Текст книги "Dirty Lies"
Автор книги: Emma Hart
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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
Aidan
“Don’t tell her? Are you kidding me?” Jessie looks at me. “I’m going to put it in neon lights and superglue it to her bedroom. She’s a brat.”
“I already told you—so were you at sixteen.”
“I was eighteen when I rejected you.”
“And you were still a brat at eighteen,” I continue, fighting my grin and dropping my arm. I hand her a helmet, but she just stands, staring at it like it’ll come to life and chase her off a cliff. I raise an eyebrow and put it on her head for her when she still doesn’t move and she glares at me. “And you’re still a brat now,” I finish, buckling it under her chin.
“I hate you.”
“Watch it. I’m about to drive the death machine.” This time I let myself grin at her and get on the bike. I nod my head behind me, and after one final glare that’s betrayed by the amused purse of her lips, she steps up and swings her leg over. “Hold on.”
She wraps her arms around my waist and slides forward so she’s completely against me. Her fingers curve into my shirt, gripping me tightly, and I start the bike. She feels so small yet so strong behind me, even if I can feel her hands shaking against me as I pull away.
The roads are clear, and it takes just a few seconds to get out of town. I turn off onto the road to take us into Percival Town, where the late fall fair is being held—complete with Halloween costumes in honor of the holiday this weekend. I didn’t plan on going, but when Sofie and Conner said they were taking Mila and Tate wanted to take Ella, I figured agreeing was easiest. Especially since even Kye said he has a date for it, and we’re not even talking yet.
I didn’t want to bring Jessie. I mean, it’s fucking lame. She went to this thing as many times as I did when we were kids. She doesn’t need to bob for apples or get a candy apple or shoot darts for a damn goldfish. But then again, I didn’t exactly want to fuck her again either.
Not because I didn’t want to, but because I knew what would happen if I did. I knew I’d remember everything—how she tastes, how she feels, how she sounds—and I knew those memories would mean something more than before. I knew they’d make me just a little addicted to her, more than I am. ’Cause I can feel it. This warped desire to be around her, spend time with her, see her smile, hear her laugh.
I’m no amateur. I’ve had relationships and been in love once upon a time, and I know that’s how it starts. Little fucking pangs of wanting to see the other person to soothe the ache inside. Screw that. I’m not Tate or Conner. I don’t have a kid to think about and the girl I want isn’t my PA. I couldn’t uproot someone’s life and expect them to spend half the year in Los Angeles and the other half on the road, only coming home intermittently. I’m not that guy.
I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, expect Jessie to do it. But then again, she’s made it perfectly clear that she doesn’t like me, and the idea of falling in love with me is the best joke she’s heard since I asked her to prom.
“You know,” Jessie says after I stop in the designated parking lot and kill the engine, “I assumed that if I ever got on the back of a bike, it’d be because there’d be a handsome, rugged man driving it into the sunset. Not a two-bit rock star who once serenaded me for prom and gave me a black eye driving it to the local fall fair.”
“Two-bit rock star?” I lift off my helmet and look at her. She grins and shakes her hair out and hands me the helmet. “I’ll have you know, sunshine, that there’s nothin’ two-bit about me, and I’m pretty damn handsome.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. The handsome part. I haven’t had enough experience of your skills to agree on the two-bit. I know you’re good with your hands, but are you good with your mouth?”
My eyebrows shoot up. “That’s brave, saying that here.”
“What?” She mirrors my expression, faux innocence in her eyes, and holds her hands out to the sides. “You can play the drums, but can you sing? What did you think I meant?”
I get off the bike and walk to her, tapping her nose. “I know exactly what you meant, and so do you. Your innocent act sure is cute, but it’s a load of bullshit. Ain’t nothin’ innocent about you, Jessie Law.”
“I take offense to that.” She starts walking. “I am incredibly innocent. I didn’t break your nose after you hit on me.”
“You sure have a lot of violent thoughts.”
“Does that scare you?”
“Should it?”
“Only if they’re directed at you.” Her smile is wide and playful, and she knocks my arm. “Then, yes, it should. Run for your life.”
“You’re dressing up as the Grim Reaper this weekend, aren’t you? Or the killer from the Saw movies.”
She laughs, then leans into me, still walking, and looks up at me through her lashes. “You wanna play a little game?”
I fight my laugh, but she bats her eyelashes, and I can’t hold it in anymore. I shake my head and loop my arm around her shoulders, squeezing her gently. Damn—she’s crazy. She is so crazy, and I’m totally screwed, because I like it.
“I think I’m good,” I reply. “I don’t do games.”
“Just fake relationships.”
“I do what I’m told,” I skirt around her statement. “And if that’s it, then, yes.”
She laughs again. “Yes, okay. Aidan Burke does what he’s told. Are you trying to convince me or you?”
“Both of us, probably. I don’t think I’ve done what I was told since I was four, and even then it was probably touch and go.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever done it. But then again, neither have I, so I guess that’s something we have in common. Because, you know, it helps to have something in common with your boyfriend.” She winks. “And, by the way, it’s very touching,” she taps my hand, “but I don’t think there are any cameras here, so you don’t have to be perfect tonight.”
“One, two . . .” I mutter as I see the top of Tate’s head and a camera approximately ten feet away from him.
“Aw, crap,” Jessie groans. “Do they shoot you on the toilet, too? Or do they allow you that moment of privacy?”
“Pretty sure they caught one of us in a Porta Potty once,” I admit. “Kye didn’t lock the door properly. One hit and it flew open.”
“I can’t imagine who did that,” she drawls.
“Actually, it was Tate. I just videoed it.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“I know. It’s why you like me.”
“I don’t like you.”
“Didn’t sound like that two hours ago.” I grin, pulling her into me as she shoves me away. She sighs, shaking her head against my shoulder, just as Tate hits the bull’s-eye and the game attendant hands him a goldfish.
“Yay, Tay! Uncy Tay, Uncy Tay!” Mila shrieks, clapping her hands in her stroller. She grabs the top of the bag, lifting it up so she can stare at the bright orange fish swimming around and around inside it.
“Good job,” I tell him, looking from the fish to him. “How much did that cost?”
“Twenty bucks,” Tate grumbles. “Coulda bought ten for that at the store. And the damn bowl.”
Sofie elbows him. “Don’t be grumpy. You’re the one that gave in to her!”
“Not that anyone is surprised,” Ella mutters, shaking her head. “Seriously. He’s made of cotton balls where she’s concerned.”
“We all are,” I remind her. “She’s so lucky to have three such awesome uncles who indulge her every whim.”
Jessie snorts, and Sofie rolls her eyes. “Luck. Yeah, that’s it.”
“A burr!” Mila interrupts, pointing enthusiastically to another stall. “My want burr!”
“What’s a burr?” Jessie asks.
“Bear,” Sofie sighs. “Mila, baby, you’ve got tons of bears.”
Mila looks at her, her bottom lip wobbling. “My want burr,” she whispers, eyes wide.
“You have tons,” Sofie repeats, holding her stance.
Tate fidgets, and Ella puts her hand over his eyes so he can’t see Mila.
Mila’s jaw trembles. “Pink burr,” she whispers again.
Jessie looks at me, her lips curving slowly into a smile, and I look up. “I’ll get you a burr,” I say, looking at Mila.
“Pink burr!”
“Yeah, I’ll get you the pink burr.”
“Aidan!” Sofie slaps her forehead. “I said no!”
“Sorry, Mom. She’s just too cute!”
“Y’all spoil her.”
“Little girls are meant to be spoiled,” I justify, pulling my wallet out of my pocket and handing Mila ten bucks. “Let’s go get you a bear. But you’re paying!”
“Otay.” She grins, still clutching her goldfish, and Conner pushes the stroller over to the stand.
“Softie,” Jessie mumbles, nudging me.
“Not what you said earlier,” I mumble back, nudging her, too.
Her answering nudge is a hell of a lot harder than the first one, and I laugh. Damn, pissing her off is so much fun.
I laugh as we follow Conner and the stroller past the brightening lights of rides swooping high into the darkening sky. The calls of the Hook a Duck stall operators fill the air, mingling with the music, and the scents of fries and candy apples and cotton candy fill the air in an almost sickly combination.
“A pink burr!” Mila says, waving the money at the guy behind the stall.
“It’s two fifty a go,” he tells her. “You want four?”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh! Lotsa burrs!” she says, giggling.
“Take it,” I say to him, grabbing the ball and looking at the cans. Shit, I was never good at this when I was a kid. And this stall is hit them all or no prize.
I throw the ball and hit the top can off, but my next two miss completely. I throw the final ball and hit the stack right in the middle, but I’m left with four cans standing. I take the second go, too, and the same thing happens. I miss with at least one ball, which is exactly how Tate ends up taking the third turn. He hits a can with all four balls, but there’s two left.
“Oh, move!” Jessie shoves us both out of the way and snatches the ball from Tate. One by one, she throws the balls, knocking cans down methodically. When she has one ball left for four cans, I shake my head, because only three of them are stacked.
She mutters a curse under her breath and aims, releasing the ball with a lot of force, more than should be right for such a slim chick. But her ball spins forward and barrels into three of the cans, and one hits the fourth. It wobbles on the ledge, and Jessie whispers several “come ons” before the can stabilizes and stays there.
She digs into the pocket of her shorts. “Crap. I forgot my wallet. And phone. And everything. This is your fault.” She looks at me accusingly.
I laugh and toss her my wallet.
“Oh, sure. You can throw this but not balls at cans.” She rolls her eyes and hands the guy five dollars. Just as well, because she doesn’t get them all on her second try either. “Y’all glue these to the ledge?” she asks the guy, who just grins in response. “Bastards,” she mutters.
“Dollar,” Mila demands, hand out.
Jessie throws all four balls in quick succession, and on her third try, she nails it. The guy laughs and hands her the largest bear they have, and Jessie turns to Mila. “How about the pink bear instead?”
Mila screams. “Ahhh, Jessie! You best!”
Jessie hands her the bear and kisses the top of her head, then looks at Sofie. “Don’t say I never do anythin’ for you.”
“I have no idea where that’s gonna go,” she replies, dropping her eyes to the bear that’s currently squashing the goldfish.
“Ahhh,” Mila coos. “Ahhh, burr.”
Jessie smiles. It’s not just any smile though. It’s a different kinda smile—one I’ve never seen her smile before, and that sounds so fucking stupid, because a smile is a smile, but I swear to God, if she smiled this kind of smile every day, I’d probably be in love with her right now.
That smile that makes you stop and notice. Warm and soft and gentle, but so full of love and adoration that there’s nothing you can do but mirror it. Except I can’t even do that. All I can do is stand and look at her, her red hair flowing over her shoulders and her tattoos on full show, her eyes wide and her smile bright. I can just look at her.
Like looking at her is the easiest thing I’ve done in a long time—and I think it just might be.
Sofie says something about fries or rides and everyone turns away. Except me. Because I’m still looking at Jessie like a fucking lovesick fool, even though I’m not, but damn, one more smile like that, and I probably will be.
Tate and Ella scoot past Jessie, and finally, she looks at me. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she turns her face toward mine, her smile disappearing and her hand lingering by the side of her jaw.
“What?” she says softly, her eyes finding mine in the dimming light.
I shrug a shoulder, my lips curving up. I don’t know. I don’t know what it is about her. I just know that there’s something. And it’s fucking mesmerizing.
I take her hand and pull her closer to me, stepping forward, too. “Just . . . don’t think about this, okay?”
“Um, okay.”
I touch the side of her face softly and bring my mouth down on hers. It’s just a touch. One touch, one simple, sweet touch that feels like so much more than what it really is.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m terrified. Totally fucking terrified.
Of Jessie Law. I’m terrified of what she’s doing to me—of what she’s making me feel. She makes me happy and angry and all kinds of screwed up in every possible way, but she smiles at my niece with as much love as I see my younger brother look at her mom, and I know that’s something I won’t find again.
Like it or loathe it, and I gotta say that I love it, Mila is a part of my life. A huge part. And I’ll be damned if I ever fall in love with a girl that doesn’t love that kid at least half as much as I do. She’s the new center of our family, so to see Jessie, the girl I’ve disliked for years, the girl who dislikes me, the girl who is driving me nothing short of absolutely fucking insane, look at Mila like she’s the center of her world for two seconds is unbelievable.
Jessie’s breath flutters across my lips, even as she draws one in, her fingers over mine on her cheek. “Wh-what was that?” she whispers.
“Just,” I reply, just as softly. “Just ’cause.”
“Just ’cause isn’t enough.”
“It’s all I got.” I kiss her again, gently, too, and slowly pull my hand from her face as I step back. “So it’s gotta be enough.”
“I guess it will be then.” Jessie drops her eyes to where I’m sliding my fingers through her hand. “Even if it makes no sense.”
“Enough doesn’t have to make sense.” I brush my thumb across the back of her hand. “It just has to be.”
“Sounds like a line from one of your songs.”
“Maybe it should be.”
She looks up at me and swallows. “Maybe you should write it.”
“Are you kidding? I can barely write a Christmas card.”
Her lips tug to the side. “That I can believe, but I’ve heard you sing a song you’ve written before.”
“Ah.” I grimace. “Yeah, ‘Confession’? That prom song was written by Conner.”
Jessie pulls back, her eyebrows shooting upward, her smile growing. “Really? You sang me your brother’s song?”
“I was eighteen!” I run my fingers through my hair. “What was I supposed to do?”
“Write one?” She giggles. “How very unromantic of you.”
“I’m not romantic.”
“Don’t let the paparazzi hear you say that.”
I glance around, and seeing a camera, look back to her. “You want me to write you a song?”
“No,” she says honestly, walking backward toward the candy-apple stand and pulling me with her. “I want you to want to write me one.” Her voice is soft and hesitant, almost unsteady.
“What if I said I did?”
“What if I said that breaks the rules of a fake relationship?”
I hold our clasped hands out so she stops and walk right up to her. She inhales deeply as our toes touch and I bend my head forward to look into her eyes. “Then what if I said my manager could kiss my ass, because I don’t care?”
“Then what if I said your manager has nothing to do with this?” Her eyes—they’re big and bold and full of something I don’t even recognize.
“Then,” I whisper, resting my fingers against her side, “what if I said okay, as long as you’ll listen. ’Cause, sunshine, you know how I feel about rules.”
“What if I said I’d break the rules with you?”
“I’d say hand me a pen and paper, because I’m about to write the best fucking song you’ve ever heard.”
“And I’d say you’re crazy,” she breathes. I can barely hear her, but I can see her, because her eyes are so focused on mine and so still it’s impossible to see anything but her. “But I’d also say what the hell are you doing standing here when you should be doing that?”
And I pull her into me. Our lips seal together in a kiss that’s everything but nothing. One long, seductive, teasing kiss that belongs between the pages of the romance novels everyone is raving about. One long, easy kiss that warms every vein in my body and has my heart pounding like it’s on fucking steroids. “And I’d say,” I murmur against her lips, “that I’m getting inspiration for that song.”
Jessie curves her fingers into the neck of my shirt, her thumb brushing across the side of my neck. “Okay. But I want a goldfish.”
“For real?”
“For real.”
“Then I’ll get you a goldfish.”
“I can’t believe you got me a goldfish.”
“I told you I’d get you a goldfish.”
She rolls over onto her side on the grass, goldfish between us. The lights from the fair cast shadows over her silhouette, only her eyes sparkling in the darkness by the river. “The most expensive goldfish ever.”
“It isn’t my fault if they put the bull’s-eye a million miles away.”
“Oh, pshhh. You’re a big girl, Aidan Burke,” Jessie snorts. “You just have worse aim than a kindergartner in the NBA.”
“My aim is just fine—”
“This goldfish cost you almost forty dollars, and the guy only gave it to you because you’re Aidan Burke.”
My lips thin. How do you argue with the truth? “But I got a goldfish, just like I promised.”
She laughs. “Do you ever get fed up with it?” She flicks her hair over her shoulder and picks at some grass. “People doing stuff for you because you’re part of the band?”
I raise my eyebrows at the suddenness of the question, but I can’t say she’s wrong. “I guess,” I reply. “I don’t pay much attention to it. I haven’t been in the spotlight as much as Tate or Conner. I’ve always just been Aidan Burke, drummer of Dirty B.”
“But that’s enough to have cameras follow you,” Jessie points out, lifting the goldfish bag. She stares at it for a moment before setting it above our heads on the grass.
“They follow me for gossip. They’re mostly those rags that rely on Twitter trends and shit to get noticed.”
“It has to bother you.” She props herself up on her elbow so she’s looking down at me. “How can it not? You can’t do anything without being followed. You’re essentially a fugitive of the media.”
I shrug and look up at the sky, dark with hundreds of stars twinkling. “Is it bad if I say I’m used to it? They always want something, but the something is never enough. It’s always got to be scandalous or headline-worthy. God forbid I go to Target and buy Mom milk and bread.”
“You’re so bitter,” she says softly. “Why don’t you just tell them to leave you alone?”
“Because we need them,” I reply simply. “We need them to sell music and albums and tour tickets. So I gotta deal with it.”
“Even when they write shit about you?”
“Even when they write shit about me,” I reply. “That’s why I have a hard time with the relationship stuff, you know? It’s why I fought our manager when he suggested this. I only agreed because Tate agreed for me. Shit, I have more than enough trouble with the media. I don’t need this, too. I don’t need them writing crap about the girl I decide to date.”
Jessie takes a deep breath, her shoulders rising, and drops back down to the grass. She averts her eyes from mine and picks at the green blades in front of her. One by one she snaps them off. “Except it doesn’t matter, does it? Not really. Because you just said you didn’t decide anything. Tate did.”
“In the future. I don’t know.” I stare at her, wanting her to look at me, but thankful that she isn’t. ’Cause maybe if she looks up, she’ll know my “I don’t know” is a ton of bullshit. “Everythin’ matters, Jessie. Just ’cause this ain’t real don’t mean I don’t notice the shit you’ve been getting. It doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother me.”
“Well, rocker boy.” She glances up at me through her long lashes. “It’ll take a bit more than death threats from a bunch of obsessed teenagers to break through my skin. I live with one, remember?”
“But this isn’t just a bunch. This is . . . a ton. They trended it, baby. They’re fucking crazy. They don’t know when enough is enough. And it ain’t gonna go away. They’ll do this every day until you break. I saw it with Sofie and Ella. When this ends, they’ll probably do it more. You’ll still be a slut and a whore and whatever else they call you.”
She sits up, pulling her legs to her chest. “Why don’t you ever speak up?” She rests her cheek on her knees and looks at me. Her eyes are so bright right now, with the lights from the fair glinting off their bright color, and it’s so easy to meet her gaze. “Why don’t you, as a team, ever come together and say, ‘Hey, this isn’t okay?’ Why is that so hard for you to do? Like, you say you care, but you let them do it. It’s like walking past the kid getting bullied in the playground and ignoring it because it’s easy to do. You’re the guys they look up to. Every time they do this and you stay quiet, you’re telling them it’s okay. And it isn’t. It’s not fucking okay to send someone death threats just because they’re with someone you like. If you wouldn’t do it to a friend in high school, you sure as hell shouldn’t be doing it over the Internet. But maybe that’s the problem. The Internet. Everyone is a fucking keyboard warrior.”
Her words make my lips pull up. Jesus—she’s so fucking right. She’s just nailed it, completely. We don’t speak up. We don’t say anything. “It just ain’t that easy,” I reply quietly. “These people—we need ’em. Those crazy-ass fangirls are what keep our careers alive, and we’re thankful for them far more than we’re annoyed with them.”
“Thankful enough that their support means more than making sure the people you care about aren’t hurt by their actions?”
“Sometimes. Yeah. It’s a fine line. We’re damned if we do and damned if we don’t. Because without them, we can’t look after the people we care about.”
I sit up when she shakes her head. “Are you seriously telling me that between the four of you, you don’t have enough money to live? That you can’t live off your Platinum album, sponsorships, deals, tour revenue? You can’t step back from the crazy?”
“Sure we can. But why would we? You didn’t see it, but while you were busting your ass in school for your diploma, we were practicing instead of studying.” I run my fingers through my hair and turn my face toward hers, our eyes colliding in the darkness. “Every time you checked out a library book, we learned a new rhythm. Every time you stayed up until two a.m. writing that essay, we were writing lyrics. It sounds simple, but it ain’t. This ain’t a fluke, sunshine. What happened to us was nothing but years of dreaming and hard work. We didn’t randomly try out for American Idol and get picked. We worked our asses to the bone, and it finally paid off. It’s hard to explain, but when you have this dream that seems so big and unattainable and you achieve it, there’s nothing in this world that could ever make you want to step back from it.”
“I know,” Jessie replies softly, dropping her eyes once again. “You think no one noticed, but we did, Ads. I did. You were always humming something. Even in class, one look at you, and you were drumming your fingers against the table, mouthing lyrics only you could hear. I’m just saying that you have responsibilities outside of your dream, and those are reality, too. The responsibilities y’all have are the ones that will outlast your careers. Love doesn’t have a boundary. The people that love you will be there long after the dimming of the bright lights and the record album sales. They’re the people that will still smile at you and hold your hand when darkness falls.”
I scoot across to her until my side is against hers and wrap my arm around her waist. “You want me to do the boyfriend thing and stand up for you? Because if it bothers you that much, I’ll do it.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“But you did, baby. I may not have gone to college, but I can read between the lines. And if you want me to tell them that the shit they’re pulling isn’t okay, then I will.” I rest my chin on her shoulder and her hair brushes my nose. “I’ll just tell them to give you a break because you’re awesome and don’t deserve those messages.”
She takes a deep breath, and her face turns toward mine the tiniest amount. “No,” she says softly. “I don’t need you to stand up for me. I need y’all to stand up for everyone who’s taken this shit and who will take this shit, including whoever you decide will be your real girlfriend.”
“Fake only stays fake for so long.”
“Don’t pretend that this could ever be more, Ads. We’re too . . . opposite. If you’re the north pole, I’m the south pole, except once in a while, we both become the equator and line up perfectly.” Jessie tucks her hair behind her ear, turning to me a little more.
“I like it when we’re the equator.”
“Of course you do. That’s when you get laid.”
I laugh, moving my whole body so my leg is wrapped around her body the way my arm already is and my chest is against her side. “Well, sure. But when we line up, Jessie, we line up. We give meaning to the phrase polar opposites, then we redefine what it is to be exactly the same. And there’s no saying that it couldn’t be that more often than not.”
“Are you telling me you want me to be your real girlfriend?”
“I meant to say fuck buddy.”
“You’re a dick.”
“I know.” I drop us both backward, and she screams, grabbing my arm, which is tight around her waist. I laugh as I move us so her head is on my shoulder and she’s tucked into my side, but she simply smacks me and tries to move away. I refuse, holding her against me until she relaxes and melds into me. My fingers trail across her upper arm, across the intricate inking on her skin, and I force myself to focus on the lines. “You never did tell me what they mean.”
“My flowers?” she tilts her head back until our mouths are level. “You want to know?”
“Sure. You told me they all have a meaning. I want to know what they are.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Okay. You have all night, right?”
“For you? I have tomorrow night, too.”
Her lips curve against my jaw. “Sweet-talker.”
“It was pretty smooth.”
“Very,” she admits, stretching her arm out across me. “See the daisy? That was my first. It symbolizes innocence. It was my way of drawing a line between my childhood and adulthood. And the lily?”
“The pink one?”
“Yeah. It means ‘purity.’ I had to be careful with the colors, because they mean different things, but that was my second. I was still a virgin and wanted something to represent that.”
“You were still a virgin at eighteen?”
“Some of us were, yes,” she replies dryly. “The sunflower? It means ‘dedication.’ That was dedication to my first dream—get an art degree. I did it, but it still holds, because I want to become a tattoo artist like Jay. It reminds me that my dream is bigger than I thought.”
Wow.
“My red rose is for my family—for love. No matter what happens, I’ll always love them. They’re also my mom’s favorite flower, so the tattoo was a birthday present to her, too.”
“Nice.”
“And my snapdragon.” She twists so I can see her elbow and bends her arm, then straightens it. She does it again and again. “Strength,” she explains. “My latest. I got it right after I found Dax with another girl. It reminds me that strength is always there, even when you’re at your weakest. My snapdragon reminds me that even something beautifully weak can be strong.”
I brush my finger across the curve of her elbow, along the exact line of her snapdragon. “You’re a walking fucking Tumblr meme, aren’t you?”
She grins, laughs, and buries her face in my shoulder. “I guess I am. But I figure, if I’m gonna get something inked onto my skin that’s gonna last the rest of my life, it may as well mean something.”
“Very philosophical of you.”
“Because yours mean nothing, right?” She rolls so she’s up on her elbow again, but this time, she’s leaning over me. “This,” she says, pointing to the trees curving around my wrist. “So random. What do they mean?”
“Home,” I answer instantly. “My house has been surrounded by these trees my whole life. I travel so much, sometimes the only time I can remember is when I’m on a tour bus, traveling down the interstate, brushing my teeth. And this helps me remember.”
“And this?” she tugs down the collar of my shirt. “ ‘One, two, three, four’?”
“The words I say before every song,” I explain, thinking of the words that are inked collarbone to collarbone. “Four of the most important words I’ll ever say.”
“And these?” She lifts my shirt this time, revealing the lyrics curving around my left side.
“The lyrics from the first song we ever wrote. It was fucking garbage and never recorded, but the lines are everything to me.”
“ ‘It’s you, baby, it’s you / Your smile, your hair, your lips, your touch,’ ” she reads aloud, finger tracing across the ink wrapping around my side.
“Stop,” I groan, shoving my shirt back down and pushing her hands away.
“Come on!” she laughs. “All of it, Aidan!”
“No!”
“Fine. I’ll just read it next time we line up.”
“You’re gonna have sex with me just to read the tattoo?”
“No.” She sits up and, resting her hand on the grass by the side of my head, looks down at me. “I’m going to make you think we’re having sex, read your tattoo, then run away.”
“What makes you think I’ll let you run away?”
“Didn’t say I’d get very far,” she mutters.
“Do you have an answer for everythin’?”
“Do you have a question for it?” Her delicate brows curve upward, questions in her eyes. “Precisely,” she continues before I can answer. “As long as you keep askin’, I’ll keep answerin’.”
“I have a question.” I sit up, fighting my smile, and push her hair from her eyes. “Can I kiss you?”
Her lips part, shock flickering in her eyes, before she closes her mouth. She shakes her head, a smile forming, and meets my eyes. “Well played, rocker boy. Well played.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Yes,” she sighs, leaning forward to kiss me. She tastes like candy apples and soda, sweetness overload, and it would be so easy to get high on her right now.
“There,” she says softly, pulling back. “Answered.”
