“You’re finally getting your tattoo tonight.”
“What?!” I say, instinctively taking a step away from him. “No. I can’t do that.”
“You can.” He reaches out and takes my hand, lacing our fingers together, and my body immediately softens. “I already made you an appointment with an artist right outside of town who seemed really good. And I’ll be with you the whole time. Trust yourself. You said you wanted flowers—let’s get your damn flowers, Annie.” He lifts my hand in his and pulls my wrist to his mouth, where he leaves a tender kiss on the vulnerable skin below my palm. His easy affection stuns me as much as it delights me. “You can do this. If you want to…”
I do want to. I really do.
Normally, I would need time to think about it. Weigh the pros and cons and get my siblings’ input first and then eventually get talked out of it, completely. But I’m now committed to this experiment of trying to find myself by following my impulses. Plus I’m still actively looking for a husband and practicing my dating skills just in case that’s the thing I really need too. The answer has to live down one of those paths, so why not try them both, right?
I breathe in and smile. “Let’s go.”
I try to walk away, but he tugs me back with a chuckle. “We don’t have to go now. I didn’t mean to take you from your time with your siblings. Go finish what you were doing and we can go after.”
“They’ll be okay without me for one hearts tournament. I want to be spontaneous with you tonight.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Will
I expect Annie to hesitate outside the tattoo parlor. It doesn’t look like the friendliest place, but the options were slim within a fifty-mile radius of Rome. Luckily, the highest rated parlor according to Google was this one, only twenty minutes away.
Annie let me drive her truck—and I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. I get now why people are addicted to these gas guzzlers. There’s something about the feel of an old leather Ford steering wheel with ridges all around that’s way more satisfying than a new smooth one. Even better if it comes with a beautiful blonde woman hanging her arm out the window and letting her hair fly all around her face as you drive.
It’s not safe, and I don’t condone it, but I took a picture when she wasn’t looking.
When we pulled up to the parlor, I put the truck in park and looked over at Annie, expecting to see some trepidation in her expression. I couldn’t have been more wrong. She jumped out before my eyes even had time to land on her.
“Come on,” she says, excitedly waving me forward. “Why are you moving so slow?”
I close the truck door and meet her on the sidewalk. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask, looking in the lit-up parlor and feeling a pang of remorse for instigating this. Not even sure why. It’s just that the thought of Annie in all her softness going into that place and being inked forever has me suddenly feeling like an overprotective mother. What the hell? I’ve never been one to overthink any choices in my life. I joined the military when I went to the grocery store for milk and the recruiting tent was parked out front, for God’s sake.
And yet…something about being with Annie makes me want to be cautious for once. I have the distinct feeling of holding something precious and not wanting to let it drop. I feel protective. Possessive even.
Annie laughs and eyes me speculatively. “Yes! I’m so sure. Let’s go.”
In an ironic turn of events, Annie grabs my hand and tugs me along behind her. We go into the parlor, and it smells old. Nothing like the updated, trendy, and clean places where I’ve gotten my tattoos. This is a backwoods country parlor through and through, and who knows what sort of disease she could get from just sitting in one of their chairs? Are their needles sterilized? How long has this artist been in business?
I can’t let Annie do this.
“Hey—on second thought, why don’t we wait and go somewhere in the city?”
She only has a second to frown at me before a burly man with a biker beard comes around the corner. “You a walk-in?”
“Yes, sir!” She chirps happily, and I instantly clench my hand tighter around hers. She’s about to mark her body forever. Because of me. By a man I absolutely don’t want anywhere near said body. Look at the size of the paws on him.
I’ve never felt the weight of being a bad influence before. Normally, I thrive on it, actually. But not when I’m looking at Annie’s perfect blank canvas of soft skin and imagining her stuck with a tattoo she might hate for the rest of her life. All because I made it happen.