Chapter 1 #2
I take a long, steadying breath, trying to ease the panic I’m feeling inside.
“Is this where you let me down easy?” I thought I had more time before being faced with the consequences of my whims. Guess not.
“It’s okay.” I reach over and rest my hand on his arm as if the contact will comfort me.
“You don’t have to worry about me. I won’t give you trouble. ”
Propping up on his arm, he angles toward me. His eyes are missing the levity of the night. In its place is a somberness I feel in my bones. “What if I want the trouble? What if I want to worry about you?” I don’t know what to say, but he does. “What if I already do?”
My heart clenches from the concern I spy in his eyes, but I force myself to stay strong. Lying to myself and pretending this isn’t goodbye won’t help in the long run. “You don’t need to, Laird. Time will heal, and I’ll get over it.”
He runs the tips of his fingers over the plastic stuck to my skin, careful to skirt the area. “Get over me? That’s too bad.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” I can’t allow hope to grow where it doesn’t belong.
“Try as you like to forget this night ever happened, this tattoo will be a daily reminder that we once existed at the same time and place.” A smile splits his cheek while a hint of gratification drifts across his face. “Do you ever play games, Poppy?”
My thoughts are still spiraling when the change of topic blindsides me.
“It’s an easy one. I promise,” he adds while caressing my cheek.
I’m conflicted about what to think or even believe, but I play along to see where he’s going with this. “I’ll bite.” That elicits a dulcet hum in response. “What game?”
“Never have I ever.”
“That’s a drinking game.”
“I’ll go first.” He appears so serious, and that makes me nervous. “Never have I ever been wholly captivated by a woman before.”
Okay . . . he’s in it to win it, shooting an arrow straight to my heart.
Laird’s not playing for fun. He’s playing for keeps.
Bending to kiss my ribs, he says, “Your turn.”
I’m still distracted by his admission. What do I say to that? “Never have I ever been more attracted to someone than I am right now.” The words tumble from my mouth as if they’ve been there all along. Traitorous tongue.
“Mmm,” he hums, savoring my declaration, then hovering above the three tattoos before kissing each of them. “I like that.”
“The tattoos or the confession?”
He smirks. “Both.”
I smirk right back. “Your turn.”
He slides against me until he reaches the corner of my mouth and kisses me again. “Never have I ever gotten a matching tattoo with anyone else.”
He has so many tattoos, from lyrics scrawled over his shoulder to several guitars and other symbols I assume are from his life, but the one we share seems to matter so much to him.
I’m emboldened. “Never have I ever fallen so hard for someone.” I lower my voice as if it makes a difference and add, “Before.”
Lying back, he puts his head next to mine on the pillow and stares at the ceiling.
Oh no, did I take it too far?
The lengthening pause thickens the air with expectation. Our connection has been wild and beautiful, unparalleled to any I’ve experienced. But am I on the verge of losing it all?
“Never have I ever,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face as I wait with bated breath, “believed in destiny before now.’
It’s easy to believe in such things as kismet with him. “Never have I ever either.”
“I’ve got another one. Never have I ever asked a woman to go on tour with me.”
The words are filled with hesitation . . . and hope. It’s the latter that I cling to.
“You could fix that, you know.” My heart thumps so loudly he might not hear me.
He grins cautiously. “You think?”
“It’s worth a shot.” What am I saying? If he asks, will I go?
I’m swallowed in his arms as he kisses the top of my head. “What would you say if I did?”
“Yes.” Without a doubt in my head or heart.
He pulls me even closer, burying his face in my hair. “Poppy?” The charm of hearing him say my name is lost in the sound of regret.
I brace myself, my heart flip-flopping in my chest. “Yes?”
“I don’t want you on tour with me.”
Pushing away enough to see his face, I search his handsome features for any trace of what he’s not telling me. “What do you want, Laird?”
Squeezing his eyes closed, he opens them, and the blue strikes like lightning. “You. I’ve never met anyone like you, never felt like this before—”
“Like what?” Would it be so wrong to believe we can make something from nothing? That one night could lead to something more meaningful?
Oh God, did I just fall in love with this man?
“I don’t want to lose you.”
Resting my hand on his cheek, I lean forward to kiss him. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Until morning. Then we’re going to who knows where. I don’t know where you live. I don’t know where the tour is headed next. I just know I want to be with you wherever I end up.”
And there it is. His heart on display.
Too happy to waste time with words, I kiss him. But I’m too giddy to contain myself. “First, tattoos, and now this. Next, you’ll be hitting me with a marriage proposal.” I laugh, and then indulge in another kiss.
But his lips don’t move, the buzz I thought we were riding tempered. Did I misread him? “What’s wrong?”
“Would it be so far-fetched? People have done crazier things,” he says as if that makes this idea less ludicrous.