and run my fingers down his perfectly distinguished pecs, down to his chiseled eight pack, snug between a ripped V-line pointing down to happier places.
The tattoos are even more mesmerizing up close than from a distance and I'm in awe. They're also inked on a flawless canvas, but the art itself is interesting.
"I got the sleeves over many years," Cooper explains softly. "I got my first one, this one here, after finishing my first boot camp as a Navy officer. I finished my right sleeve when I left the SEALs and started my left sleeve when I started fighting. This one here is from my first tournament victory."
He lets me examine the tats a little longer, then gently lifts my chin to look me straight in the eyes. I catch my breath, heart racing out of control as I look up at his face, mere inches from mine.
"Everything I've done, everything I've experienced, is part of who I am." He says it softly but firmly. "My ink immortalizes my experiences and lets me always carry my memories, and their lessons, with me." He pauses then, and even quieter, murmurs, "Sometimes you have to take a chance, pretty girl. Life is going to happen whether or not you live it."
I'm not sure how long we stay that way, our faces inches from each other, because time stops for me. After an eternity, but also much too soon, Cooper releases my chin.