Chapter 25
Cassie
W rapping my coat a little tighter around myself, I stand out on the sidewalk, gripping my backpack straps with both hands.
A chilly wind blows through the streets as the sun begins to set behind tall buildings and dark alleyways.
A shiver passes through me as I peer up at a fluorescent neon sign that reads Bluebirds. Quinn’s tattoo shop would be my best guess. Because I’m intelligent like that, and also because it says his name right there in tiny writing in the corner of the front window as the “proprietor of the establishment.”
Standing back on the edge of the curb, I can’t help but admire the unique appearance of the building.
Black metal, tinted glass, and a wrought iron door with metal accents, greet me. A thick velvet rope is draped across the front of the building, not unlike the kind you’d find at a movie theater, and I can’t help but wonder how busy this place must get that people are required to line up out on the sidewalk just to get inside.
Pushing through the front door, a small bell announces my entrance into the foyer.
“Won’t be a second!” A high-pitched female voice echoes from another part of the building.
I can clearly hear the sound of high heels clicking on the polished hardwood floors, and then the tinny sound of the woman’s laughter comes from one of the rooms out back.
“No hurry,” I reply, taking the opportunity to look around.
The inside of the studio is nothing like I expected. It doesn’t smell of cigarette smoke or weed. It’s not full of long-haired, leather-clad bikers, and there isn’t a bloody swab in sight.
Instead, the waiting area is clean, bright, and really luxurious with a cream-colored couch and dark wooden furniture. Large artwork hangs on the walls in glossy black frames. Most of the walls are covered in either art or photographs of tatted-up models in different poses.
The coffee table in the center of the room is covered in photo albums. I’m just about to pick one of the albums up to flick through it, when a petite woman with a silver faux-hawk appears behind the reception desk.
She’s wearing a tight denim skirt and a leather vest. She’s stunning, and really cool looking. The dark bronze skin of her arms is swathed from wrist to shoulder in intricate designs and dozens of colorful artworks .
“Hey, I’m Angel,” she says with the slightest hint of an accent. South American? She holds out her hand in introduction, and I stretch across to shake it. “I’m the body piercer and the receptionist. I also tattoo on occasion, but only when we’re really busy and only when Quinn’s not around.”
“I heard that,” Quinn yells from the back.
The deep sound of his voice makes an all-encompassing smile break out across my face. My palms grow damp, but I resist the urge to wipe them down my thighs because I don’t want Angel to notice just how much the man affects me.
I feel my face grow hotter as I remember everything we did last night.
Oh, lord.
All the things he did to me. All the things I did to him. Sex with Quinn Tanner is phenomenal, and a silent groan rises in my throat when more memories crop up…
Me rubbing myself all over him in the bathtub. Him carrying me back to the bed, suiting up again, and then taking his time with me. Taking me real slow. Taking me to places I’ve never been to before. Both of us coming a bunch of times. Both of us moaning so loudly that someone banged on the adjoining wall.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
Okay, my cheeks are officially on fire now.
“But I’m really good!” Angel whines back, leaning to one side to shout down the narrow hallway. When Quinn doesn’t immediately respond, she turns back to look at me. “I am. I’m really good. Are you here to see The Grinch or Jude or Vaughn? ”
I smile. “The Grinch, apparently. I’m Cassie.”
“Oh, yes, he mentioned someone named Cassie would be dropping by. He won’t be long. He’s just finishing up with a client. Take a seat, grab a book, and pick something out.” She eyes me from different angles, and one side of her mouth turns up. “Christ, he’s right. I never thought I’d freely admit it, but, yes, he said his next client has this awesome pale skin that he can’t wait to work on.”
His next client?
Huh?
“The ink takes so well to your type of skin,” she continues talking, leaning forward on her arms. “I can’t wait to see how it turns out.”
“Oh, no, I’m not—”
“Don’t tell him I told you so, but Quinn is a freaking awesome tattoo artist.” She rolls her eyes in the most theatrical fashion. But I can see from her playful expression that it’s all in jest. “I guess it’s not enough that he’s a famous guitarist, but he’s gotta be a kick-ass tattoo artist as well. And then, of course, he’s a walking, talking Good Samaritan, with the whole tattooing veterans for free thing—”
“Angel!” Quinn suddenly yells, cutting her off.
He marches into the waiting room, heavy black boots slapping the floor, making us both startle. Deep frown lines crease his forehead as he throws a folder down on the reception desk.
Angel blanches. “Jesus, what’s wrong with you?”
“The woman you left in room three with the septum piercing through her nose looks like she’s about to pass out. Maybe you should go check on her instead of wasting time talking shit with new clients.”
New clients?
Angel narrows her eyes at him. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”
“Don’t start with me, Angel. It’s been a long day, and I’m tired, and I’m not in the mood for your shit.”
“You’re such a joy to work with,” she grumbles.
A tall guy with gauges in his ears and a bandage on his right forearm passes Angel in the corridor as she stomps down the hallway. He walks over to the front desk where Quinn is now bent over a large diary with lots of writing in it.
“We’ll finalize the bill when I’m finished with the shading,” Quinn tells the guy. “How about the Saturday after next? We’ll get it knocked out in a couple more sessions.”
“That works for me.”
“You know the drill with the care instructions?”
“Sure thing. It’s looking really good. Thanks, man.”
Quinn shakes the guy’s hand firmly, watching him leave with an elbow resting on the edge of the reception desk. When the door closes behind him, his eyes search me out, and when he finds me gazing back at him, the intensity in his eyes is like molten fire. Instant. Hot. Burning.
“You made it,” he says with a small smile.
“I did.”
My heart is pounding. Why am I so edgy? It’s the day after the night before, that’s why, but I’m a grown woman, and lord-oh-lord how is it possible that Quinn’s even more attractive to me today than he was yesterday ?
His presence is an insane turn-on. I can feel it in my fingers, in my toes, and I’m ashamed to admit, in my girly-parts too.
“This place is amazing,” I tell him, though I’m not sure why he asked me here. “Why am I here, Quinn?”
“You’ll see.”
He leads me down the hallway where different work areas have been sectioned off. The buzzing sound of a tattoo gun reverberates, and as we make our way down the hallway, I notice there are two other guys back here working.
Neither one of them looks up as we pass by.
“That’s Jude, and the other guy is Vaughn. I’m in the last room at the very end.” Quinn’s fingers brush across the small of my back as we walk. “Here, this way.”
The instant we step into his workspace, he closes the door, and then I’m pushed up hard against it, my backpack meeting the wood with a sharp jolt.
Quinn cages me in, both hands planted firmly on either side of my face. “Need to taste your lips again,” he breathes, a hint of desperation in his voice. “Been thinking about you all day.”
Placing my hands against his chest, I’m ashamed to admit I practically curl around him like an affection-starved kitten. The fabric of his tight sweatshirt is worn and really soft, and through it, I can feel the defined outline of his muscular chest and the long ripples of his stomach. He feels so solid, so warm.
“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” I say softly.
I’m watching his eyes because he’s looking at me like he’s waiting for me to tell him I regret what happened between us last night. But I don’t regret it. Not even for a second.
He brings his hands to the side of my head and slides them through my hair, cupping my face while his thumbs brush across my cheeks. And then he brings his lips over mine, and it’s so hard to breathe because every last part of me that hadn’t already melted is now nothing but liquid. This isn’t just a hello kiss. This kiss is more of an I-can’t-get-enough-of-you kiss. He continues to kiss me until I feel dizzy and my entire body is hot and itchy and tight with excitement.
Nothing compares to the feeling of his lips on mine.
A man’s mouth shouldn’t feel this good.
His tongue moves across my lips, seeking out my tongue with a tender stroke, and he makes a low growling noise in his throat when I wrap my arms around his neck, knotting my fingers in his hair. The sensual sound rebounds around the room, as desperate as it is heartbreaking.
Quinn’s lips on mine cause pulsing waves of pleasure to expand inside me, starting at my mouth and traveling straight to my core. I’m insanely aroused right now, and I know Quinn feels it too. I feel the evidence of it when he drops both hands to slide them around the small of my back. He grabs my ass, jerking me closer to grind the lower halves of our bodies together while he keeps kissing me.
Voices sound out in the hallway, a very rude reminder that we aren’t alone and could be interrupted at any moment.
“Quinn,” I choke out. “Not here. ”
He makes a husky noise that could be mistaken for frustration, but I think it’s more the sound of disappointment, and then very reluctantly he drops his hands to his side.
“You’re right.” He looks a little worked up when he takes a step back. “These fuckers don’t understand the concept of personal space. Angel has a habit of barging in whenever the hell she feels like it,” he says, exhaling hard. His hands work through his hair for a few seconds before he gestures for me to take a seat in the chair. “And don’t even get me started on Vaughan. He never orders enough stock, I guarantee he’ll be picking through my shit before the end of the night.”
Sliding my backpack off my shoulders, I set it down on the floor and then take a seat on the vinyl covered chair. “Maybe you should invest in some locks.”
He grins. “I might just look into that, Alabama.”
Sliding out a long, narrow drawer beneath where all his tools are laid out on a stainless-steel workbench, Quinn holds up a square piece of tracing paper in front of me.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Take a look. It’s what I wanted to show you. I played around with a few of the ideas we talked about at Leon’s that night. I might be way off, but this is what I pictured in my head when you described the tattoo you’ve been thinking about getting.”
Taking the tracing paper from his outstretched hands, I hold it up in front of me for the longest time.
Oh wow .
I can’t stop staring at it .
“You…you did this ?” I stammer, unable to take my eyes off the intricate design. It’s stunningly beautiful. And it’s exactly what I visualized in my head.
How is it possible that he’s recreated the design so perfectly?
I can’t believe what I’m looking at.
The vibrant pink of the lotus flower is a gradient look, more intense at the bottom, growing gradually lighter as the color rises up through the delicate petals, until it slowly fades out to a pearly white. The lotus itself is floating in crystalline blue water, the reflection mirrored in such a realistic way it’s like you could literally reach out and hold the flower in your hand.
It’s such an incredible work of art.
Quinn walks the few steps to stand beside me, resting his elbow on the workbench beside my hip. His hair hangs in his eyes, so I reach over and brush it back off his forehead, and in his eyes I see a look I can’t quite decipher.
“Do you like it?” His fingers move to pull down one side of my sweater. “Like I said, it would look awesome right here.”
I laugh nervously, glancing down at my bare skin. It’s hard for me to think straight when he’s so close, let alone when he’s touching me. “I love it, Quinn. It’s absolutely beautiful. But…but, do I really want to get a tattoo?”
“I don’t know. Do you?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You know I’ll do a good job.”
“Of course I do.”
“So, let me ink you.”
I hesitate, but there’s something in the way he’s looking at me that makes me forget all about being answerable to anyone else. I just want to be me, without guilt, without blame, without reason.
Quinn leans forward, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. “I’m not saying it has to be today or tomorrow or ever if that’s what you decide. It’s your body. You get to choose what you want to do with it. I know you were thinking about it, that’s all.”
“It’s just so…permanent.”
He looks at me sideways. “That’s kinda the idea.”
I’m suddenly riddled with a feeling that I can’t explain, not anxiety exactly, but something more. “You’ll make me beautiful, right?”
He looks back at me with a soft expression. “You’re already beautiful. But yes, I promise.”
“Okay, let’s do this.”
“Seriously?” he asks, standing up straight.
Sitting back in the chair, I strip my sweater off over my head, leaving me in just a plain white bra and skinny blue jeans. I would have worn something fancier, but stripping in a tattoo shop in front of a heavily inked rock star wasn’t exactly on my agenda when I got dressed this morning.
I toss my sweater onto a nearby table while Quinn watches me with the most glorious smile plastered across his handsome face.
Something tells me he likes what he sees.
“Okay,” he says, shaking his head. “So, I like to draw freehand, but if you prefer, I can trace an outline on your skin first. I’m happy to do it either way. ”
“I want you to do it however you’re most comfortable.”
“Okay, cool. Lie back and turn a little on your right side. We can change the colors out if you want. We can play around with the design, too, if you think it’s too much.”
My eyes skate back to the sketch. “No. I want it exactly like it is here in your drawing.”
“Alright, then.”
Taking the sketch from my hands, he tapes it to the wall beside him, before setting up his equipment, which consists of a tattoo gun, small pots of ink, and a box of folded paper towels. He presses a few buttons on a speaker, and soft rock music starts playing in the background.
“Rest your arm on the cushion. I’m going to slide your bra strap down a bit, or…maybe we could just take it off altogether?”
“Don’t push it,” I warn.
He laughs, but his dark eyes gleam, and then he sets about sanitizing the entire area with green soap that smells like a hospital. When he’s done wiping it off, he puts alcohol on a cotton ball, rubbing it all over my shoulder and down the front of my chest.
“Is it going to hurt?” I ask stupidly.
“Like a bitch, no doubt about it. But we’ll go nice and easy, and we can stop whenever you want. We can take a heap of breaks, just let me know if it gets to be too much.”
He looks at my shoulder and collarbone for a really long time, and I think he’s trying to mentally picture his drawing on my skin. When he’s satisfied, he gathers my hair up, lays it over my other shoulder, and then snaps on a pair of latex gloves.
“Stay real still, okay?”
I nod. “Okay.”
When the needle first touches my flesh, I bite down hard on my bottom lip to stop myself from screaming.
It hurts. Oh, wow. It really hurts.
Shit.
Shit .
Fucking shit. Holy shit. So much SHIT!
Why did I agree to this?
Only crazy people would willingly do this to themselves. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it’s not this. It feels like I’ve just stirred up a hornet’s nest, and now they’re taking out their revenge on me by stinging me repeatedly with their razorsharp barbs, over and over and over again.
Quinn pulls back slightly. “Are you doing alright?”
“No! I’m not doing alright,” I squeal. Or shout? It might be a scream. I’m not sure because I’m in so much pain right now I can’t think straight. “It fucking hurts! You should have warned me.”
“I thought I did,” he says with a slight smirk on his face. “You’re doing great, Alabama. You’ll get numb to it eventually.”
Dropping my jaw, I try to get a look at my shoulder. “How much did you get done?”
“Like…a dot, and a half a line. Do you want me to stop?”
Ugh . Yes, I want you to stop. Of course I want you to stop. Like I said, crazy people …
“No, keep going. I’m doing this even if it kills me.”
“That’s my girl.”
Quinn starts up the gun again, but this time when the needle touches my skin, it’s not quite as painful. Or maybe it is, and I just don’t notice. Maybe I’m too preoccupied by the fact that he just called me his girl to notice the pain. Because I wasn’t expecting it, but I really like the way it feels.
And that’s the most terrifying part of all.
Having Quinn tattoo my skin is unexpectedly intimate. There’s something about the way he touches me, the way he moves his hand over me, manipulating my skin with his long fingers while he works to get the design exactly the way he wants it. There’s something about the way he’s so close to me, his jean-clad thighs spread wide on the stool as he slides in toward me, then around me at different angles. There’s something about the way he’s concentrating so intently on his work, and yet, at the same time, his eyes continually flick up to my face to make sure I’m doing alright.
An hour later, he lays the gun down, giving my shoulder, chest, and throat a wipe with some kind of solution that stings a little. Then he goes over the entire thing again with a warm, wet cloth that feels really soft and really soothing on my skin.
“There, all done.” He helps me down from the chair, positioning me in front of a full-length mirror. “What do you think? ”
Stretching my neck, I look at the reflection. My skin is angry and raw, but the tattoo itself is…oh my goodness.
I can’t believe I just got a tattoo.
Tears immediately spring to my eyes.
It’s beyond words. It’s perfect.
It’s beautiful.
The pink is so vibrant, and the detail and the shading are so intricate that I can’t even take it all in at once. There’s just so much to appreciate.
“I love it,” I sniffle.
Quinn chuckles. “It’s an emotional tattoo. I get it.” He covers my shoulder with thin white gauze. And then he places a sticky plastic sleeve over the top of the gauze before handing me a few packages of something called Aquaphor. “Put this on a couple of times a day for the next week. It will help protect the color and keep the site clean.” When he sees me getting my wallet out of my backpack, he looks thoroughly offended. “Don’t even fucking think about it, Alabama. My pride couldn’t take it.”
“I’m not letting you do this for nothing.”
“You can make it up to me in other ways.” He lifts one dark eyebrow on his movie-star face. “Like maybe a repeat performance of last night.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, what are my chances?”
I can’t help but laugh because let’s be honest here, he was always going to get another shot with me. No point denying the obvious.
But a thought suddenly occurs to me, and I don’t know why I didn’t ask him about it sooner .
“What did Angel mean earlier when she said you tattoo veterans for free?”
Quinn stops tidying up his workbench, and for the briefest moment his eyes flutter shut, hiding whatever emotion just washed over them. He sighs and leans his elbow on the back of the chair. “It’s not something I talk about much. It’s just…” His voice trails off, and I glimpse a flash of discomfort in his eyes.
“Just what?”
“It is what it is.”
I tilt my head to one side. “Vague much?”
“I’m not deliberately trying to be vague,” he replies roughly. “I just don’t feel the need to toot my own horn. I do what I do because it feels like the right thing to do.”
“ What feels like the right thing to do?”
“I don’t charge veterans. I tattoo them for free, and that’s all there is to tell. No more, no less.”
“Why veterans?”
“Because I’m grateful for what they do, for me, for us. I’m grateful every fucking day for what those guys and girls do for this country. I’m grateful because it means that I don’t have to do it. Because they do their job, it means I get to do mine. I get to do what I love every day because of the sacrifices they make. I get to play music, be driven around in limos, travel in private jets, stay in five-star hotels, and all that other pompous, over-indulgent bullshit. I don’t have to fight wars or lose limbs or even worse. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.”
Quinn’s hand is warm as I reach across and lace my fingers through his. I squeeze his fingers, needing a tangible distraction from the tight ache in my chest. He’s such a good guy. My heart is literally breaking.
He smiles gently, and my chest cracks wide open.
“And it’s not just veterans,” he continues, tossing a wad of used paper towels into the trash can. “I offer the same deal for active serving members of the forces as well, all forces, regardless of their rank. It’s the least I can do.”
He swallows hard, and my entire body sighs when he strokes my cheek with the back of his hand.
This man.
God, I can’t believe I ever thought he wasn’t a good guy. It turns out Quinn Tanner is a great guy, and just like that, my thoughts turn to the letter sitting at the bottom of my backpack.
Jeremy’s words play over and over in my head.
I never thought I could move on from him, from my first real love, and maybe I never truly will, but falling for someone else, it would have to be with a man Jeremy would approve of.
And after everything Quinn just said…
“Did you know that people who suffer trauma often use tattoos as a way of taking back control of their bodies?” Quinn continues, as if I’m giving him my full attention, which of course, I’m not.
But his voice startles me out of my thoughts.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I did a shitload of research on it when I first bought this place. Tattooing starts on the body’s first line of defense. The skin acts like a blank canvas that can add a level of physicality to the assault experienced by some people on their body or their mind. And I don’t necessarily mean only those fighting for our country. Studies have shown many sexual assault victims and domestic violence survivors seek out tattoos as a non-traditional form of healing, too.”
I feel my eyes grow heavy, not in pity, but in sympathy. “Wow. I had no idea.”
“For some people, getting a tattoo can have a calming effect on the nervous system. Apparently, the rhythmic nature of the needle, combined with the release of endorphins, has been associated with stress reduction. Or so I’m told. I just like it because it looks fucking awesome once it’s done.”
I nod thoughtfully. I’ll save judgment on that until my shoulder stops burning like Satan himself just threw up all over me. Thank you very much.
“I’ve never told anyone about this before. Not Jaxon or Kael or Nick. Not even Reed, the guy who knows everything about me. I’d like it to stay that way, if that’s alright with you.”
I nod. “Of course.”
“I just thank fuck every single day that I’ve never had to go through anything like that myself. So, if I can do something to make someone’s life easier, then that’s why I do it.”
I honestly didn’t know the meaning of awe until this very moment. “So, why did you call the shop Bluebirds?”
“The bluebird is a symbol of positivity and renewal. It symbolizes the essence of life and beauty. So, there’s that, and also, have you ever seen a bluebird? They’re fucking cute as shit.” Planting a quick kiss on my lips, he says, “ Give me ten minutes to finish cleaning up here, and then we can go eat. I’m starving, and the night is still young.”
“What if someone sees us out together?”
Quinn’s smile is triumphant. “Not where we’re going, they won’t.”