She forces a smile.
It’s completely fake.
She’s still scared.
I need to keep this light. To ease her into it.
“I have an idea,” I say.
Her eyes go wide. “What kind of idea?”
“You have that list, right?”
Confusion spreads over her expression.
“The summer bucket list.”
“Oh. Yeah. But it’s silly.”
“Sounds fun to me.”
She brings her index finger to her lips. Gnaws on her nail. “I’m sure it’s stuff you know.”
“I know less than you’d think.” I tap my head. “Nothing but tits and beer.”
“And tattoos?”
“Only when I’m working.”
She motions to the shop around us.
I nod fair enough. “You gonna get one?”
“A tattoo? One day. Maybe.”
“Can I do it?”
“What?”
“If you get one.”
“Okay. I guess. But I don’t think I will.”
“They’re addictive.”
Her gaze moves over my arm. “I can see that.” She tries to look me in the eyes. Settles on my lips. “It’s a sweet offer, Wes.”
“Think about it.”
She nods.
“Decide by midnight.”
“I have work later.”
I shrug too bad.
Maybe it’s not the best idea, putting more pressure on Quinn.
But I need her to decide she’s in.
I hold up my pinkie. “Tonight. Text me. You’re in or you’re out.”
“If I’m out?”
“Fuck, I’d really hate if some other guy got all your firsts.”
She holds up her hand. “You’re kinda manipulative.”
“Only when I want something.”
We pinkie promise.
I walk her to her car.
Hug her goodbye.
She doesn’t say anything about the offer, but it’s there in her eyes.
She wants this.
All of it.
Chapter Fourteen
Wes
There’s no sense in denying it.
I’m sweating this.
It’s eleven fifteen and my cell is silent.
There isn’t a single word about Quinn’s decision.
I give up on flipping channels. TV is great most nights. But right now?
It’s the least interesting thing in the entire world.
I rise. Move to my bedroom. Toss my sketchbook on my desk.
Brendon was right.
My shit is generic as hell.
It’s empty.
It pleases clients.
Earns enough to pay the rent.
But it doesn’t fill that hole in my gut.
It barely makes sense to me, the whole idea of pouring myself onto the page.
How the fuck does anyone do that?
Guys like Brendon or Ryan—they lay their hearts bare for anyone to see.
For anyone to destroy.
I close my eyes. Let my thoughts blur. Pick up the pen.
Draw what comes.
A broken bottle.
A shard of glass.
A finger spilling blood.
One of those Mom tattoos, with the letters a blur.
It’s different than my usual shit.
Rougher.
Rawer.
Scarier.
It’s not like I’m suffering under some fantasy that I know my own mind.
But actually facing it?
Fuck that.
Running is underrated.
I turn the page. Focus on my latest mock-up. A pop-culture inspired design for a college girl. Some anime I’ve never heard of.
The shapes are perfect for a tattoo.
The style is already there.
I just transpose it.
It feels good, getting it done, sending her an image, getting an awesome! in response.
But it only tugs at the hole in my gut.
This time last month, work and booze and women were enough to satisfy.
Now—
Something is different.
Quinn.
Fuck, that sounds awful. Like she’s making this shit worse.
It’s not her, exactly.
More the possibilities she promises.
Seeing Quinn reminds me of the guy I wanted to be.
Who didn’t have to pretend he was easy.
Who didn’t keep handing his heart over to someone who wanted to tear it in half.
Who—
My phone sings with the text tone I set for her. Girl, You’ll Be a Woman Soon (obvious, I know).
It’s right there.
One little word.
Quinn: Yes.
My fingers skim the slick surface of my cell.
Quinn: I’m all in. But you have to promise not to mock my list.
Wes: I’d die first.
Quinn: Really?
Wes: Yeah.
Quinn: That’s awfully dramatic, even for you.
Wes: There’s no “even for me.”
Quinn: True.
A picture image fills my screen.
A list scribbled on a piece of paper.
Learn to paddle board.
Learn to rollerblade.
Hike in Malibu.
See the Hollywood sign.
Visit Las Vegas
Lose my virginity.
My lips curl into a smile.
I want to show her things.
To show her everything.
Quinn: Where should we start?
Wes: Monday. Eight a.m. I’ll come to your place.
Quinn: That’s all I get?
Wes: Yeah.
Quinn: What do I wear?
Wes: You have all your clothes at your apartment?
Quinn: Well, yeah, of course.
Wes: Seems like it shouldn’t be a problem.
Quinn: Wes, trust me, you don’t want to wait for me to get dressed. It can take ages.
Wes: It’s a free show.
Quinn: It’s less exciting than it sounds.
Wes: Are you taking off your clothes during this show?
Quinn: Yeah.
Wes: Then it’s fascinating.
Chapter Fifteen
Quinn
At eight on the dot, Wes knocks on my door. “Hey, you request the cop or the fireman stripper?”
My lips curl into a smile.
He’s just so… Wes.
“Fireman.” My cheeks flush. He’s so fucking sexy. It’s hard teasing back without melting into a pile of desire. “He knows his way around his hose.”
“Shit, I forgot the uniform. Does it count as stripping if I start naked?”
“Technically, no.”
“How about if I start with jeans?”
“Could work.”
“Hmm… might have to put on a show for the neighbors if you don’t open up.”
Right.
I cross the room, unlock the door, pull it open.
He’s standing there in a pair of turquoise shorts, a white muscle tank, and tan Rainbow sandals.