“Don’t be such a baby. The website said the procedure is virtually painless. They use some sort of skin chiller.” She shrugged as she led the way up the stone pathway toward the front door.
Following her inside, he shook his head. “I’m just saying. They can claim whatever they want on their website. This shit’s going to hurt.”
Several other people waiting for their appointments glanced up at him with worried expressions and Parker hit his arm. “Shhh, you’re bad for business,” she said, as they approached the reception desk to check in. “Hi. Parker Hamilton and Tyson Reed—we have appointments with Dr. McNally at eleven.”
The young receptionist’s eyes lit up as she stood. “Oh my God. I saw the name on the appointment schedule, but I thought no way could it be you.”
Parker smiled. “Yes, I . . .”
But the girl was looking straight at Tyson. Parker stopped speaking and shot him a look.
He laughed as he shrugged. “What? Vegas is my city . . . go back to Hollywood,” he said with a teasing grin.
“Would you sign something for me?” the receptionist, whose name tag read Amber, asked. “Here. We also need these filled out,” she said distractedly, handing Parker a clipboard with a new patient registration form attached while she continued to stare at Tyson, waiting for an answer.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Tyson said.
Coming around the desk, she handed him a marker, then lowered the edge of her white uniform blouse, revealing the tanned, shapely swell of her breast.
Parker’s eyes shot daggers.
He hesitated. It wasn’t the first breast he’d ever signed, but they were in the middle of the clinic reception area. And Parker looked ready to punch the girl. “Are you sure you don’t want me to sign something a little more . . . permanent?”
Amber shook her head. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll take a selfie before I take a shower.”
“Of course she will,” he heard Parker mumble as she carried the clipboard to an open seat in the waiting room.
He signed his name, then hurried to sit next to her. “You know, this place doesn’t seem so bad after all.”
“Shut up and fill this out,” she said, handing him the clipboard.
He took it. “Are you jealous?”
“Why? Because you’re a fan favorite? Not at all.”
He set the clipboard aside, and turned to face her. “I meant because I saw her breast in record time.”
She scoffed. “I’m an actress. Are you going to be jealous when I’m kissing other men on set?” Her gaze was locked on his in challenge.
His smile faded. Shit. He hadn’t even thought of that until now.
“Good to know,” she said, her own smile returning.
* * *
“All right. Let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” Dr. McNally, a man in his late forties, early fifties said, putting on his glasses as they entered the treatment room.
“On three?” Tyson asked her.
“Just pull your pants down and show him your ass.” He probably wouldn’t have had a problem doing it for Amber, she thought wryly, lowering the side of her jean capris to expose her own tattoo regret.
The doctor studied hers first. “Yeah, we actually see a lot of these Japanese symbols. They were quite popular at one time.” Then he turned to Tyson. He squinted. “Obviously a homemade job . . . but what is it? A bird wearing a bike helmet?”
“Exactly,” Parker said with a smirk. She shook her head, seeing the tattoo for the second time. She’d have to have been pretty drunk to let that happen to herself.
“Hey, at least I know for sure what mine is supposed to represent. Yours could be the symbol for beef and broccoli and you’d never know,” Tyson said, pulling his pants and underwear back up.
Her grin faded. She hadn’t thought of that before. Now she really wanted it gone.
“Okay, Parker, you’re first,” Dr. McNally said, reaching for several pairs of protective glasses from the shelf behind him.
Darn. She’d been hoping Tyson would go first. She wanted to see the process before she did it; that way she could back out if it did look painful. “Tyson can go first. His is smaller.”
“His is also older and faded already quite a bit. I have to use a more powerful laser on yours, so climb on up,” he said, patting the table.
“What’s the matter? It’s virtually painless, remember?” Tyson winked.
“Fine.” Removing her jeans, she lay on her side on the table, covering herself with the sheet but giving him access to the tattoo on her hip.
“Okay, great. Put these on, please.” He handed her a pair of dark sunglasses.
“What are these for?”
“Well, we are working with lasers so we want to be as safe as possible.” He handed another pair to Tyson.
She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. Maybe there was more to this than she’d thought. She forced a breath as she put the glasses on.
“Now, I’m going to turn on the skin chiller. It will help manage the pain.”
She sat up. “The website said this was painless.”
The doctor gently touched her shoulder, easing her back down onto her side. “It’s about as pain-free as you’re going to find . . . but it’s still a laser,” he said.
Tyson laughed. “Told you.”
She raised her glasses to glare at him. “Being right isn’t going to make yours hurt any less.”
He stopped laughing.
“Ready?” Dr. McNally asked, rolling his stool closer, laser in one hand, skin chiller in the other.
She nodded and a second later a blast of freezing air was directed on her hip. Then . . . Oh my fucking God. She closed her eyes tight and gripped the edge of the table, as her skin felt like it was being shocked over and over again. “This . . . is . . . not . . . pain-free.” She gasped.
“Just a few more minutes. Hang in there. Do you need a break?” the doctor asked.
What she needed was a fucking time machine to go back and tell her stupid self not to suggest this in the first place. “No . . . hurry,” she said as the laser’s heat combined with the freezing was almost too much to take. She knew if she stopped, she’d never let him start again.
“And we’re done,” he said, far too long later. “Take a look.” He turned off the machine and handed her a mirror to see the results.
She sat slowly, removing the glasses and stared at the white frosting on the surface of her skin in the shape of the tattoo. It was still visible beneath, but already parts were faded, and despite the pain seconds before, she was glad she’d gone through with it. “How many more sessions will I need?”
“Two . . . maybe three.”
Two, maybe three more episodes of that excruciating pain. She sighed. She could do it. It would be worth it in the end when she didn’t have to be embarrassed by her rebellious mistake or cover it up all the time. Still she was glad she had to wait six weeks between sessions, long enough to start forgetting how awful it actually was.
Behind her, Tyson was frowning as he sniffed the air. “What is that burning smell?”
“Burning flesh,” the doctor said. “You’re up.”
Unlocking the door to her home an hour later, she was barely inside before Tyson’s arms were around her waist, his lips at the base of her neck. She leaned back against him, enjoying the moment. The pain of the tattoo removal had been worth it if it meant spending the day with him. She’d been surprised when he’d suggested they go back to her place instead of heading to the gym, but his hands sliding up her body left no question what his intentions were.
Reaching behind her back, she felt for his hard-on and smiled. “I thought we weren’t going to do this again.”
His lips moved up her neck and he kissed her ear. “You knew we were going to do this again . . . it was just a matter of when,” he said, before scooping her into his arms and carrying her up the flight of stairs toward her bedroom.
The sound of the front door unlocking aga
in a second later made him stop. His eyes widened as he set her down slowly. “Does someone have a key to your house?”
Her housekeeper, her gardener, her interior decorator, and . . . The door opened. “Hi, Grandma.”
“Grandma?” Tyson looked ready to run over the older woman on his escape out the door, but he stood frozen in place next to her, his eyes questioning.
“Hi, dear. I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” She was staring at Tyson.
No, nothing. Just an afternoon of toe-curling sex. “No. I just got home.”
Abigail closed the door and Parker descended the stairs. She heard Tyson swear quietly under his breath as he followed. She prayed he could tuck his hard-on away somewhere so he didn’t give the eighty-year-old woman a heart attack.
“Well, I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by . . .” She paused. “What happened?” Her eyes widened as they landed on the white gauze bandage sticking up over the edge of Parker’s jean capris.
“Oh . . . nothing. I just finally got that tattoo you hate so much removed.”
Her grandmother smiled. “And who is this?” she asked, once again turning her attention to Tyson.
“Oh, sorry, Grandma. This is Tyson Reed, my MMA trainer. Tyson—Abigail Hamilton.”
He extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Hamilton. I’m . . . uh . . . a big fan.”
What? She hid a laugh. Who was he trying to kid?
Her grandmother smiled graciously but glancing at her she said, “Should I ask him which movie of mine was his favorite?”
“No,” Parker said.
His cheeks turning a gorgeous shade of embarrassment, Tyson turned to Parker. “You know, I should get back to the gym. I’ll leave you two . . .”
Her heart fell. He was leaving. Great timing, Grandma. She wasn’t confident if he left now he’d let his guard down another time. “Oh . . . okay, I’ll walk you out. Just give me a second, Grandma.”
“Take your time, darling. I’ll put the coffee on.”
Sure. Coffee. That’s what she wanted.
She sighed when they reached the front door. “I’m sorry. I really need to take that key away from her.” How was she supposed to have coffee and a pleasant chat with her grandmother when she’d been hoping to be naked and halfway to her first orgasm by now?
He touched her cheek, the soft, gentle nature of the gesture surprising her. “It’s okay.”
Damn. Next he would say that her grandmother had saved them from making a mistake. She swallowed hard.
Instead, he leaned toward her and kissed her. “Text me the second she’s gone,” he said as he opened the door.
Oh thank God. She closed the door behind him and rushed back to the kitchen. This would be the fastest visit in history.
* * *
Lying on his back on Parker’s bed a long four hours later, Tyson flipped the pages of her movie script. “This coach sounds like a douche.”
Parker, wearing his T-shirt as she paced in front of the bed with another copy of the script, stopped to shoot him a pointed look.
“You’re shitting me—you don’t think I sound like this, do you?”
“Yes!”
He frowned, rereading the last line of dialogue: “Get your head out of your ass, or get the hell out of my gym . . . hmm . . . okay, maybe a little.” He flipped to the second to last scene with the movie’s hero—a doctor who hates that his new girlfriend is an MMA fighter. “Okay, maybe the writers weren’t so far off the mark with the coach’s dialogue, but come on—what man actually says ‘I never saw the sun until it was shining in your eyes?’” He made a barf face.
Parker picked up a cushion and threw it at him. “One who wants to get laid.”
He caught the pillow, then sitting up, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her onto his lap. “Really? To get into a woman’s pants I have to spout some bullshit line?” He nibbled on her collarbone. “I’ve never had to try that hard . . . women just flock to me.”
She wiggled in his arms, turning to glare at him. “They flock to you?”
He grinned. “Like a PMSing chick to chocolate.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Maybe, but at least I’m not lying to every woman I meet, telling her what she wants to hear just to get her in bed, and promising a future when I have no intentions of settling down.”
Her expression changed slightly and he couldn’t decipher it. She pushed against his legs, freeing herself, and grabbed his copy of the script from the bed.
“What did I say wrong?”
“Nothing.”
In other words—everything. He stood and wrapped his arms around her, turning her to face him. He hid a smile at her pout. “Come on, you really don’t need to hear flowery words or meaningless promises, do you?” He hadn’t pegged her for a woman who needed the romance, the fake highlights reel, and the matching his and hers towels. The thing was, he wasn’t sure he was the type to give her all of that. The idea of letting his guard down so completely, opening himself up to a potential heartache made him reluctant to even get as involved as he already had. He refused to be that lovesick, pathetic guy who ended up a broken mess when things ended.
She sighed. “No. You’re right. It’s usually just a lot of bullshit.”
“Exactly. And no guy—in real life, anyway—actually says those things. Therefore, Hollywood romance movies are really screwing things up for the real guys out there.”
“Real guys like you?”
“Yeah. Real guys like me.”
“So, what you’re trying to say is this thing between us—where we go from hot to cold and back again—is real and the stuff in movies only sets unrealistic expectations for women of men?”
“That’s exactly what I’m trying to say.” Glad they were finally on the same page. He leaned in to kiss her, but she placed her hand over his lips and pushed his face away.
Okay, maybe not.
“Maybe you should try a little harder to pretend a bit more. After all, the guy in the movies gets laid . . . You won’t be,” she said, disappearing into the bathroom.
He dove after her, but she closed and locked it too fast.
He shook his head with a sigh, glancing down at his semi-hard-on that had nowhere to go. “Guess we better get better at the bullshit.”
* * *
Romance was not his thing. Flowers and candlelight dinners were a foreign concept. Rose petal trails leading to a bedroom decorated with scented candles? Never going to happen. But if Parker wanted a real date, he could do that. The day before, he hadn’t been able to shake the look of disappointment on her face that she’d tried to hide. She wanted more from him and he found himself wanting to give her more.
Which terrified the shit out of him.
He wasn’t sure he could ever fully commit the way she deserved, but for the first time in his life, he wanted to make an effort—for her. Even if it did make him vulnerable. No other woman had ever been worth the gamble.
“Where are we going?” she yelled over the noise of the motorcycle and wind as they flew down Las Vegas Boulevard the next day.
“Quit asking,” he yelled back. She really didn’t get the concept of a surprise, he thought, shaking his head with a grin.
“The last time we ventured outside of the gym I ended up in the worst pain of my life watching you get hit on by a receptionist.”
“That one was your idea. Mine’s better. Now, hang on,” he said, picking up speed as he merged onto the freeway. He felt her arms tighten around his waist as she slid even closer, pressing her body into his back. The only thing better than speeding down the highway on a beautiful fall day was having a sexy woman on the back of the bike.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled into a parking lot. Removing her helmet, she read the sign on the building. RED ROCK CLIMBING CENTER.
“Now, don’t freak out . . .”
“I . . .” she started at the same time.
“No one is great at this th
eir first time. Just try your best and we’ll have fun, okay?” he said, taking her hand as they went inside.
She nodded. “Okay.”
Ten minutes later, harnessed up and standing in front of the easiest thirty-five-foot wall in the building, Parker looked terrified. “Are you sure about this?”
Tyson nodded, fastening her helmet. “It’s fine. I’ll be down here working the ropes. You’re safe. Trust me?” he asked.
“Should I?”
He smirked. “In here, yes.”
“Noted,” she said wryly. “Okay, where do I start?”
They moved closer to the wall, covered in multicolored holds, spaced a relatively easy distance apart. He’d seen children climb this wall. He was confident she could do it. “Just put your foot in this first hold and reach higher as you go.”
She did as he instructed.
“Great, you’re doing good.” She was about halfway up the wall, and he had a hard time focusing on her climbing and not staring at her firm, shapely ass in the tight pink leggings she wore. Damn, the woman was hot . . . and she was actually impressing the shit out of him on this wall.
She glanced down at him. “Really? You think so? How about this?” His mouth fell open as she picked up speed and flew up the wall expertly, then rappelled back down with ease.
He stared at her when she reached the bottom. “You’ve done this before.”
“Uh-huh,” she agreed. “Once or twice.”
“Right.” He pulled her harness, drawing her closer and kissing her. “You could have told me.”
“I was enjoying your macho alpha-man routine,” she said with a smile, kissing him again. Then she held up an arm, flexing a bicep. “These noodle arms are not that weak after all, huh?”
“Okay Rocky, this was the kid’s wall. Let’s see what you can do with a real one.” See how cocky she was then.
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