| |
THERE’S A CHAPTER IN Little Women where Meg spends a week with her rich friends and has her head turned by fancy clothes and parties. Meg ends up with an attitude, and I’m always satisfied when she’s appropriately chastised by the story and returns to her sweet, normal self.
But that moment in the book when she steps out of her ordinary life and enters a glittering world of wealth is one I can deeply understand.
Pop has money, but he’s never been an extravagant person, and I’ve always felt out of place and overwhelmed when I walk into a location that feels genuinely expensive.
I feel that way whenever I visit Melissa and her husband’s place. They live in a big, impressive apartment on the top floor of a fancy building. Her husband, Trevor, was renting it before they got married, but they’ve recently bought it.
It’s sleek and airy with high-end finishes, and I like the place a lot.
But I always feel kind of like an interloper whenever I visit.
This evening, Chelsea and I are having dinner with them.
Melissa is pretty with gold-blond hair, a slim figure, and a no-nonsense air about her. She’s the most organized person I know, and her sheer competence can be intimidating.
Not to me—she’s my sister and I know the soft, fragile heart she tries to hide—but to other people. She’s actually relaxed a lot since she’s gotten married, and I really like her handsome, clever husband.
We have a good time at dinner since Chelsea keeps us entertained with funny stories and Trevor makes us laugh with dry comments. I enjoy the conversation and the food, but I’m pleased when Trevor gets a phone call from a client and leaves us alone.
I have a few things to tell my sisters, and I’d rather not do so in front of Trevor.
“All right,” Melissa says as soon as Trevor disappears down the hall. “Let’s hear it.”
She’s looking at me, so I know who the words are directed toward. “Let’s hear what?”
“You know what. You had coffee with Hunter this afternoon, and all evening you’ve looked like you’re about to burst with news.”
“I have not.”
“Yes, you have,” Chelsea says. “Something happened with Hunter, and we want to know what it is.”
“We just had coffee. Nothing happened. Really.”
“Then why do you look like you’re going to explode if you don’t talk?” That’s Chelsea, her eyes wide and excited.
I’m not a super-social person and have never been the life of any party. But I do have friends. I have pretty good friends I made in high school and college, and I know and like a lot people who are in graduate school with me. But there’s still no one in my life I’ve ever been closer to than my sisters. They’re my best friends. And I’d never be able to keep a secret from them, so I don’t even try. “Well, something odd did happen. I don’t know if it will come to anything, but... it was odd.”
“Spill,” Melissa says.
“Hunter needs a job and a place to live, or he’s not going to be able to stay out on parole. He’s hitting up every lead he knows and coming up empty.”
“I guess that’s to be expected.” Melissa’s expression is sympathetic. “It sucks, but it’s hard going if you’ve been in prison.”
“Yeah. I told him I wish I could help him out with a job with Pop’s and a place to live, but...”
“Pop would never go for that,” Chelsea finishes for me.
“Exactly. The only way Pop would help him out is if he was my husband. So then I had this idea.” I’m kind of embarrassed, since the idea is so out there, but it’s not any crazier than Melissa marrying Trevor last year to stick it to Pop.
“Shit,” Melissa mutters.
“You wouldn’t!” Chelsea breathes.
It’s clear both of them know exactly what the end of this explanation will be. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I kind of want to do it.”
“You said you don’t have a crush on him anymore.” Melissa doesn’t sound judgmental or disapproving. Just astonished.
“I don’t. I mean, there might be a few lingering feelings from high school, but that’s not what this is about. I want to... I want to get going on life, even if it’s not the real thing. I want to know what it’s like to be married. And I want to help Hunter. He needs it, and he’s always been a good guy. I don’t care if he’s been in prison. He’s still a good guy.”
“But—” Melissa breaks off her objection.
“Very smart of you not to put up an argument, given what you and Trevor did last year.”
“That was a little different. I was desperate.”
“Well, Hunter is desperate. And this actually makes more sense than you and Trevor. You didn’t even like Trevor when you married him. I do like Hunter. We’re good friends, and we’ve always gotten along really well. It’s going to be fine. We’ll have a good time together, and we can end the marriage after a year or so, once Hunter can afford his own place. It’s just not a big deal.”
“It’s a marriage,” Chelsea says, her blue eyes as wide as saucers. “It’s kind of a big deal.”
“It doesn’t have to be. It’s an arrangement of convenience, and I really can’t think of any serious downsides.”
“Pop won’t be happy,” Melissa murmurs.
“I consider that an upside, not a downside.”
Both my sisters give me skeptical looks at this, and Chelsea says, “No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
Melissa shakes her head, although her face is sympathetic. “You might want to feel like it’s an upside, but you don’t. You don’t want to disappoint Pop. You don’t want to disappoint anyone. You’ve always been like that.”
“Remember after Mom and Dad died?” Chelsea says. “When Pop told us we should plant that memorial garden for them in that overgrown flowerbed. I know Pop thought it would help, but it was such a dumb idea for three girls like us. We had no idea what we were doing. Melissa stormed off, saying Mom and Dad wouldn’t care about a garden. I tried a little bit, but it was too hard so I quit. But you worked on that stupid garden for days and days until you’d finally gotten the weeds up and the plants planted. It didn’t matter if it was a dumb idea. You still wanted to do what he said.”
The memory hurts me a little—both the memory of losing our parents as children and how hard I worked on that silly flowerbed as I tried desperately to live up to Pop’s expectations for all three of us.
I look down at a crumb on the table from the piece of baguette I ate earlier. “Yeah, I know. I’ve always tried to be so good. But I don’t want to forever be like that. I don’t think I have to be that way.”
“No. You don’t. You should be you,” Melissa says. “Not what Pop or anyone else expects of you.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do. It’s a weird way to do it, but it’s what I can do right now.”
My sisters both nod at this, and I feel better at their expressions. They might not think this is the smartest thing in the world, but they’re going to support me in what I do.
I’m about to say something else when my phone rings. When I check the screen, I see it’s Hunter and my heartbeat accelerates dramatically.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Chelsea whispers, as if Hunter might be able to overhear her.
“Yes.”
“Well, get it,” Melissa says.
I take a deep breath and connect the call. “Hey, Hunter.”
“Hi.”
I wait, literally holding my breath.
He hesitates several seconds before he says gruffly, “If we’re gonna do this, there’re gonna be rules.”
Something in my chest jumps in excitement. It might be my heart, but it feels a lot bigger than that. “I’m fine with rules.”
I see Melissa and Chelsea exchange a look, but I’m too distracted to read it.
“This can’t be charity,” Hunter says. “I’m not okay with you feelin’ sorry for me.”
“I don’t feel sorry for you! I want to help, and I’m getting something out of it too.”
“So you have to do it.”
“Do what?”
“Get something out of it. You have to do all the things you want to do, even if you’re scared. It can’t be like the motorcycle.”
This isn’t the conversation I was expecting. “O-kay.”
“You have to let me help you.”
“I will.”
“That means you have to do what I say.”
“What?”
“You have to do what I say. If there’s something you wanna do, you have to listen to me when I’m helping you do it. You can’t wuss out like you did this afternoon.”
“I’m not going to wuss out.” I’m saying this mostly out of principle. Hunter knows me really well, and wussing out is usually my fallback.
“Uh huh.”
“I’m not going to wuss out.”
“So if you’re going to give me a place to live and a job, I’m going to make sure you experience all the stuff you want. We’ve got a year. We can do a lot. But you have to do what I say.”
I swallow hard, my cheeks hotly flushed. He’s not necessarily talking about sex, but that’s exactly where my mind goes.
Immediately.
Sex.
Hot sex.
Sex with Hunter.
Shit, I’m having a hot flash.
“Okay?” Hunter prompts.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” He clears his throat. “Then let’s do it. Let’s get married. Just for a year.”
“Just for a year.”
“It’s a deal then.”
“It’s a deal.” I take a shaky breath. “But just so you know, I’m not going to do what you say in everything. Just in... the living-life stuff.”
He makes a throaty sound, and because I can’t see his face, it takes me a few seconds to realize he’s laughing. “Got it. Just in the living-life stuff.”
“And you can’t be too bossy.”
There’s a pause that’s full of something nameless. Then he finally drawls, “I never agreed to that.”
***
HUNTER STARTS TO MOVE in the next day.
I love my apartment. It’s a third-floor walk-up in a renovated building that used to be a bank a hundred years ago, and the place is full of history and character. It’s got big windows, wide-plank oak floors, and two bedrooms (one big and one small).
I’m a bit worried that the second bedroom is too small for Hunter, but he looks neither surprised nor disappointed when he comes over to check it out.
“Looks great,” he says, scanning the bare floors, twin bed, and matching nightstand and dresser. I’ve set it up as guest bedroom and will leave it as it is until I see what Hunter wants to do.
“I can move out the furniture and stuff.” I come into the room to stand beside him. “I just didn’t know if you’d want to use it or not.”
“I’ll use it if you don’t mind. I’ve got some clothes. Not much else.”
“Okay. Good. That makes it easy. I hope it’s not too girly in here.” The room has a blue-and-white quilt on the bed and beach prints on the walls. I think it’s pretty and pleasant, but it’s not over-the-top in any way.
It doesn’t feel like Hunter though.
“I don’t give a shit what it looks like. I’m just glad not to sleep on a couch.” He pauses before he adds, “Thanks for doing this.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And thanks for the job.”
Last night, after my phone call with Hunter, Melissa got on the phone to start arranging a position for Hunter.
She did it without question, without a background check, without an interrogation about his qualifications and fitness to work.
There’s a reason I love Melissa so much, and it’s not just because she’s my sister.
She did ask if he had any of his projects available from his finance major in college, and he had an online portfolio and a business plan that was the final assignment in one of his courses. He sent them to me, and I sent them to her, and after looking at them, she decided he could easily handle a desk job.
By this morning, she’d worked something out for Hunter, only getting Pop to agree to it when I announced he was my fiancé. It’s an entry-level position in the finance department of Pop’s, the kind a twenty-one-year-old college graduate might take. He won’t have any transactional power, but I don’t think anyone in an entry-level job would be able to move much money around—so I don’t think they’ll be treating him differently than anyone else.
He starts on Monday.
“You’re welcome about the job,” I say. “But you don’t have to thank me again. I’m getting something out of this too, you know.”
“I know.” There’s a different kind of texture in his voice now, and I can’t recognize it.
Not until he turns to face me. His blue eyes heat up as he gazes down on me, and it makes my whole body clench.
He reaches out to touch my cheek very gently with his fingertips.
“What are you doing?” My voice squeaks, and it’s embarrassing, but there’s no way I can speak normally.
Not when Hunter is looking at me that way.
Not when he’s touching my face.
Not when every cell in my body is pulsing, yearning, reaching toward him.
“You said you wanted really hot sex.”
I gulp. “Wh-what?”
He frowns behind his beard. “You said you wanted hot sex. You admitted I was right about that. I’m gonna help you with that.”
Hot sex.
He’s offering hot sex
Hunter Ness.
It’s like a scene from one of my fantasies, and I’m not entirely convinced it’s happening in real life and not in my imagination.
“Right now?” I manage to say.
“Why not?”
“Because... because...” I can’t think of a good reason except the idea of it is making my head spin like it might just fly off my head.
He takes a step even closer so his body is brushing just slightly against mine. “I told you I was gonna step up with my side of the deal.”
And that’s like a kick in the gut.
It shouldn’t be. His voice and face are just as sexy and compelling as ever, but it reminds me of something.
Why he’s doing this.
And it’s not because he wants me.
He’s fulfilling his end of the bargain. He gets a job and a place to live, and I get... hot sex. Among other things.
It takes a lot of the thrill out of his closeness and the smolder in his eyes.
I hide my response, but I do take a step backward and clear my throat.
His frown deepens. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Nothing. Really. It’s just that...”
“You don’t wanna have sex with me?”
That’s so far from the truth it’s almost laughable, but I don’t really feel like laughing. “No. That’s not it. It’s just that—”
“You’re wussing out.”
“I’m not wussing out. I’m not. It’s just too soon, I think.”
“Why?”
I inhale slowly and then blow the breath out. “I don’t know. It just feels... unnatural right now. I’m not saying I don’t want to have sex. Because I kind of do.” It’s a lot more than kind of, but all my life I’ve minimized my own desires so no one ever thinks I’m needy. “But I’d rather wait awhile, until it feels more natural.”
He’s watching me closely, and I can’t tell if he’s confused or surprised or disappointed or relieved. “Okay.”
I feel like I need to say more, so I add, “I just don’t want it to feel like I’m paying for services.”
His face relaxes slightly. “It wouldn’t be that.”
“I know. I just don’t want it to feel that way.”
“Got it. We’ll wait.” His eyes heat up again for just a moment. “But I’m ready to go anytime.”
I almost laugh at this and remind myself he’s been in prison for two years. Of course he’s ready for sex.
It doesn’t have anything to do with me.
There was this one afternoon back in high school that’s oddly symbolic of our entire relationship. We were working on a literary analysis for his English class, and he was getting frustrated at having trouble understanding the poem. So frustrated he was angry about it.
Getting tired of his muttering, I finally demanded why it mattered so much to him. Most guys like him didn’t care that much about their grades in school. I didn’t know him well yet, and I didn’t understand why he was taking his grades so seriously instead of just sliding by.
“I need As,” he mumbled, not meeting my eyes.
“Why?”
He didn’t answer.
“Why, Hunter?”
“I’ve got to show Dad I can do it.”
There was a world of backstory underlying the vague comment, and I sensed the depth of it even as an inexperienced girl. I might not know all the reasons, but I knew Hunter was desperate to prove something to his father, and he wasn’t sure he could ever do it.
I know all about trying to live up to expectations. My teenaged heart was touched, and I reached out to put a hand on his forearm. “You can do it, Hunter. I’ll help you.”
He raised his eyes to meet mine and gave me the sweetest little self-deprecating smile.
I was so fluttery I couldn’t speak, and my excitement intensified when Hunter asked in an intentionally casual voice, “You goin’ to the Spring Formal?”
The Spring Formal. The school dance. He was asking if I was going to it! The world buzzed and blurred before my eyes.
But I was me back then the way I’m me still today. And one thing I never do is look too eager about anything except books. So instead of saying how much I wanted to go but that no one had asked me yet, I said, “I don’t know. Probably not.”
His mouth quirked up. “I guess you’re too smart for that kind of thing.”
“I’m not too smart.” I waited. Breathless. Hands clasped together beneath the desk.
But Hunter didn’t ask me to go with him. He just gave a strange little huff of amusement and said, “Yeah, you are.”
Then he started working on his paper again.
In our entire history together, that was the only moment where I had real hope that Hunter might be interested in me—those few seconds, waiting to see if he was going to ask me to the dance. It barely lasted a minute, but I was crushed when it came to nothing. Embarrassed by myself, by my stupidity in thinking Hunter Ness would go to the dance with someone like me.
He did like me well enough. Back then and still today.
But he will never like me like that.
***
ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, Hunter and I get married. It happens like this.
I have a three-hour seminar class on Friday mornings, and it ends at 11:45. Hunter is waiting outside my class building when I’m done.
We take my car, since Hunter doesn’t have one, and we drive over to the courthouse. Melissa and Chelsea are waiting for us there.
Pop is pouting about my choice of a husband, so I’m surprised to discover that he’s present with the others.
Then I realize he’s not there to attend my wedding ceremony. He wants to talk to me before I go through with it.
I’m tempted to say no, but that would be petty, so I walk with Pop down the steps of the building to the sidewalk.
“What did you want to say, Pop?”
He smooths down his mustache. “What are you thinking, girl?”
“I’m thinking I’m getting married.”
“Why him?”
“Because I want to marry him.”
“It’s out of the blue.” His voice isn’t angry. It’s confused. He really can’t understand why I’m doing what I’m doing. I’ve always been his good girl.
“It’s not really. I just didn’t tell you before because you wouldn’t approve. But you told me you wanted me to get married, so I figured it was time. It’s like it was with Melissa and Trevor.”
Pop grows very still, only his mustache quivering slightly. “Like them?”
“Yes. Like them.”
He’s silent a long time, and I can see he’s trying to put pieces together. Trying to come up with answers.
I’m suddenly terrified he’s going to be so angry he’ll just cut me off.
Then the marriage to Hunter would be futile, since it wouldn’t provide him with what he needed.
We’d have to call it off.
“You are going to... help us out, right? I mean, with the rent. And the job?”
There’s something else in his expression now. Something almost bleak. “Yes. I’ll help you out. Getting married is a good thing. But you could have chosen a better man. I’m disappointed in you, girl. I thought better of you.”
He walks away then. He’s obviously not going to stay for a ceremony he doesn’t approve of.
I should be relieved because it means his financial support of me and Hunter is assured.
But I feel kind of sick.
I don’t like disappointing people.
And I’ve never disappointed Pop before.
I thought it’s what I wanted. And part of me still wants it.
But it still makes my stomach queasy.
I’m staring in the direction Pop left when I hear a voice behind me.
“You still wanna go through with this?”
I whirl around to see that Hunter is standing on the bottom step, watching me closely.
I nod. “Yes.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure. I knew Pop wasn’t going to like it. It doesn’t matter. This is what I want to do.”
“All right.” A tension has relaxed in his shoulders, and he reaches out to take one of my hands. “Then let’s go inside and do this.”
My sisters are in a good mood when we rejoin them, and I’m nervous and on edge but trying to act casual. Hunter is quiet around the others, but in a calm way, like what’s about to happen isn’t a big deal.
He’s wearing a pair of khakis and a black shirt, and I’m wearing black pants and a casual top.
I have the rings—two simple gold bands. No use to invest much money on rings that will only be worn for a year.
We linger in the waiting area until our names are called. Then we all go back.
The ceremony takes less than ten minutes.
I come out wearing a wedding ring.
Hunter Ness is now my husband.
***
FOR DINNER THAT EVENING, we make salad and pasta—with sauce out of a bottle since I’ve never really learned to cook and Hunter doesn’t care. Then we watch a movie. I have a pretty good evening, but I’m tired from trying to act calm and casual for so long, so I finally call it a night.
I tell Hunter good night before I head into my bedroom. I usually just change into my pajamas, wash my face, and brush my teeth, but I feel kind of hot and icky right now, so I take a quick shower before I put on soft knit pajama pants and an oversize T-shirt, which is what I always sleep in.
When I go to get a bottle of water, the door to the bathroom door is closed and I hear the shower spray. Hunter must be taking a shower too.
I try not to picture him naked in the shower as I crawl into bed.
I leave the lamp on beside the bed and open a book assigned in one of my classes.
Nothing like reading philosophy to put you to sleep.
I’ve only gotten a page into the chapter I need to read for Monday when there’s a knock on my bedroom door.
I’m surprised and lift my head from the pillow. “Yes?”
Hunter opens the door. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, and my eyes nearly pop out of my head.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he walks into the room and around my queen-size bed to the other side.
“I’m going to bed.” He’s frowning as if I asked a stupid question.
“You have your own bed!” I’m sitting up straight now, wondering if he’s teasing.
But his face is sober, and he’s lifting the covers to get under them.
He’s getting into the bed with me.
He’s getting into my bed!
“I know. And I appreciate it. But I’m sleeping in here.”
“What? What? Why?” I’m known by all my friends and acquaintances as intelligent and articulate, always in control of myself, but I don’t sound like it at the moment.
But how the hell is a girl supposed to be lucid when a big, hard, hot man is climbing into bed beside her?
“Because you wanted to know what it’s like to have a husband,” he says as blandly as can be. He’s stretching out under the sheets, and his head is turned in my direction. “And you’re not going to get that if all we are is roommates.”
“But... but I said...”
“I’m not here for sex. I know you wanna wait on that. But we’re married. We’re not roommates. I’m sleeping in here.”
“Bu—” That’s what I say. I can’t even get the whole three-letter word out.
He nods as if we’ve reached an agreement, and there’s the slightest little smirk on his lips. “Will it bother you if I turn the TV on?”
“You’re serious?”
“Yes. I am. We’re married, and I’m gonna sleep in the same bed as my wife.”
I swallow hard. “Okay. Fine. You can turn the TV on. Noise doesn’t bother me when I read.”
I hand him the remote, and he flips around between news and sports. I lift my philosophy book up again and stare at the pages.
I can’t read a single word though.
Hunter is in my bed.
Hunter—with his broad shoulders and bare chest and deep blue eyes and gruff sexiness. He has a tattoo on one side of his chest I haven’t seen before.
What the hell has happened to my life in the past week?
And what the hell is going to happen to it next?
***
AFTER TWENTY-FIVE MINUTES, I give up trying to read. It’s just not happening for me tonight. I put my book down and prop my head up more on my pillows so I can better see the TV.
Hunter glances over. “What do you like to watch?”
“I’m not too picky.” I’m not. I watch TV the way I read. I can find almost anything interesting.
“You don’t normally watch sports though, do you?”
“No. Not usually.”
“So what do you like?” He’s waiting, his hand poised on the remote.
“I like a lot of things. If it’s just to have something on, I usually watch cooking shows or travel shows or I like those monster-hunting shows.”
He’s smiling now as he flips the channel. “Monster-hunting shows?”
“You know. There are a bunch of them on now. People searching for legendary monsters and treasure and stuff.”
He lands on a program that investigates historical mysteries.
“I like that one,” I tell him.
He’s chuckling as he puts down the remote, and he keeps smiling even as he focuses on the program.
“What are you grinning at?” I’m starting to get a bit self-conscious about his smile.
It’s entirely possible he’s laughing at me.
He shifts his eyes to my face. “Why shouldn’t I smile?”
“I don’t know. It looks like there was a reason for it.”
“There is. I’m havin’ a good time.”
“You are?” My voice is clearly skeptical. “Lying in bed watching TV?”
“Yes. I am.” He clears his throat, appearing to hesitate before he goes on. “It’s a nice bed. With a good TV. I can watch what I want, do what I want, go where I want, eat what I want. I’m with someone I like, and she doesn’t seem to... to mind that I’m in bed with her. I’m having a good time.”
“Oh.” I give him a wobbly smile, something inside me reaching out for him.
My heart more than anything else.
I’m not used to parts of my body doing things I didn’t tell them to do, so I’m quite shocked when my hand reaches out of its own accord and touches Hunter’s chest.
It’s an emotional gesture, not a purposeful one. I simply need to touch him.
Hunter gives a little jerk and looks down at my hand, clearly surprised.
I suddenly see myself.
My hand—small with neat, unpolished nails—is resting just above his heart, over a complex tattoo.
What the hell am I doing?
Fortunately, my mind works quickly most of the time, and I find a way to cover for my lapse. I ask casually, “When did you get all these tattoos?”
“Huh?” He seems strangely disoriented.
“The tattoos? I was wondering about them. This one is beautiful.” I stroke the lines of colored ink, as if that was why I’d reached over to him to begin with. “It’s like a painting.”
“Yeah.” He shifts position on the bed just slightly. “It took a long time.”
Now that I’m looking at it, I’m seeing more of the details. It is like a painting. With intricate lines and delicate brush strokes and lovely shadings of reds, golds, and oranges. At first, I think it’s nonrepresentational, but I start to see a pattern. Feathers maybe.
Wings.
“Is it a bird?” I sit up, trying to see it better. It spreads from his heart up over his left shoulder.”
“Y-yeah. Something like that.”
“A phoenix?” I raise my eyes to his face. “Rising again from the ashes of your old life?”
He’s smiling again, although he still looks slightly uncomfortable, as if I’m poking at a sensitive spot in his soul. “That suits me, doesn’t it?”
I reach for his right arm and hold it up so I can examine the tattoo on his forearm. This one is in black ink and isn’t an object at all. Just a compelling repetition of stylized geometrical shapes. As I look at it more closely, I decide it might be feathers, like he’s tattooed a wing on himself. “You didn’t get these in prison, did you?” I ask. “They’re way too good.”
“No. I got ’em before then.”
“They’re really beautiful. Whoever did it really knows their stuff.”
He chuckles. “I’ll tell her that.”
I frown at this. “An old girlfriend?”
“No. Just a friend. She’s an artist though.” He pauses and pulls his arm out of my loose grip. “You should get a tattoo.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not? You asked about them in your letters, so I know you’re interested. If you like ’em on me, why wouldn’t you like ’em on you?’
“I don’t know. I just don’t think it’s me.”
“Well, you’re trying new stuff, so why not that?” He seems to have forgotten about the television. He’s turned onto his side, his eyes never leaving my face.
I’m laughing and shaking my head at the same time. “Yeah, but the other stuff I’m trying out isn’t forever. What if I don’t like the tattoo? I’d be stuck with it forever.”
His face changes. I see it happen, although I don’t know why. “Ah. I get it. A tattoo isn’t practice. A tattoo is the real deal.”
“Exactly.”
“No tattoo then.”
“No tattoo.”
“Got it.” He’s smiling as he turns back to watch TV, and I’m able to relax too and watch about the remaining half hour of the mystery show.
Hunter turns off the television after that, and it’s dark in the room.
I close my eyes and try not to think of him lying beside me with his rough beard and his gorgeous tattoos and his strong body and his sweet, gruff heart.
My husband.
Not a forever husband, but mine for the next year at least.