Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
ZARA
“Viva La Vegas, bitches!”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Hendrix mutters under his breath as he attempts to cover the grin curving his lips.
Darius has half his body sticking out of the top of the Escalade’s sunroof, yelling at the top of his lungs at the entire Vegas strip. I don’t think he’s had a drop of liquor. He’s still riding the high from their performance tonight.
And damn, what a performance it was.
The guys were electric tonight.
It was a slow night at the clinic, so I was able to sneak over to the stage and watch. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing Hendrix perform.
He is an absolute professional. Even when he appeared to have missed a riff, he just kept on going, not showing a single sign of distress on his face.
A part of me was worried the attention would change him. That all the adoration from the fans and the girls would change us. But he handles it like he does everything else: with gratitude and grace. He signs T-shirts, poses for pictures, and always pays special attention to aspiring musicians.
It makes my heart swell to see him manifesting his dreams. But a small part of me wonders if there’s space for me in this new life he’s creating.
Do I want there to be?
“Darius!” Zander laughs, grabbing the back of his shirt to yank him back into the seat. “What the hell do you not understand about staying under the fucking radar, my man? You’re gonna cause a damn riot!”
Sitting across from us, Asher just smiles and shakes his head. I’m honestly surprised he agreed to go out with us tonight. Unless it’s PR-related, he usually stays at the hotel. “I say we just toss him out the window like a bloody sacrifice, yeah?”
“Agreed,” Hendrix and Elena say at the same time.
I glance out the window and watch as the flashing lights of Vegas go by. It’s so bright, and there are people everywhere.
The group could not believe I’d never been here.
“Didn’t you grow up in California?” Zander asked.
“Um…yup. California native.”
“Isn’t Vegas like a short drive from the Bay Area?” Elena asked, making everyone laugh. She was obviously the newest California implant. East Coasters tend to forget just how big our state is.
“Not short,” I answer, unless you consider nine hours short. “But drivable, yes. Not exactly on my parents’ list for family-friendly destinations, though.”
“Right then. We’re going out!” Darius declared.
“No nightclubs!” we all shouted. Darius and Vegas sounded like a bad combination. Of all the guys, he was the least tame, and this was, by no means, a PR-sanctioned event we were planning.
But when he told us what he had in mind, the guys quickly got on board.
Now, we’re cruising down the strip in a tricked-out Escalade on our way to a private location for a group activity I never thought I’d be doing.
It’s been a little over a week since we were in Houston, and every day has felt like one of those cheesy montage reels they do in a rom-com. The two main characters have finally hooked up, and it’s just sex, breakfast in bed, and endless laughter. Followed by more sex.
That is what my life feels like right now.
Every moment we’re not working, we’re together.
We never even discussed it, but after that first night, he didn’t bother going to his room when we got to Dallas. He just followed me to mine, and we’ve been together ever since.
And it feels…good.
“All right, so this is a mandatory participation kind of night, yeah?” Darius gives each of us a stern, take-no-shit look. “No spectators.”
Zander gives his wife and me a glance before turning to address Darius. “No one’s gonna be forced, Darius. This isn’t the sort of thing you get peer pressured into.”
I chew on my bottom lip for a moment before making eye contact with Elena. We lock eyes for a second, and then her lips curl into an amused smile.
I nod.
“We’re in,” we both say at the same time.
“What?” Hendrix and Zander echo back.
“We’re in.” Elena shrugs, raising an eyebrow at her husband. “What? You thought I’d chicken out?”
“No, I just—”
“It’s not like it’s my first time.”
“No, but—” He swallows, and the look he gives her is primal. “Fuck.”
I turn away and find myself staring right into Hendrix’s concerned gaze. “You sure? ’Cause you know it’s—”
I laugh. “Permanent?”
He gives a smirk. “Uh-huh.”
“Did you know that when you got that little cherub on your chest?”
His denim blue eyes soften as he holds my gaze. “Yes,” he answers. “I did.”
Before I can form a reply, Darius announces that we’ve arrived, and everyone erupts in a boisterous cheer.
The SUV comes to a stop, and as usual, we’re behind the building, so at first glance, it is not all that appealing. The driver pulled right up to the nondescript steel door to prevent us from being seen, so I barely have a moment to look around before we’re ushered inside.
When Darius announced his intentions for us tonight, he quickly roped PR Misty to help with his plans. With her magic connections, she was able to get us into one of the top tattoo studios in Vegas tonight.
Just us, as in they shut the whole place down.
But I guess when one of the biggest bands comes calling, it’s sort of a big deal. Plus, I’m sure they’re going to be walking away with a lot more than what they’d make on any other given night. And then some.
We’re headed down a hallway when Hendrix says, “Hey Zander, remember when you got a tattoo for your brother’s bachelor party? This is kind of like that.”
“Yeah, only no one’s getting married,” he says with a smirk over his shoulder.
“I mean, you could.” He shrugs. “Again, I mean. Since you two didn’t bother to invite any of us the first time around.”
I hear Darius behind me say, “Oh damn.”
I snicker out a laugh.
“Or you could,” he counters. “Seeing as I’m already married and you’re not.”
“Wait, what?” He almost trips as his gaze darts to mine. “He’s not…I don’t—”
“Yeah, wouldn’t that be fun, guys?” Zander says over his shoulder. His grin is downright evil. “We all get tattoos, and then head to the little white chapel so Hendrix can have his very own Vegas wedding.”
“What the fuck?” His eyes are like saucers, and I swear he’s sweating out of his ears. “I have no idea what he’s talking about.”
“But I wanted an Elvis impersonator!” I whine.
“You do? Wait, you’re fucking with me, aren’t you?”
I grab his arm, laughing. “Come on, Romeo. I’m gonna get your name tattooed on my neck!”
“Okay, now I know you’re messing with me!”
“I now understand why females carry the babies. We’re obviously physically superior,” Elena says as she watches her husband make the tiniest grimace as the tattoo artist works a deep line of ink into his skin.
“So rude,” he mutters.
“Did you see me flinch?”
“I didn’t realize it was a contest,” he answers with a smirk. “Also, I believe I’ve told you at least a thousand times that you’re physically superior.”
“During sex, yeah.”
Hendrix chuckles in the chair next to him. All the guys decided to get matching tattoos to commemorate the tour, so they went with the tour logo. It’s a star with two interlocking Ms in the center.
“I meant more like when you gave birth to our beautiful daughter, but sure. Sex too.”
Now, it’s Elena who laughs.
She has already had her turn, and I have no idea what she got. All I know is that it was in an area that required her to go into a private room, and when it was finished, the tattoo artist came out, but Elena and Zander did not.
When they finally emerged thirty minutes later, Zander was grinning ear to ear as he discreetly slipped the artist a wad of cash.
Guess he really liked her tattoo.
I still haven’t made a firm decision on mine. I’ve picked something out. I’m just questioning my choice.
What if I change my mind later?
What if I have regrets?
When I was married to Tanner, I knew something so off the cuff, like a tattoo, would never fly. Body art and piercings were for other people. Not a senator’s family.
So I never allowed myself to think of the possibility.
Until now.
Now, I appreciate the idea of doing something spontaneous, of having this little souvenir from this wild time in my life when I traveled around the world with a bunch of rock stars.
“All done.” The guy working on Hendrix gives his wrist one final wipe down and asks him to look it over before he covers it up. I still can’t believe he had any room left, but right there, below his Creed tattoo, is a bold, five-point star with two interlocking Ms for Manic at Midnight.
He inspects his new ink, and I notice a flash of emotion cross his face before he replaces it with a broad grin. “Looks good, man. Thanks.”
I’m not sure why, but seeing his expression in that moment really solidifies it for me.
My decision is made.
There will be no second-guessing. No regrets.
About ten minutes later, the guy—his name is Dex, I think—has his station wiped down, sanitized, and set up again. He looks up and gives me a wink. He’s probably in his mid-twenties and already covered in tattoos. I thought Hendrix had a lot, but this guy has him beat. “You ready?”
“Um…yep.”
Hendrix hasn’t asked what I’m getting. I think he’s letting it be a surprise, or he’s giving me space to make the choice on my own.
Either way, he gives me an encouraging smile as I walk the few steps to Dex’s space.
The studio has an open concept, with six artists evenly spaced out behind a huge counter that separates the lobby.
Each artist showcases their own unique style.
Some display floor-to-ceiling sketches, while others have plants and photos of their friends and family.
This all helps distinguish and divide their spaces.
In the back, there are private areas for clients who might need to remove clothing.
Speaking of…
“I, um…” My throat suddenly feels dry. “I was thinking of getting it…here.” I point to my hip.
“Sure,” he nods, not seeming to care in the least. I guess he sees naked body parts all the time. “We’ll probably need to head to the back, though, since you’ll need to lower your jeans.”
I hear a chair scraping against the linoleum as someone stands, and suddenly Hendrix is right behind me. “What now?”
Dex looks over my shoulder, and an amused grin spreads across his face. “This is your girl?”
“She is,” he answers, with absolutely no hesitation.
My stomach flips like I’ve just been asked out to the junior prom. I was never asked out to the junior prom.
“He can come back,” he tells me, before adding with a flirty wink, “If you want him to.” Now, he’s just fucking with him.
Hendrix practically growls behind me, placing a possessive hand on my hip.
“I want him to,” I answer, before tossing a glance over my shoulder.
I find Elena standing next to Zander as he’s finishing up. She looks up at me and gives me two enthusiastic thumbs up and mouths, Good luck!
I might need it.
We both follow Dex behind another curtain to a hallway that has a few closed doors.
“We each have our own private room back here too. Seems kind of redundant, but the owner likes to have us all out front and on display whenever he can.”
“Well, it is Vegas,” I say awkwardly as he ushers us into a small room that resembles his station up front.
Several rolling carts line the walls. They’re similar to the ones in my clinic, minus the plethora of stickers.
A couple of chairs are scattered around, and the familiar padded table sits in the middle.
A bunch of sketches adorn the walls, ranging from old-school pinup tattoos to detailed cartoon characters and gruesome-looking monsters.
He probably thinks my simple design is boring in comparison.
Hendrix must sense my nervousness because his hand slides over mine, and I instantly relax. I’m so glad he’s here with me.
“You ever going to tell me what you’re getting?” Hendrix finally asks. I wondered how long he would last before the suspense finally got to him.
While the guys were busy getting their tattoos, I went to the lobby and chatted with the artist at the counter. She helped me flip through some flash books to find something I liked, and then she was even kind enough to use the design as inspiration to draw something for me on the fly.
Now, I have an original piece of art to adorn my body.
And Hendrix is going to lose his mind when he finds out what it is.
“You’ll see,” I tease.
“All right.” Dex points to the table. He’s gone back into his professional mode and is no longer teasing Hendrix. “I need you to slide your jeans and underwear about halfway down. I can tuck a towel under the waistband.
“Okay.”
“I’ll get shit ready over here while you do that so your man doesn’t try to murder me, yeah?” Okay, maybe a little bit of teasing…
I snort out a laugh. “Yeah.”
“Cool.”
He turns his back and begins to do…whatever it is tattoo artists do to prepare, while I position myself on the table. The paper crinkles beneath me as I move to undo the fly of my jeans.
Hendrix sighs as he gazes down at me. “I know I’m gonna find this ridiculously sexy in a day or two, but right now, I just want to let you know this is pure fucking torture.
” He looks up and levels his gaze on the back of Dex’s head like he’s making sure he’s keeping his word about keeping his back turned.
I smother a grin as I slide my jeans down, and he runs a hand over his face. “Noted.”
“Whoa.” He stops me from going any further. “That’s enough. Any further and you’re going to be showing him things only I’m allowed to see.”
“Only you, huh?”
His fingers brush over the sensitive skin of my hipbone. “That’s right. Only me.”
“All right.” Dex’s loud voice interrupts the moment, and as Hendrix steps back, I see him turn just in time to see Dex carrying over the stencil.
His eyes widen, and they snap back to mine.
“Seriously?”
I nod. “Well, it is my last name.”
Dex helps me find the right placement for the small and delicate-looking cupid. “No, baby. Valentine is your last name. Cupid is the name I gave you. So you know what that means, don’t you?”
I lick my lips and grin. “That we’re matching now?”
“No,” he says, his blue eyes blazing. “It means that you’re mine.”