Chapter 6
Chapter Six
PAST
The shared custody arrangement at that tree? It wasn’t good enough for me.
Up until I met Kat, I didn’t even think I had room in my shriveled-up heart for love anymore. My mom passed not long ago. After that, my heart seemed to shrink day by day. By the time the most beautiful girl in the world rocked up on that fancy steed of hers, I was pretty sure I was completely incapable of feeling.
I had shut down. Dulled my senses with beer whenever grief started to scratch at my chest .
And I thought I was okay with that.
Until Kat.
The first time she sat with me beneath this tree, something changed. I brought two beers like always, a ritual to keep the emotions away, but that afternoon I never cracked open the second.
I didn’t need it.
I was too busy listening to her voice, watching her hands move on that pad of paper of hers, seeing her create something from nothing, feeling her magic pull me in.
Somehow, after months of being unnaturally quiet—I was never known for my silence—I started talking again.
It didn’t feel forced like the times women chatted me up at bars. It didn’t feel awkward like me dancing around my dad’s depression.
No, with Kat, it felt easy again.
So easy that it was like she’d cast some kind of spell, lifting the fog that had settled around me, letting the light back in.
There was something about Kat—something just my type, though I couldn’t have described it in words even if I tried.
She was gorgeous, no doubt. Long, dark-brown hair, blue eyes that could knock the wind out of my chest, olive skin so smooth I had to ball my fists to stop from touching. And that voluptuous, hourglass figure? It made my fingertips tingle with want.
But it wasn’t her body, her piercing gaze, or the way her mouth quirked up like she was always hiding a secret smile. None of that was what had me showing up on her days at the tree.
It was something else.
Something mysterious, impossible to resist .
Chemistry?
No.
It was the way I wanted to open up around her—how her closed-book nature made me feel like she understood exactly how precious it was to let someone crack your spine and see what was inside.
I know a few things about Kat now, though it’s not through direct conversation so much as what I’ve gathered. She’s definitely from a wealthy family. She mentioned it’s only her father around now and joked about her mom running away with the pool boy, though I could see she laughed about it, maybe so she didn’t cry. For as rich as she is, she surely seems deprived of love. If she gets any, it’s on conditions set by her father. He sounds like he’s as good at being an asshole as he is at making money.
Our conversations have made me more grateful for my own family. Despite how hard we’re all having it right now with Mom gone, the stark contrast between Kat’s superficial dad and my own, who loves so hard he’s empty right now, somehow has given me hope the Mendez family will find brighter days.
For the first time since my mom died, I find myself wanting to give someone else what I miss most.
I want to give Kat something steady, something real.
Something that doesn’t demand, only gives.
Kat—who makes the world ten times more beautiful with her oil pastels and breathtaking smile.
As I come up the hill on Hector, Ares trots into view on the crest, his muscles rippling beneath the late afternoon sun.
She’s here.
I knew she would be. It’s our fifth time meeting here. Once, she came on a weeknight, and I got the sense it was a big deal for her to do so. Mostly, I’d come on weekends, crashing her solitude. These meetings are no longer by chance.
I come for Kat.
For the way she makes the world sharper and brighter. For the way she and this tree offer me something I didn’t realize I was desperate for—respite.
I’m not hopeless anymore. I’m not empty.
I’m healing.
Slowly. But I am.
She’s hunched over, back against the tree, her hand sweeping smooth, purposeful strokes across her notepad. The wind stirs her hair, but she doesn’t move to fix it, and something in my chest tightens.
Then, without looking up, her lips lift at the corner.
It’s small—so small I might have missed it if I wasn’t so goddamn tuned in to everything about her.
But it’s there.
She’s happy to see me.
That tiny, almost-hidden curve of her lips sends a pulse of nervous energy through me, my body torn between wanting to pull her against me and needing to sit down before my legs give out.
The breeze is gentle. The grass whispers in the wind around her.
She keeps her eyes on her work. “I missed you last weekend.”
I amble closer. “Yeah, I had a rodeo. I finally got a price agreed for the perimeter fencing. But Enzo is being a real pain in the ass about the gate. Fort Knox ain’t cheap. So I needed to win.”
“How did you do? ”
She glances up, and I could rip open that shirt of hers right now and send the buttons flying to the next town over.
“Top prize. Third in roping, but I’m rusty.”
“When are you going to teach me to rope?”
Fuck, I would tie this woman up so fast…
I haven’t asked her out because I went from being numb to feeling a whole hell of a lot very quickly. I’m wary of it. I saw what happened to my sister, Shay, when she got into a relationship quickly with some hockey player from our hometown after Mom passed. It didn’t work out. Now my sister is broken in two spots. I’ve trod lightly these past couple of meetings, but that old reckless nature of mine is creeping back in.
“I’ll teach you to rope.” I crouch next to her, close enough to catch the faint scent of her shampoo, something sweet and warm. “But you can’t bring your hard hat and high vis.”
She whacks me with her notepad. “Sue me for caring about my brain.”
I chuckle, stealing the moment to take her in—the flush of her cheeks, the way she nibbles at her bottom lip, the way her fingertips linger on the notepad like she’s grounding herself.
“What are you drawing today?” I ask, my voice rough with everything I’m not saying.
She lifts her notepad. I lean in, eyes tracking the gentle smudges of color, the way the pastels blend like warm mist on the page.
“I’m trying to perfect the grasses.” She pats the space next to her.
God, do I want to be there. Being in her gravity is the most grounded I’ve ever felt.
When I sit, she bumps into my side, playful and deliberate. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Flirting without words.
Her fingertips brush my knee, lingering longer than necessary. She shifts, her thigh barely skimming mine, a featherlight tease that shoots heat straight through me.
Then, the final blow—she reaches up and snatches my hat from my head, plopping it onto her own.
“You think you can just steal my hat like that?” I say, low and dark, tilting my head, letting my gaze drag over her, lingering on the way it shadows those bright blue eyes.
She shrugs, mischief dancing across her features. “Guess you’ll have to take it back.”
Fuck me, she wants to play…
Every nerve in my body begs me to close the distance, to claim what’s being offered, to taste that teasing smirk off her lips.
But this isn’t just a game for me.
I want her. Not just for a night, not just for the temporary relief of tangled sheets and gasped names in the dark. I want her in ways that have nothing to do with sex and everything to do with her.
Still, I have to tap into every ounce of self-control not to pin her beneath me, to taste every inch of her, to fill my hands with her curves and make her scream my name loud enough to send the birds flying straight from this tree.
But I hold back. For the first time in my life, I don’t rush in.
Because this? This isn’t the same as a fling.
And that scares the hell out of me.
But I still leave my hat on her head.
She leans over to grab her backpack, and when she does, her ass pushes into my thigh. Her peachy cheek would be a perfect fit for my palm.
“I got you a present.”
She rustles through her backpack, takes out a tiny box and hands it to me.
“You got me oil pastels?” I ask.
“Yeah, you seem to be taking a real interest in art, and maybe it’s time you have a crack at it.”
I lift the box. “I’m just a voyeur, Kat.”
“Are you?” She leans in, so close her breath skims my lips, teasing me with the scent of something sweet—berries, wine, temptation itself. “I would’ve taken you for more of a doer than a watcher, Santi. But then…”
Her voice trails off, her words a challenge, a dare.
My gaze drops to her mouth—those sinful, lush lips that have been taunting me for weeks. I close the space between us, slow, deliberate, testing just how far she’ll let me go before she pulls away. She doesn’t.
My voice lowers. “You want me to do something, Michi ?”
She holds my gaze, unwavering. “Michi?” She cocks an eyebrow.
“Kitten.”
The blush that blooms across her cheeks is slow, creeping in like dawn over the hills. She tilts her head, something softer slipping into her eyes like she likes the way it sounds coming from my lips. Like she wants to hear it again.
“Do I need a nickname for you now?” she teases.
“No pressure.”
God, I could kiss her right now. I could ruin us right here in the damp grass. But just like before, I hold back. She’s either the biggest tease I’ve ever met, or she’s more nervous than her bold words let on.
She snatches the box of pastels from my hand and gives it a shake, breaking the moment just before it ignites. “Maybe you’ll be really good. It’ll be fun.”
I take it back, letting my fingertips glide along the back of her hand. Electricity crackles between us, charging the air, thickening it with something inevitable.
I set the oil pastels on the grass beside me. Because today, I have other plans. “Would you take a commission?”
Surprise fills her gaze. “A commission?”
I smooth hair off her shoulder. “As in paid work for an artist.”
“I know what it means.”
The way her body swells with pride is something I’d give my right hand to see again.
I raise my eyebrows in response, but in the pause between us where she enjoys the flattery, my heart pounds harder with what I’m about to ask.
“Maybe,” she replies. “What is it?”
My heart stills. This is a big fucking deal, but I’ve been thinking about it for the last few weeks and I want Kat to do this.
I rub my hands on my jeans because I’m surprisingly nervous to ask. “I’m getting a tattoo, and I want you to draw it.”
“Oh…” She pauses. “You want me to draw something for you to tattoo on yourself?”
This whole conversation is getting even harder, and yet with every step I take, I actually feel lighter.
I take a photo from my inside jacket pocket. “It’s my mom. She passed away almost eight months ago. I want a memorial tattoo.”
Kat’s jaw is slack. She blinks hard a few times. “That’s shitty…”
“Yeah. Cancer. It’s a bitch. ”
Kat puts her hand on my arm; a soothing touch is better than any more words. There aren’t any, and Kat seems to understand that. We sit for a moment, staring out at the landscape that brought us here, both for different reasons, but offering the same space to breathe. I love that Kat doesn’t speak to avoid silence. She doesn’t say something generic to make herself feel useful in a time where nothing a person can say or do changes a damn thing.
We sit here. Like we have many times before, the cool breeze on our faces. My mom’s photo is pinched between my fingers as if she’s enjoying this moment with us. She was probably my age in the photo. Maybe she’d just met my dad.
Time always escapes you when you aren’t ready for it.
Finally, Kat inhales and exhales as if letting that moment pass and reaches over to take the photo from my hand.
If anybody else had done that I would have snatched it back before they could get their greasy mitts on it. But not only do I let Kat hold one of the few photos of my mom from when she was younger in Mexico, I somehow like the sight of it. Of sharing. With her.
“She’s beautiful…” Kat smiles. “You have her eyes… and nose.” She flicks her gaze upward. “You could take the photo in, though. Probably a tattoo artist would be better…”
“I want a crown of flowers in her hair,” I say, interrupting her humility. As if any tattoo artist around here can draw like she can. “Nobody does flowers like you.”
I offer a crooked smile.
She scrunches her nose. “You’re sure? I’ll need time…”
I can hardly keep my eyes on her with her all bashful and cute like this, with my mom’s photo in her hand. It all feels too… right.
“Just do it here. Now. In this spot. You draw fast, and I think the way you naturally draw is perfect. I just want to somehow think of her here… it’s hard to explain.”
Kat nods as if she understands. As if she knows exactly what I mean without me having to say it.
She turns to a new page and rustles around in her backpack, taking out some graphite pencils. “What kind of flowers do you want for the crown?”
“What you’ve been seeing around here.”
She nods and offers a caring smile then stares at the photograph, serious now, as she always is when working on her art. I admire her talent. Her dedication to becoming better at something.
She hasn’t moved her pencil yet. She’s staring blankly in the direction of my mother’s photo. I can tell she’s not looking at it.
“You’re making me nervous, cowboy. This is a pretty big deal.” Her gaze flickers up. “You want me to draw the most important woman in your life and you’re going to put my drawing on your body forever? It’s a lot of pressure.”
“You seem like you’re good under pressure.”
“I am when I have no choice but to be.”
It’s one of those small comments Kat makes that she will not elaborate on but tells me Kat’s life might not be what it appears. And also as usual, she makes a joke so I don’t think too deeply about what her quip means.
This woman changes the subject as expertly as I do.
“You said it’s a commission, so that means you’re going to pay me?”
“What’s your price?”
She traces the ink on my forearm with a slow, deliberate touch, her fingertip skimming the patterns etched into my skin like she’s memorizing them. The warmth of her touch burns through me, setting fire to nerves I thought had long since gone numb.
I clench my jaw, forcing myself to stay still, but every stroke of her finger unravels another thread of control. She lingers on the edge of one design, her touch featherlight, sending a pulse of heat straight through me. My cock strains against my zipper, aching for more than just her fingertips. And from the knowing look in her eyes, she damn well knows it, too.
“How about you pay for me to get a tattoo?” There’s a glint in her eyes.
“Do you have any already?”
My mind wanders up and down her womanly thighs, to the small of her back, and her smooth shoulders, as if searching for art on her hidden curves.
“No.” She smirks. “You can help pop my cherry.”
Fucking hell.
She would not have to ask me twice if that meant what I wish it did.
“When do you want to do it?” My voice comes out rougher than I intend.
She leans in, brushing her fingers along my forearm like she knows exactly what she’s doing to me. “I’ll go with you. Book me a slot at the same time.”
“Well, that would be tonight.”
Her eyes are daring, full of the kind of excitement one feels when they’re walking on the wild side. It’s cute. “I’m free tonight if you can book a slot.”
Something about this—about her first tattoo, about doing it together—is bigger than any other time I’ve gotten ink.
I thrust my hand out. “Deal. ”
She slides her palm into mine, her grip firm, her skin warm.
“I guess this will be a monumental occasion for both of us,” she murmurs.
I take my hand back but still feel her on my skin. She’s already under it.
“Positively unforgettable.”
It’s the longest Kat and I have ever spent together. She finished the drawing not long before the sunset. I gave her the address to the tattoo parlor in Janesville, then I went off on my way down the hill to get Hector home to my land and out to pasture. She went down her side of the hill to tuck up Ares in what I guessed was a fancy stable.
For weeks now, I’ve thought about asking Kat out. I didn’t expect it to happen quite like this. I stand outside Desert Bloom Ink with my hands in my pockets. I haven’t felt this nervous for a girl since my first kiss. I got here more than half an hour ago, and Johnny is inside working on the tracing for my tattoo. I called ahead, and thankfully, Sylvie was available to come in for Kat.
I check my cell for the time. Now I’ve been here forty minutes. Maybe Kat has had second thoughts? About me? Or the tattoo?
I take off my hat and run my fingers through my hair. I’m not sure she’s coming…
But then, headlights cut through the dimming evening, and a sleek Audi R8 pulls up. My breath tightens at the sight of her—rushing toward me, her dark hair catching the neon glow of the shop sign. She’s wearing more makeup than usual, a soft flush on her cheeks, and a bold swipe of lipstick that makes my mouth ache to ruin it. Fresh-faced Kat is stunning. This version of her? Deadly.
She jumps up the curb next to me. “Sorry. I wanted to freshen up.”
“No need to apologize when I’m the one who benefits.”
She smiles bashfully and I place my hand on her back to usher her toward the door.
Inside, the air hums with the low buzz of a tattoo gun. The scent of antiseptic, ink, and something metallic lingers. Kat flips through a book of Sylvie’s designs, her fingers hesitating, trembling slightly as she skims through them. I’m patient. Observing. Drawn in by the idea of what an actual artist and a woman like Kat might choose.
She finally lands on a butterfly. Whimsical. Graceful. Just like her.
She heads behind a curtain to remove her top. Something about that sends a pulse of heat through me.
I lie back on the chair, my shirt off, Johnny inspecting the stencil on my chest. The buzz of the machine kicks on.
Then, the curtain swishes. Kat steps out.
Her shirt is clutched to her chest, but her smooth, feminine shoulders are bare and golden under the warm lighting. The fabric of her shirt falls just below her belly button, exposing a sliver of velvet skin. Her jeans cling to her round hips like they were tailor-made.
Her gaze locks on to me. And there it is—that spark of pleasure in her eyes at the sight of me laid out like this. My cock twitches with a primitive, selfish kind of pride.
She likes what she sees.
Johnny starts. The familiar sting of the needle grounds me, but I still don’t look away. Sylvie settles Kat into the chair beside me and lays on the tiny stencil of Kat’s butterfly just under her breast on her ribcage.
She’s topless. I’m topless.
Goddamn, Kat has perfect skin.
Sylvie’s machine whirs to life. “You ready?”
Kat nods, but the moment the needle presses into her ribs, she sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth.
Sylvie chuckles. “Told you ribs aren’t a beginner’s spot.”
“I’m okay,” Kat says, braver than the way her nails dig into the chair. “Just surprised by how it feels, that’s all.”
Her face softens into focus, but I can see it. The tension. The fight against discomfort.
My head has been turned this entire time and finally, when Kat’s nervous system accepts the bite of the gun, her head tilts, too. Our gazes connect.
This is what she’d look like next to me in bed.
I’ve slept with women but I’ve never spent the night with one. I’d love to see Kat in the morning. Hair mussed. Black mascara smudged around her eyes, making them even bluer than they are now. Bite marks everywhere.
She’s not that relaxed right now, though. She’s mustering courage, her eyes have that glossy shine, and something about it makes me want to take the pain from her. Absorb it.
I reach my hand out, a silent offer. She takes it.
Our fingers brush, then settle against each other in the space between our chairs. It’s barely a touch compared to what we’ve done before, but it’s everything.
She dances her fingertips against mine, seeking comfort. I give it freely. No teasing. No games. Just us.
“How can you do this so many times?” she asks, voice laced with curiosity and distraction.
I squeeze her hand. “I love tattoos. They remind me that pain is sometimes required to get to something beautiful.”
She exhales slowly. Smiles. “I like the things you say.”
My chest tightens. “I like the things you say, too.”
She shifts slightly and breathes a little deeper.
Then, so soft I barely hear it over the hum of the machines, she whispers, “I like you.”
A punch to the gut couldn’t have hit me harder.
My grip tightens on her hand, my pulse fucking thundering.
“I like you more.”
An enormous gravity bears down, locking us in. It’s undeniable.
She tugs my fingertips deeper into her grasp and squeezes tight. “I’m honored to be part of honoring your mom.”
That hits me harder than I expected.
I swallow the knot in my throat. “I think we were meant to meet, Kat.” My voice drops lower like I’m afraid to say it too loud. “I’d been searching for an artist, and then you got placed under my tree. Best gift I’ve ever gotten.”
Her lips part slightly. The pink hue on her cheeks deepens.
Her voice is barely more than a breath. “I’ve been searching for someone like you, too.”
And that? That undoes me.
That night I don’t hold back any longer. I kiss that girl and make her mine.