Just Say Yes (7 page)

Blend

“Tim, I don't care if it's on the original list. I
can't
get a tattoo. It's too . . . permanent.”

Tim shook his head and laughed. “Isn't that the idea? That's why you never would've done it. And besides, what's the alternative? You can't get some kind of henna tattoo or one of those kids' ones that come off with rubbing alcohol.”

Quinn used the red light to slow down and catch her breath on the corner. She'd always considered herself a runner. But since she'd started jogging with Tim a week ago, after he'd casually invited her to join him, it had occurred to her that maybe she wasn't quite deserving of the title. At least not when she compared herself to Tim, whose long, muscular legs carried him swiftly through the streets at a pace more suited for a cheetah than a human being. Not that she was complaining. It was a small price to pay for getting to see Tim in mesh shorts and a tank top, sweat glistening on his biceps. And now that the late-May weather was getting increasingly hotter and more humid, he'd taken his shirt off about four blocks back. As the two bounced up and down, waiting for the light to turn green, Quinn's eyes scanned Tim's body—she hoped discreetly—until her gaze settled on his pierced nipple, which she hadn't known he had until . . . right . . . now.
Jesus, the man gets sexier by the second.
She wondered if she'd been staring at his chest long enough for Tim to notice. But it was at eye level, so she couldn't help it.
Sure,
that's
why you can't take your eyes off his muscles and the small hairs that lead down to his . . .

“What?” he asked, looking down.

Shit.
“Um,” Quinn thought quickly, “I was thinking I'd get a piercing. I've always wanted one.”
No, you haven't.
“I just saw yours and thought maybe I could do that instead.”
Stop. Talking.

“Get your nipple pierced?” Tim took off when the light turned green, causing Quinn to have to sprint after him.

“Well,” she huffed, “not my nipple.”
What else do people pierce? I probably shouldn't ask that.
“Maybe my nose or something.”

“Like a bull?”

“Nooo,” she said, dragging out the word as she punched his arm playfully. “Like a little stud on one side or something.”

They stopped at Quinn's building, and Tim remained silent for a moment, clearly trying to look pensive. “I guess that's acceptable,” he finally said. “I'll meet you at 202 Ink at six. It's on M Street.”

“Sounds good.” Quinn unlocked the door that led to the lobby and pulled it open.

“Oh, and, Quinn,” Tim called from the sidewalk, still jogging in place. “Better take a couple extra Tylenols before you go, 'cause this is gonna hurt like a bitch.”

What the hell have I gotten myself into?

•   •   •

Quinn arrived a few minutes before six and was already looking in the case of jewelry when she heard the bells on the door jingle and turned around to see Tim stroll in.

He looked fresh out of the shower, his blond hair a little darker than usual because it was still damp. He wore a dark gray fitted T-shirt with the logo of a band that Quinn had never heard of. “I'm surprised you're here,” Tim said eagerly. “And early. I thought I might have to drag you out of your apartment and carry you here.”

Quinn felt a pleasurable shiver at the thought of Tim's hands on her, but she pushed the image aside. “Well, I figure, what's the worst that can happen? If I don't like it, I can just take it out, right?”

“This is true.” Tim leaned over Quinn's shoulder, entering into her personal space. “So, which one are we looking at?”

She breathed in his scent—a spicy clean that was all his own—before answering. “Whichever one will hurt the least.”

“Well, then you want to steer clear of the larger gauges,” he said as though Quinn knew what he was talking about.

“The what?”

Tim laughed. “Sorry. The thick jewelry right there. The lower the number, the more it will hurt.” Tim raised his eyebrows. “But truthfully, they'll
all
hurt. Your nose is all cartilage.”

Quinn felt her face and neck warm. “Maybe I should just get a second hole in my ear.”

“Oh no, I don't think so,” Tim warned, putting his solid arm around Quinn's shoulder as he led her away from the case. “You're not getting off that easy. Come with me.”

Before she could do anything to stop it, she was seated in an old leather chair that looked like it was more suited for a dentist's office than a tattoo parlor. Tim asked for the smallest diamond stud they had, and a scruffy man with low pants and a navy beanie cap returned a minute or so later to set up.

“I like your wallet chain,” Quinn said to the man nervously. “I didn't think anyone still wore them. I haven't seen one since middle school. My eighth-grade boyfriend had one until they got banned because Gavin Whitfield tried to whip—”

“Lean back,” he ordered suddenly.

Quinn hesitated. “Um, can I just have a minute? I'm not quite ready.”

The man huffed, his stench reminding Quinn of her grandfather's after he'd smoke a pipe on his back patio: a mixture of smoke and sweat. “I'm gonna grab a cigarette before we get started anyway. Relax for a few minutes and I'll be right back.”

Once he left, Tim took a seat in the swivel chair beside Quinn. “You sure you want to do this?” he asked, sincerity in his eyes. “We can always go another time if you want. It's important that you're comfortable.”

Quinn knew Tim was trying to be sweet. But she didn't need that. She just needed a minute or so to compose herself. “I'll be okay,” she assured him before glancing around the small room. Skulls, photographs of half-naked women, and a few signs with some curses hung on the walls. Then she spotted the tray with the piercing supplies and felt the color drain from her face. The needle was thick. Like, really thick. And in a few minutes, that really thick needle would be going through her face. Then she turned to Tim, and the two stared silently at each other for several minutes, Quinn inhaling deep breaths as Tim rubbed the outside of her biceps soothingly.

“Ready?” the man asked, and then closed the door behind him.

She swallowed hard.

“Actually,” Tim said, “there's been a change of plans. I'm gonna get one first.”

Quinn looked at Tim curiously.
What the hell is he doing?

Tim shrugged. “This way you'll see how easy it is. Plus, we promised we'd do everything
together
. I'm just holding up my end of the deal.”

Quinn was so thankful for the respite, she allowed herself to pretend that his explanation made sense. “What are you gonna get pierced?”

“Whatever you want,” Tim said simply. “You pick.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Quinn thought for a moment. This was a major decision. She was choosing where to put a hole in this man's body. She looked Tim up and down, feeling free to study him without reservation until her mind finally settled on a part of him she'd often caught herself fantasizing about. Well . . .
one
of the parts anyway. “How about your tongue?”

The left corner of Tim's mouth quirked up into a half smile as if Quinn's selection amused him. “You heard the lady,” he said without taking his eyes off of her. “Just a silver barbell will be fine.”

A few minutes later, Tim was seated where Quinn had just been. His tongue was out, and the man held it in place with a metal clamp before sliding a needle through, followed by the jewelry.

Quinn's face scrunched up in empathetic pain. But there was nothing to empathize with. Tim barely flinched.

“See? Simple,” he said, somehow still able to speak. “You're up.”

Quinn sat down and felt her muscles clench immediately. She gripped the armrest tightly and shut her eyes. It was bad enough she'd have to
feel
whatever was about to take place. She didn't want to have to
see
it too. But what Quinn wasn't expecting to feel was Tim's palm slide underneath hers as he peeled her hand off the cracked leather gently and interlaced his fingers with hers. The contact with his skin made her own tingle at his touch.

She didn't need to hear him or see him. Feeling him was enough to ease her nerves. She took a breath and relaxed right before the needle stabbed through her nose. “Ahh . . . fuckety, fuck-fuck . . . shit.” But those were all the expletives Quinn could expel before it was over. At least the pain was short-lived.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Tim joked.

He was still laughing as the man held up a mirror for Quinn to see her new image. And she liked what she saw: the rebel inside her that had probably always been waiting to be unleashed. “I'll kiss whoever I damn well please,” she replied with a playful grin.

•   •   •

Tim walked out of the tattoo parlor and held the door open behind him for Quinn.

“Thanks,” she said. “It's beautiful out tonight.”

“Yeah. It is,” he agreed. Tim slyly snuck a glance at Quinn's new piercing. It definitely added a hint of rebel to the all-American Quinn. Tim felt some of his mirth fade away. His argument with Scott was still fresh in his mind. He'd meant the things he'd said. Tim was trouble with a capital T. And as he glanced at Quinn's new body jewelry, he couldn't help but think that he was corrupting the fresh-faced beauty. He'd been able to talk himself down from those thoughts when she'd stolen the pack of gum because, well, it was a pack of gum. But that had morphed into her getting stabbed in the face, putting a permanent hole where it wasn't meant to be.

Quinn stopped on the sidewalk and looked up at him. She looked . . . happy. The tumultuous storm within him quieted slightly. If he had played any role in making Quinn feel better about herself, then that was enough for him to stop mentally assaulting himself. He had a sudden need to keep her that way. To keep that proud, buoyant look on her face. “What are you up to for the rest of the night?” He looked down at his watch.
Only seven o'clock.

Quinn shrugged. “Nothing, I guess. The girls all had stuff going on, and I had this. I don't know that I can handle much more excitement anyway,” she joked.

“What? It's Friday night. You going to sit at home and knit or something?”

“Why, yes. Would you like me to make you something?”

Yes, you can make me worthy of you.
“I could use a scarf, old maid.”

Quinn laughed. “Now you're just being insulting.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

Tim's fingers itched to touch her. “Come out with me.” Tim had said the words before really thinking about them, but not a single fiber of him wanted to retract the offer. “I'm meeting up with a few of my buddies to play pool. Nothing major.” The truth was, it
was
major. He'd never brought a girl to hang out with his friends. Tim felt like that implied a certain amount of substance to a relationship: meeting each other's friends. But he knew Quinn's friends, even if their own relationship was stalled at friendship. The truth was, she meant something to him. She meant a lot
.

Quinn scrunched up her face. “I don't want to intrude on guys' night.”

“We're not a bunch of chicks gossiping about boyfriends and offering sex advice. We're just hanging out.”

Quinn looked at him curiously.

“What?” Tim asked.

“I'm trying to figure out if I should be insulted by that or not.”

They both laughed. “Present company was clearly excluded from that statement.”

“Clearly,” Quinn said.

“Come on.” Tim bumped their shoulders together. “You know you wanna come. Think of it as a bonus to your list. Chill with a bunch of thugs at a pool hall.” Tim's voice had been light, but the truth of his words hit a nerve somewhere deep in his body. The reality was, a girl like Quinn was much too good to be hanging around with his roughneck crowd. But that didn't make him regret the invite. He wasn't ready for their time together to end, even if it was selfish of him.

“You're not a thug.” Her voice was adamant. It was endearing, even if it was misinformed.

“Okay, reformed thugs, then.” He smiled as he spoke, but Quinn's demeanor didn't change. She just stared at him for a few seconds, as if she were looking for something. The look made him feel naked. Exposed.

Finally she spoke, her voice soft but strong. “Okay, I'm in.”

“Good,” he replied. “I'll drive us there, and we can come back for your car later. I'm not meeting them 'til nine. You want to grab dinner first?”

“Are you sure you feel like eating?” she asked, pointing to her mouth.

Tim shrugged. “Gotta get used to it eventually. Might as well start now.”

“Sounds like a plan, Stan,” she said as she slid her arm through his and let him lead her to his car.

•   •   •

“I got a bacon cheeseburger and fries and you're just getting salad?” Quinn asked after handing her menu to the waitress. “I thought you were a tough guy,” she added with a sly grin.

Tim raised his eyebrows. “I'm adventurous, not psychotic.”

“That second part's up for debate. You just got your tongue pierced like you were deciding what laundry detergent to buy.” Suddenly Quinn propped herself up onto her elbows and leaned across the table. “Let me see it anyway.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Tim stuck his tongue out slowly.

He could tell Quinn was trying to disguise her initial squeamishness as she put her hand over her own mouth. “Looks . . . swollen.”

Tim laughed. “Definitely feels swollen. But tongues heal quickly, so I'm sure it won't be long before I can use it for things again.”