2. willow
CHAPTER 2
WILLOW
YOU DON’T NEED TO GO OVERBOARD
Tattoos didn’t comment when I snapped a photo of his license plate to send my dad, per my usual steps to discourage murderers. He just opened the door for me and waited.
Oh, I do like this man .
He typed in the hotel’s address while I struggled with something to say. The kind of thing to hide all the nerves. Or I could just bite the bullet and tell him my big secret. The thing that set me apart from other girls, especially the ones who went home with boys from the bar.
"So, um…" My words stalled. "There’s…"
Tattoos put his arm behind my seat to reverse. "Why Jade the Architect?"
The question took me by surprise.
"I needed something for every social media site. It works well with the searchability. It's easy to make merch for. It’s an important part of my brand. Plus, Architect, like I’m building something to last."
"Your brand?"
I had all the best intentions of telling him my secret. Instead, I unloaded everything about the persona I’d been working on since high school.
The hotel in the distance shocked me.
Are we seriously almost there?
I turned to look at him. "You haven’t said anything?"
"I’m listening."
But asking questions and saying things are two entirely separate things. After fifteen minutes in the car, I didn’t know anything about this mysterious man I didn’t already know.
"You don’t talk much, do you?" I guessed.
A sheepish smile crossed his face. He looked a little embarrassed, and it was so sincere, and so cute, it made me a little braver. I wasn’t the only nervous one.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked.
"Why aren’t you joining in?"
"I like hearing you speak. You have a…very beautiful voice."
Oh .
My heart did flip-flops, and I folded my hands in my lap. I wouldn’t fidget. This was not fidgeting time.
"Look, Tattoos, you’re already getting a handjob. You don’t need to go overboard."
" What? " The car swerved and he swore under his breath, bringing us back to the main road. "Sorry—I’m sorry?—"
I couldn’t help but giggle. Being with him gave me a high like nothing else. The mention of what we were about to do had him turning into the nonexistent traffic. Oh my god.
"I—uh—that’s not why I offered the ride. I knew you needed one."
Oh .
A different kind of blush hit me. Did I misread? Tattoos was only being nice, and I rushed ahead and assumed.
"My friends are back at the bar," he said. "I drank too much this trip so I said I’d be the designated driver tonight. They’re fucked up and I have to get them back to the hotel—where were you three hours ago?"
Thank god—it wasn’t only me who felt the electricity. Back from the embarrassment, I groaned internally as we drove even closer to the hotel.
"My friend—Adam—he’s proposing to his girlfriend," Tattoos added, remorseful. "He’s been waiting for the right opportunity. I’m supposed to take photos."
"Oh, wow."
"He could be too fucked up. I don’t know—I’m sorry."
I shrugged, trying not to let the disappointment show. "It’s fine."
"I would. In a heartbeat. You’re the coolest girl I’ve ever met."
Another slam drunk from a guy who didn’t even have the time to get a handjob.
"So, tell the truth…" I snuck another look at him. "How long has it been?"
"Since…?"
I raised my eyebrows.
"Three years. Is it obvious?"
How is that possible? Tattoos was so damn good-looking and so sweet. How were ladies not lining up at the door?
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-one."
That didn’t answer the real question. I stared at him in disbelief.
"Lots of family stuff, and work, and I've been on dates, it just hasn’t—uh—it’s been three years."
Something struck me, I should’ve asked at the bar.
"You’re not a football player, right? Or…any kind of Marrs athlete?"
He hesitated. "Is that a dealbreaker?"
Transferring to Marrs meant having to be around my mom’s husband all the time. The oh, so famous Coach Dan Lawson of the Romans.
I didn’t want to become attached to one of his cultists, but I was afraid to even mention Lawson. What if Tattoos started jumping through hoops to meet him? That’d be the ick of all icks for me.
"Yep," I admitted. "It’s a dealbreaker."
Tattoos was quiet for a moment. "No. I’m not in sports."
Thank you.
We pulled into the parking lot and Tattoos turned off the car.
"You can come upstairs for five minutes, and we can do something to cut your streak?"
"That’s not going to work, Willow."
"Why not?"
"I want more than five minutes with you."
I tried to take a deep breath, but the deep breath wasn’t there. In its place was tension so thick between us. It was so hard to remember I had to actually leave his car.
"I can give you a tour when you get to Houston?" Tattoos said hopefully. "I can show you all of the best places on campus. Where to eat, shortcuts to your classes?—"
"You can give me a tour of your bedroom."
The interruption made his words stutter, and I smiled back at him, enjoying how much I affected him. With a grin, he nodded. "Can I get your number?"
"What about your Vanysh too?" I suggested.
"My what?"
"You’ve been out of the game," I teased. "We send photos now. Vanysh is another one of those apps where the photos only last for a certain amount of time…"
"Photos?"
"Photos, voice messages, videos of certain unbefitting and undignified activity…"
Understanding dawned on his face. "I haven’t—uh—done anything like that before."
"I can teach you," I murmured.
His palpable excitement was addicting. It took everything in me not to jump into his lap. Quickly, he downloaded it before I typed in my number. But when I tried to pass back his phone, he hesitated.
"Can I get a picture?"
I thought he was joking. "There’s other people in the parking lot."
"No." He chuckled nervously. "Not that kind of photo. I mean—for the contact? Can I get one of you?"
Fighting off yet another blush, I snapped a picture and handed it back to him. Tattoos smiled down at the phone before redirecting that smile back to me.
"This isn’t my real hair." I tugged one of the curls. "It’s a wig. I mean, my real hair is also curly, it’s just not pink. I have this for the mics. And I’m wearing contacts. Usually, I have glasses. It’s a whole…Clark Kent, Hannah Montana thing I have going on."
He held up his phone. "I guess you have to send more pictures."
Wow .
If I’m in this car any longer, I’m sucking his dick .
"Goodnight," I whispered, reluctance brimming under the surface.
Tattoos leaned over to meet me, and my heart pounded. I knew what he was going for. If I couldn’t get him upstairs , at least I could leave with a kiss.
"Give me a second." He slipped my headphones, poking out of my jacket pocket.
I stared, surprised, as he quickly untangled them and looped them around each other, tying them into a neat circle for me.
"Oh. Thank you."
"No worries. Can you text me when you get to your room okay?"
"The room right upstairs?" I stepped out of the car. "Yeah, I’ll make sure to tell you I wasn’t attacked between here and my room."
His scars, his tattoos, his muscles, gave the entirely wrong impression. Tattoos was so cute and so sweet, I couldn’t believe it. So eager . It poured off of him and it left me wanting so much more.
It was such a different feeling from the usual hard anxiety I had because of my secret. The one that kept me firmly in the virgin category.
The one I forgot to tell him.
Shit.
"Willow?"
I glanced back to see Tattoos, shutting his door before making his way to me. He stood so close, I had to gaze up to look at him.
"I forgot something," he hurried to say. "I mean, I didn’t forget, I—can I kiss you?"
Oh my god .
Heat pooled between my legs, and I nodded.
For as out of practice as he was, the hard craving under every action made it so worth it. Tattoos touched the side of my face. He dipped down and captured my lips for a kiss and?—
Oh.
Oh, oh, oh .
Out of practice meant nothing to that kiss. I had to fight back the groan when he kissed me again, long and sweet. I’d been kissed before but suddenly those weren’t kisses. This was a kiss.
One of the few kisses I could count and the only kiss I ever had from someone like Tattoos. Someone I was legitimately attracted to and not throwing my virginity at because I thought they’d make the best candidate.
The rhythm jolted me, taking my breath and my senses away until it was just him , fisting my jacket in his other hand, yanking me closer.
The second it ended, I swallowed. " Wow ."
He kissed me again, molding me to him with a rumble deep in his chest.
I broke away. "Five minutes upstairs."
His eyes burned into mine.
"Look—"
"I’ll fly you out," he insisted.
"What?"
"You can stay at my place. I’ll pay for everything."
"You don’t know me. What—you want to get robbed?"
"If I get to kiss you again, I really don’t give a damn."
I blushed hard. The truth was, my mini tour was over. I had to meet up with my family in San Antonio to help my dad pack for his big move and say goodbye to my relatives. It’d be the last time I’d see my dad and my brothers for months.
"I can’t." I sighed. "I have a family thing."
"I can fly to you. I mean—fuck. I’ll figure something out. I’ll get the time off of—uh—work."
"It’s fine. Eight days."
"Eight days," he repeated, not moving an inch.
I walked to the front doors, checking over my shoulder every few feet to make sure he was still there.
Finally, he moved too, shoving his hands in his pockets, walking backwards to his car.
"Willow?" he called.
"Yes?"
"I eat pussy."
An older couple walking up the stairs gaped at him, and I burst into laughter. "Oh, now you want to talk?"
Tattoos gave another sheepish smile and bumped into his car. "If you need a reason to text me…"
"I’m definitely texting you."
"Okay. Awesome." He fumbled with his door handle. "If you could—that’d be great. That’d be better than great, actually. That’d be pretty fucking incredible."
I knew one thing for sure. Tattoos was exactly who I’d been looking for. He was the man to take my v-card.
Maybe I could be excited about Marrs after all.