Chapter Fourteen
“I WISH YOU COULD HAVE seen the newspaper articles and concert posters featuring my mom’s band,” Brooke sang in my passenger seat as the scenery around the lake blurred by.
You heard me right—I was driving the woman I was trying to avoid, and taking her to get a tattoo. The whir of the Hemi engine mingled with her alto voice sounded like the perfect duet to me.
As a doctor, I felt an obligation to ensure the parlor and their tools of trade were hygienic and up to state regulations. I’d treated some pretty gruesome infections caused by tattoos, and I didn’t want Brooke to become another victim. At least, that was my excuse for spending time with her, and for now, it was preventing the heartburn I usually got from our encounters.
I stole a glance at Brooke, her eyes closed as she reveled in the caress of the breeze and the warm kiss of the sun. She’d begged me to take the convertible, and now, I regretted it. She looked perfect in Dad’s old car, the sunlight dancing on her skin, highlighting the curve of her smile. My fingers itched to rest on her bare thigh, to trace the lines of her exposed shoulder, but I tightened my grip on the steering wheel instead. The heartburn was back.
“I wish I would have thought to snap some pictures of them.” Brooke sighed. “But Mr. Harrington ... he was kind of weird.”
“What do you mean?”
Brooke opened her eyes and sat up straight. “I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. On the one hand, he was super nice. He and his wife even invited me to come back, but something about me seemed to put him on edge.”
“I can relate,” I mumbled. Damn it. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
Brooke whipped her head my way. “What does that mean?”
I stretched my neck from side to side. “It just means that there’s something about you.”
“Care to be more specific, Dr. Summers?” Her tone bordered on hurt and annoyed.
Actually, I didn’t, as I would have had to admit that it was driving me mad that she was going out the following night with Dr. Everett, and I couldn’t stop wishing it were me instead.
“I don’t know how to explain it.” I gestured up and down her body. “There’s just something about you. Okay?”
“Is it so bad you can’t say it?” She sounded deeply worried.
“No. It’s not bad at all. It’s the opposite,” I spluttered, knowing I was digging a hole I couldn’t—and maybe didn’t want to—dig myself out of.
I’d never felt so tortured by a woman before, and part of me just wanted to put an end to it and give in and ask her out. Maybe then I could work her out of my system.
She smiled that enigmatic smile of hers. “So, you’re saying I’m good?”
I dared to brush a loose strand of hair off her smooth shoulder. “Yes, you’re good. You probably just word vomited, and he didn’t know what to do with that.”
She shivered, as if my touch affected her, but then she laughed, so I couldn’t be sure. I hated how much I wanted a sign from her.
“Well, honestly, I didn’t word vomit. I mean, I told them all about why I was here and the money from my dad.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but that was probably unsettling to people like the Harringtons. A family like theirs is all about image.”
“Yeah, I could see that. They appear to be perfect. Not that I don’t like them. I do. But they obviously live much differently than I do. Okay, you’re making me feel better. Thanks, friend. ”
I was beginning to dislike the word friend . “So why did Maxwell Harrington have the newspaper clippings and posters? Where did they come from?” I was curious.
“His daughter Lola didn’t lie when she said the Roxannes were her dad’s favorite band. Mr. Harrington said my mom’s band had a bit of a cult following with college kids, and he was part of it. His wife told me he’s a sentimental guy and likes to save things. I guess they were just fond college memories for him. He saw her play at UNLV as a student. UNLV’s school newspaper did a couple of articles about the band. He even met my mom at some meet and greets. Pretty cool, huh?”
“Yeah, that is.” I took the turn leading to the “other side” of the lake, as locals called it. I hated the connotation. Having more money or a certain zip code didn’t make you better than other people. I was just lucky.
My dad left our family with a fortune when he passed. I guess you could say I was a trust fund kid, though I never wanted that to get around. Although people probably suspected—while I made good money as a doctor, it was nowhere near enough to have bought my house or my first practice in Seattle.
“I loved seeing my mom so young and alive in those photos. I loved her wild curly hair. It was so sad when she lost it because of the chemo,” Brooke’s voice cracked. “Of course, she made the best of it, wearing the craziest wigs she could find in all sorts of loud colors.”
Instinctively, I reached over and took her hand to comfort her. As our fingers intertwined, a jolt of panic surged through me. It felt good—too good. I wanted to pull away, but she tightened her grip, cradling my hand in her soft skin, holding on, basking in the sympathy I offered.
“The Harringtons all thought I look a lot like her, but I never thought I was as beautiful as her.”
I highly doubted that. I could hardly imagine anyone more beautiful than Brooke—except Erica, of course. But their beauty was different. Erica possessed a classic elegance, while Brooke embodied wild abandon, the kind that drove a man mad. And she was driving me mad as her thumb skimmed my hand, back and forth, back and forth, making my heart race in a way it hadn’t since Erica .
“I wish you and Eden could have met her,” Brooke sighed.
“I would have liked to meet her.”
Brooke smiled over at me. “Thank you, Logan.”
“For what?”
“For helping me fulfill yet another item on my bucket list and for just being here and holding my hand. It means a lot to me, especially considering the unconventional way our friendship began.”
There was that word again. I should have been thankful for it. It kept me from pulling over and asking if being her fling was still on the table, and if she would like to see how far back these seats could go. In my head, I was already becoming one of those guys.
“You’re welcome,” I said lamely.
“Maybe you could help me with a few more of them. Maybe we could go zip-lining next week and paint a painting.”
Both actually sounded like a lot of fun, but ... I pulled my hand away, grateful I needed to make another turn. While I could have done it one handed, it gave me the perfect excuse to save myself from the torture of her touch.
“You should probably ask Dr. Everett. I assume he’ll be your summer fling.” I tried to keep the bite out of my tone.
Brooke’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, um, I don’t know if that’s true. We’ve only talked and texted a little bit. It’s too early to tell what kind of relationship we’ll have, if any.”
“You must like him if you’re going out with him tomorrow night.” Please tell me that didn’t sound as juvenile as I thought it did.
“Well, sure, but . . .”
“But what?” I was hoping she’d recognized all the character flaws I’d begun to notice in him the past week at work. Things like how flirty he was with some of the nurses and how he was always reading those ridiculous pirate books from the breakroom. I saw right through that.
To top it off, he did magic tricks for the sick kids who came in. He was just doing it to show off. Did I realize how nonsensical this all sounded? Of course I did, but I felt anything but rational about this situation, and I hated it.
Brooke rubbed her pouty lips together. “I don’t want to make assumptions. And I know we would have fun together. ”
I knew we would too.
“You should see how it goes with Dr. Everett,” I grumbled.
“Okay,” she whispered and turned away from me to stare out the passenger side.
A weird tension hung between us that I didn’t care for, but I didn’t know how to make it better. That wasn’t true. I just wasn’t willing to make it better for fear Brooke’s hold on me would only deepen.
I was thankful when we pulled into the parking lot of Mystic Ink Studio. “My friend Tristan says this is the most reputable place around,” I assured her.
She offered me a small smile. I had obviously hurt her feelings—the last thing I wanted to do. But I couldn’t explain myself without telling her about my own conflicted feelings, which I couldn’t do because she only wanted to be friends.
Without a word, she got out of the car, clutching her mom’s old band T-shirt like a teddy bear, and stared at the Victorian-style house with a flashing bright Tattoo sign in the window. The house and sign didn’t match.
I exited the car and met her around the side. “Are you nervous?”
“A little bit,” she admitted. “I don’t like needles.”
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I do.” She walked toward the studio.
I followed, feeling the urge to hold her hand again. Part of me hoped she and Dr. Everett would hit it off—she’d probably hang around my house a lot less. Then I wouldn’t have to overhear conversations about her getting a tattoo and feel compelled to ensure she didn’t end up with hepatitis B or C—
Or worse, my heart.
An eerie, mystic chime sounded when I opened the door for Brooke.
“Thanks.” She slipped in quietly.
I wanted bubbly and even babbly Brooke back. I was apparently turning into a masochist. I gently tugged on her arm before she pushed the bell on the unmanned front desk covered in dried paint spatters.
“I know a great place we can go zip-lining next week if you’re still up for it. ”
She pressed her lips together, purposely holding back her smile. “I don’t want to force you to do something you don’t want to do.”
If only she knew how badly I wanted to, maybe she would think twice about spending time with me. “You wouldn’t be forcing me. I enjoy hanging out with you. It’s the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” I reluctantly admitted.
She nudged me with her hip, her bright, warming smile back. “I knew it.”
Before I could respond, an ethereal-looking woman with a bright-blue pixie cut and overalls pranced out.
“Are you Brooke?”
Brooke nodded timidly.
The woman reached out to her. “I’m Tina. Follow me. There’s no need to worry, I’m a pro.”
Brooke bit her lip and gave the woman her hand. Women were so odd that way. Never would I give some dude I didn’t know my hand.
“Your boyfriend can come too,” Tina said.
Brooke giggled. “We’re just friends.”
Tina side-eyed me. “Okay, sure. If that’s what you say. Aren’t you the guy who called to check when our last health inspection was?”
“That would be me,” I coughed out.
Brooke whipped her head my way and gave me doe eyes. “You did that? You’re the sweetest.”
“That’s what friends are for, right?” The word friend tasted like sour milk on my tongue, but heaven help me, I wanted every excuse to see her this summer, even if it was just as friends.
“The best of friends.” She smiled.
Tina smirked like she wasn’t buying the friend thing, but thankfully, she said no more on the subject.
Meanwhile, I looked around for any blatant health code violations. I was glad to see that the place looked neat and clean, and I noticed an autoclave used to sterilize needles and equipment on Tina’s workstation.
Brooke took a seat on the adjustable chair near the workstation. I grabbed an unused chair and sat next to her. Brooke’s leg bounced with nervous energy .
“Are you sure you want to do this?”
She nodded and handed Tina her shirt. “This was my mom’s band. I want this design on my back. Right here.” Brooke pulled her off-the-shoulder T-shirt down to reveal the spot.
I tried to be a gentleman and avert my eyes, but Brooke asked, “Do you think it’s a good place for it?”
My gaze drifted over her smooth bare skin; I was mesmerized and aching to touch it. “It’s perfect.”
She was perfect.
Brooke rewarded me with her smile, and I couldn’t help but want more of it.
Tina studied the shirt. “I love this. Let me make a stencil of it, and then we’ll get going.”
Brooke reached for my hand. “I’m going to need this.”
I offered it like a sacrificial lamb, knowing it was going to cost me. But Brooke was worth the price.