The words were permanently etched into my skin. Our love, just like Cathy and Heathcliff’s, had been doomed from the start.
“What do you think?” Brando asked as he started packing his tattooing equipment.
“I love it.” I stared at the delicate black script that was written neatly across my shoulder blade. I wasn’t sure why I had always been compelled to these words or why I felt the need to have them on my body. Maybe it was in response to the Wuthering Heights quote Blake wore on his ribcage. It felt intimate, like only he and I shared something that would never go away.
Through the big windows that led to the back deck, the moon was shining high in the dark sky. The time on the clock read a little after ten. Jonna and King had the boat, so if I wanted to make it home, then I had an hour to get to the dock to take the last ferry home.
I heard Brando rummaging around in the kitchen then the sound of him cracking open a beer. When he entered the living room, I was tucking in the spaghetti straps of my coral colored bridesmaid dress. The sting from the fresh tattoo was still pretty intense, so I didn’t want the straps to add to the irritation.
Brando sat on the couch and turned on the television. He looked worn out. He’d just spent a great deal of time sitting in one spot and concentrating on my artwork, so I had no doubt he needed time to relax.
I went to sit down beside him then winced as my shoulder blade hit the back of the couch.
“Careful. You okay?” he asked with concern.
“Yeah, fine. Can I have a swig of your beer?”
Brando eyed me for a second, contemplating.
“Sure, even though you really shouldn’t.” He handed the beer to me and I took a couple of gulps before giving it back. “Alcohol thins your blood and that thing needs to heal.”
“Really? I guess I didn’t think about that,” I replied, although I didn’t feel sorry for taking a drink. My insides felt restless, and I needed something to take the edge off my nerves. I couldn’t believe that I’d just gotten a tattoo.
“Nah, it’s okay. It’s worse to be drunk before you get a tat. First, it’s hard as fuck to get a drunken body to sit still. Second, they can’t be trusted to make good decisions. I’ve had people ask for shit I wouldn’t ink on my worst enemy.”
“What do you do if somebody asks you to tattoo something you don’t want to?”
“I reserve the right to do what the fuck I want. I don’t want to ink, I ain’t gonna.” He drank more of his beer. “Shit, I can’t have motherfuckers going around blaming me for their mistakes. I gotta reputation to protect.” He reached down and pulled my legs onto his lap. “Hey, sit this way. That way you can rest against the arm of the couch without it touching your shoulder blade.”
I swung around as he suggested, and he was right. It was a better position. Since I wasn’t a big drinker, my body already felt warm from the sips of beer I’d taken, along with the endorphins getting the tattoo had released. My eyes grew heavy as Brando flipped channels. I was faintly aware that he was rubbing a thumb along the back of my calf. It felt good. Too good. His light and seemingly innocent touch was actually turning me on.
He was very attractive with his sexy hair and tattooed forearms. Probably the kind of guy most girls my age would drool over. The muscles between my thighs started to clench involuntarily, which meant I needed to leave, so I swung my legs off his lap as I sat up.
“I have to go.”
“What?” Brando asked, looking confused and slightly dazed. He might have been experiencing a little of what I was feeling, too.
“The ferry is leaving in twenty minutes. I’ve got to get home.”
“Are you sure? You can crash here if you want, T.”
T? That was a nickname I hadn’t heard before, and I kind of liked it.
“Well, B”—I emphasized my new name for him— “all I have is this dress and nothing to change into. Besides, we spent last night at Jonna’s parents’ house and I just really want to get into my own bed.”
“At least you got to sleep.” He snorted with a laugh. “We stayed up all night celebrating my brother’s last night as a free man.”
“Free man? Geez, you make is seem like he’s going to be held against his will for the next fifty years.” After sliding my feet back into my heels, Brando helped me stand.
“Nah, he’s exactly where he wants to be. The lucky bastard.” He grinned and walked me to the door.
Chapter Nineteen
When I arrived home, Blake’s Chevy Nova wasn’t in the garage. I knew because I went out there to look for him. The house was dark when I walked inside, and I hated being there all alone. I started to pick up my phone and call him but thought better of it. He was free to do as he pleased. He didn’t need to provide me any explanations. While that justification sounded good in my head, it hurt my heart worse than my tattoo.
I spent way too much time rummaging through the kitchen cabinets in search of something to eat. I wasn’t really hungry yet not ready to go to bed. After pulling out all sorts of ingredients, I had everything I needed to bake a batch of brownies. By 3 a.m., I had eaten three brownies and was eyeing a fourth when I heard the rumble from an engine entering the garage.
When Blake finally opened the door and stepped into the kitchen, I was standing at the sink washing dishes.