Until December (Until Her/Him #8)(8)

Okay, so my stupid heart and head haven’t gotten with the program, but they will. It’s not like I had a relationship with the guy, so I have nothing to really get over.

After an annoyed sigh, I answer my cell with a chirpy “Hey.”

“I’m picking you up in a couple hours. We’re going to get tattoos.”

Wait, what?

“What?”

“You’ve been saying forever that you want a tattoo. Tonight is the night. I already booked us appointments. I’m picking you up. See you soon.”

“April—”

“Later.” She hangs up before I can tell her I’m not going with her. Before I can tell her that even though I’ve talked about getting a tattoo for ages and know exactly what I want, I don’t really have it in me to suffer through the pain of actually getting one.

“Crap.” I pull the phone from my ear and look out my windshield. No way will April let me out of this. I know I said I need more of a life, but a tattoo? She might as well be forcing me to jump out of a plane with only nylon and a stranger strapped to my back.

With a long groan, I grab my bags and get out of my car then head for my door, giving friendly smiles and finger waves to a couple of my neighbors when I pass them. I step inside and drop my purse on the hook next to the door then slip off my coat, hanging it up. When I turn around to head for the kitchen, I spot Melbourne lounging on the couch. And like always when I see his cute, furry face, I want to go cuddle him, but the minute we make eye contact, he jumps down and runs off.

“Just so you know, I’m going to adopt another cat. One that actually likes me,” I call out as his silver tale disappears around the corner. He doesn’t even have the decency to acknowledge my threat or me. “I’m not kidding!” I shout as I head for the kitchen to drop my grocery bags on the counter.

After I put out food for Melbourne, I head to my room to change clothes. I switch from slacks to jeans and then from my button-down blouse to a white V-neck tee with a loose, long, black cardigan over it, but I keep on my leopard-print flats, because they’re just as comfortable as sneakers.

Sitting in my kitchen, drinking a glass of wine, and eating my sushi, I hold my breath as the hero in the story kidnaps the heroine. I get so caught up in what’s happening on my Kindle that I jump when the doorbell rings. I glance at the clock; it’s almost seven. I don’t know how long it takes to get a tattoo, but with any luck I’ll be home before ten so I can get back to the kiss that I’m sure was about to take place. I slam the cover of my Kindle closed then go to answer the door.

As soon as it’s open, April eyes me from head to toe. “You’re wearing that?”

I look from her outfit of a form-fitting black tank, leather blazer, dark jeans, and black booted heels then down at myself. “Yes.” I shrug one shoulder, and she rolls her eyes toward the ceiling before looking back at me.

“Just grab your purse.”

I leave her without a word and go back to the kitchen, where I grab my cell along with my Kindle. After I convince April that I’m not getting a tattoo, I’ll at least have something to do to kill time. I pick up my bag at the door then follow her out, locking up.

“I can drive,” I tell her when we reach the parking lot.

“As if I’d ever let my ass ride bitch in your hooptie.” She presses the button on her keys and her car across the lot beeps as the lights turn on.

I don’t say a word until after I’ve slid into the passenger seat of her too small and too fast, silver Corvette and buckled in. “You do know I’m not getting a tattoo tonight, right?” I ask as “Highway to Hell” plays a decibel above normal through the car stereo.

“You are.”

“I’m not. I’ll watch you, but no way am I willingly going to have a needle plunged into my body over and over.”

“Then I’ll hold you down while it’s done.”

“I’m not getting a tattoo.”

“You won’t regret it or even remember the small amount of pain once it’s done,” she says before turning up the music, ending our conversation and placing her foot more firmly on the gas.

She drives us through town and pulls in to park in a small strip mall that’s mostly dark except for a Chinese restaurant at one end and a tattoo parlor on the other. The Chinese place looks like every other one in town, but the tattoo parlor stands out, even with it being connected to the business beside it. The glass windows are lit up with bright pink and white lights, and there’s a hand-drawn painting on the window of cherry blossoms and unique writing announcing the name of the place, Blossom’s Tattoos.

“Have you been here before?” I question April as she parks in the mostly empty lot.

“Blossom has done most of my ink,” she states before shutting down the engine and opening her door.

I follow her out of the car then into the parlor. The space inside is open and actually really beautiful. Light gray tile flooring that looks like hardwood. Bright lighting, and two glass-enclosed stations are in use with two tattoo-covered men working on their clients. Framed photos cover the walls, and most of the tattoos look like artwork in heavy wooden frames. I stand by the door, taking everything in. In my head, I expected this place to be dark, with books to flip through and hidden rooms down a long, dim hall. This place is nothing like I imagined. I move away from the door and meet April at the curved glass counter on the other side of the room.