“But why do you think he hit you?”
My eyes find Trick’s. “Because he’s a coward and an asshole, and he knows it. He just doesn’t like it when I remind him of it.”
“He hit you because you told him you were leaving with me.”
“No. He hit me because my mom died and I lived.”
“That’s fucked-up.”
I shrug.
Trick leans forward, taking my hand. “I owe your mom everything.”
Tears.
I swallow the lump of emotions in my throat. “Did I mention I’m crazy in love with you?”
A lip twitch.
*
We end up down in Cabo … at a tattoo parlor.
“What are you getting now?” I ask as he takes off my helmet. “Have you made sure this is a reputable place? Tattoo removal isn’t a fun process, and you also need to make sure you’re not going to end up with an infection.”
He cups my face, laying a sound kiss on my lips. “I’ve checked everything out. We’ll be fine.”
“We’ll?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t need a tattoo.”
“Yes, you do. Come.”
I don’t come. I stand rooted to the ground by the motorcycle.
Trick looks back. “What?” He sighs.
“I’ve never thought about getting a tattoo before.”
“Then don’t think about it now. Come.” He gestures with his head to the door.
With lead in my shoes, I make my way to him. He takes my hand and drags me inside.
After an hour wait it’s our turn. I’ve been informed I don’t get to pick out my tattoo. Figures. Trick negotiates with the artist while I observe our surroundings, inspecting the sanitary conditions.
“Do you want to go first or do you want me to?” Trick asks.
Does he really have to ask?
A smirk and head shake. “I’ll go first.”
I give him a slow you-bet-your-ass-you-will nod.
Thirty minutes later and we’re on our way home. Left ring fingers bandaged over the date we got married tattooed in sanskrit. I nearly cried at just how romantic of a gesture it was … That and getting a tattoo on the sensitive skin of my finger hurt like hell. Trick didn’t even flinch. Cocky showoff!
“Wife.” Trick opens the door to the house.
“Husband.” I grin, holding up my bandaged finger while walking past him.
“What are you doing?” He asks as I send a text to Tamsen.
“I’m telling Tamsen you bought me a wedding band today … or…” I glance up with an annoyed smirk “…a marriage band.”
He bends down, burying his stubbly face in the crook of my neck. “You can call it a wedding … a marriage … a ceremony … getting hitched.” He skims his hands up my sides, dropping his mouth to my cleavage exposed with my V-neck top. “You said ‘I do.’ That’s all that matters to me.”
Trick is anything but conventional. I was a little surprised that marriage mattered to him, but then he brought me to the place where his parents met and I saw a side to Trick I’m quite certain very few have ever seen—the boy who grew up a witness to the most beautiful, yet tragic love story ever.
“Show me … show me how much it matters.” Each one of my words comes out a breathy slur as I set my phone on the counter.
He straightens, that sexy gaze a slow lick up the center of my sex as I melt with need for his touch. Wasting no time, he gives me what he knows I want—he removes his shirt. I grin and remove mine. We make haste with ridding our bodies of the rest of our clothes.
“Bed or counter?” He presses his naked body to mine, tangling his hands in my hair, tugging my head back until I’m looking up into his eyes.
“Counter.”
He kisses me and lifts me up.
“Ooo! Bed!” I squeal, clamping my legs around his waist as the cold tile meets my bottom.
He laughs and carries me upstairs. “You just got your first tattoo but the counter is too cold?”
“Shut up.” I kiss him as he lays us down on the bed. Pressing my palms to his face, I push him back just far enough to look into his eyes. “Counter says quickie. I don’t want anything about this to be quick.” I brush my thumb over his bottom lip. “Show me your wedding vows.”
He does … he shows me that the memories we make will be filled with long motorcycle rides, lazy, long lunches at little restaurants in town, and plenty of quickies on cold tile. But at the end of every day we’ll remember that our memories are all chapters to a love story … our love story.
*
I love that we’re the couple that stays tangled in each other’s bodies all night. I love the way he fists my hair like he’s holding a security blanket when I bury my face in his neck. I love that he still wakes up most nights with his head wedged between my legs, like I’m a midnight snack, and that less than ten minutes later were both sated and right back to sleep, not feeling the least bit exhausted from it in the morning.