Love Me Reckless (Love Me Dangerous #2)

Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

SAWYER

When I pull up to Kirilee’s black BMW, she’s leaning against the back, huddled in her wool coat. She’s dressed up like she came from one of her Get Lit meetings, so it’s no surprise she’s shivering.

I jump down and hurry over.

She lifts her gaze, and the relief in her eyes is like a hit from a drug. I wrap her in my arms. She curls against me, and the feel of her safe inside my embrace brings my blood pressure down several notches.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I was supposed to… meet with this artist named James. Just a consult.” She inhales a stuttered breath. “But inside the shop, I got a phone call from one of my volunteer coordinators and I guess talking to her was against the rules… and apparently the receptionist thought I’m a sorority girl which maybe is against the rules too, but I didn’t get a chance to check.”

I stroke her back and sigh into her silky hair. Who is this receptionist prick? “I’m so sorry.”

“Why are sorority girls bad? Ava was in a sorority and she’s one of my best friends. ”

“They’re not bad.”

“Then why did he say that?”

“I don’t know, maybe to scare you off.”

“Why?”

I brush the hair from her forehead so I can kiss it. Her skin is smooth against my lips, and her subtle cocoa scent is like waking up to the promise of a good day. A tremor skitters through me. It’s a warning, but I ignore it.

“You probably shine a little too bright for them.”

Her fingers curl into my jacket. “How do I stop?”

“Fuck, don’t think like that.” I lean back to look into her eyes. “Promise me you’ll keep shining that beautiful light of yours.”

“I don’t know how to do this.” Her voice gets tight, like she’s fighting tears.

“Do what?”

She gives a little whimper. “Make my family happy and not be miserable.”

“What do you think is making you miserable?”

“I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “I mean, I’m so grateful for my family. For the many opportunities I’ve been given.”

“You can be grateful and also want to make your own choices.”

Her eyes turn pained. “But wanting and having aren’t the same.”

“True. No one’s going to hand you that freedom. You have to fight for it.”

“I don’t like fighting.”

This makes me smile. “I know.”

She huffs a full breath. “Looks like I need to find a different tattoo shop.”

“You want company?”

She gives a soft laugh. “How do you always seem to be there when I need you?”

Prickles race down my spine. “Hot tub wish list, remember? We’re bonded for life. Come on, hop in my truck. You can pull up a list of shops while I drive. ”

“Now? Really?”

“Why not?”

Her eyes light up and she laughs again. It’s so gentle and sweet. I try to hold onto the hope it stirs inside me.

I open my passenger door and offer my hand. The warmth from the contact ripples through me. Her palm feels so soft against mine. Delicate.

Once behind the wheel, I start the engine so I can get us warm while Kirilee searches.

“There’s one in Baker City. One in Rose Lake. Ooh, three in Boise.”

“Do any of them have reviews?”

Her lips twist as she skims the information. “The one in Rose Lake has the best ones. But if we go to Boise, there’s three to choose from.”

Both cities require a bit of driving, but in opposite directions. It’s already late afternoon, so we won’t have time to visit both. At least not today.

“Let’s go to Rose Lake,” she says.

“You got it.” I check my mirror and pull onto the street.

Pinedale is about fifteen miles outside of Finn River and could be its ugly stepsister. From the layout, I’m guessing it was built for the railroad back in the day, with every other shop a tavern, and a diner made from a rail car paralleling the tracks. We pass a drive-through liquor store with a line of pickups waiting, a boxing gym, and several warehouses that have seen better days.

Why did Kirilee feel like she had to do this alone?

That ends now.

“Why did you call me?” she asks as I merge onto the freeway.

“My little library is getting low on inventory.”

“That’s great! I’ll bring you more books.” Her cheeks are turning rosy from the heat in the cab, and her shoulders are relaxed. She looks good in my truck.

Too good .

We chat about Christmas and our plans. I signed up for a ton of overtime because it’s serious money and I don’t have a lot of holiday obligations. By the sound of it, Kirilee is going to be busy with her family. Plus several Get Lit events that get her so excited it’s like having a jumping bean as a copilot.

Don’t the people in her life see this side of her? The thoughtful, passionate side?

I poked around online a little, hoping to spot some huge scandal brewing that would make her family realize Branch is a douche and keep her from marrying him, but I kept getting distracted by stories about Kirilee.

Like her charity work with Get Lit, a foundation she started herself, from scratch, during her senior year of high school. It was a final project for one of her classes but she kept it going. She spent a gap year touring rural Canada and parts of the U.S. revamping libraries. Establishing early childhood reading programs, toddler story times, summer programs for kids and teens, even connecting these libraries with publishers and grant money to upgrade their collections. She even did a month-long walk across Prince Edward Island just to raise awareness.

A month of walking just to get more books into kid’s hands.

Then she’s got a bunch of stories about her art, and how she donates the money she makes to the art department at the local elementary school.

But it’s not just these feats, it’s how beautifully she shows up for her friends. I’ve seen it in action. She cares for them with so much love.

Her family, too. Like worrying about her mom’s struggles when the source is a wedding Kirilee doesn’t want.

Has her family always treated her this way? Is this wedding the culmination of a life of grooming, of the many steps they’ve taken since she was a little girl?

However she got here, they are for sure expect her to keep living it .

Even though doing so will snuff out all of that light inside her.

How can they do that to her?

She asked me to imagine my life in ten years, but what about hers? What kind of robot will she be by then?

“Oh, there it is!” Kirilee points to across the street where ROSEWOOD TATTOO is written in bold lettering above a tiny shop.

I turn at the corner and park in front of a coffee shop that’s closed for the day. Dusk has turned the sky a thick indigo and the streets have a soft silver glow thanks to the street lamps.

“Ready?” I ask her.

She inhales a slow breath and nods. “Yeah.”

I hurry around the front of my truck to open her side and help her down. We walk to the corner, and she slides her hand into mine.

“I want to be brave,” she says.

I squeeze her hand. “You are.”

She exhales hard, like she’s psyching herself up.

I push open the shop door, which makes a little bell chime. Inside the tidy waiting area are three chairs that face a reception counter. The walls are painted a mural of colors, from soft yellow to icy turquoise to raspberry. Framed pictures of tattoos and body piercings hang in groups all the way down the hall leading to the back.

A woman with burgundy lipstick, heavily made-up eyes, and a messy bun enters from a door to the side. “Hi, can I help you guys?”

I eye Kirilee for guidance. This is her gig but I’ll do whatever she needs me to.

Kirilee unzips her coat and steps to the counter. “I’m looking for an artist who can do something like this.” She pulls a file folder from her purse and sets it on the counter. The giant rock on her finger flashes in the soft lighting. I turn away and coax a slow breath into my lungs.

“Let’s take a look,” the woman says. “I’m Brydeen. I don’t do the ink but I can match you up.”

“Nice to meet you,” Kirilee says with a smile. “I’m Kirilee. ”

Brydeen offers her hand, and they shake. She shoots me a questioning glance.

“I’m the emotional support animal.”

“Nice to meet you, animal.” Brydeen gives me a wink, and I already like her.

Inside the folder, Kirilee has collected several designs. In each one is what looks like some kind of songbird. One design has blossoms too, or maybe wildflowers. They’re all pretty. Elegant. Striking, even.

“Mountain bluebird, huh? Nice,” Brydeen says, nodding. “You thinking color? Or keep it just an outline in black?”

Kirilee chews on her lip. “Color? Would that be too hard?”

“No. But it means a longer sitting.”

Kirilee sorts through the designs. There’s one with a bird soaring, wings arched, with strokes of color in her wings and tail feathers. Kirilee places her palm on the design and releases a measured breath. “This one.”

Brydeen nods. “You have an idea where you want it?” Her gaze steadies on Kirilee while she waits for her answer.

“Here,” she says, rubbing her left side, up by her breast.

My chest tightens. Fuck, she’s brave.

Brydeen raises an eyebrow. “Is this your first one?”

“Yeah, but I know it’s what I want.”

“Understood.” Brydeen gives her a thoughtful glance. “Rib ink hurts like a bitch, is all. You good with that?”

I slide my hand into Kirilee’s and give it a soft squeeze.

Kirilee nods. “Yeah. I’m good.”

“All right,” Brydeen says with a smile. “Let me talk to Leif. He’s just finishing up.”

After we agree, Brydeen walks back down the hallway.

Kirilee exhales a full breath, like she’s nervous. “Is it weird that I’m excited?”

“I think it means you’re doing something right.”

Our eyes lock for an instant. “Yeah, I think so.”

Brydeen returns, her high-heeled boots clicking on the hardwood floor. “Leif says he can fit in a consult. If it feels right to you, we can proceed.”

After Kirilee pays the consult fee and signs a release form, Brydeen leads us to the back area. There are three tattoo stations partitioned by half walls, each personalized to the artist they belong to. On the far left, a guy is hunched over a client, his tattoo machine making a steady buzz. The middle station is empty, the massage table in the center of the floor looking shiny and bare under the bright lights.

A fit-looking guy with white-blond hair down past his shoulders and matching mustache comes out of the far-right station sipping from a giant cup of ice water. He’s tatted everywhere—arms, neck, backs of his hands.

“Kirilee?” he asks.

“Yes, hi,” she says, offering her hand for a brief shake.

“Have a seat, we can talk for a bit.”

Kirilee lets go of my hand and sits sideways on the table, which is covered by a thick white sheet. She scans the framed pictures of body ink and colorful hand-drawn designs Leif has on his walls with careful admiration. I guess because she’s an artist, she would see it that way.

“Have a look at some of these,” Leif says, sliding a black three-ring binder from the collection lined up against the back wall and setting it on her lap.

While Kirilee browses the pictures of rib tattoos on former clients, Leif opens Kirilee’s folder on the top of half wall and studies each one while sipping more water. He sends occasional glances at Kirilee, like a sculptor sizing up the medium he’s about to carve.

Even though he hasn’t said much yet, I’m getting calm, attentive vibes from him, and the art on the walls screams talent.

I peek over Kirilee’s shoulder at the pictures as she flips. Some show the ink after the healing process, and some are fresh, with the redness and raised welts.

Leif sets his empty cup down and leans his back against the half wall, crossing his legs at the ankle. “Let me hear your thoughts. What you see in there. What you’re hoping for. Size you’re after, placement, all of it.”

Kirilee shares the images from the book she likes best. Leif nods along, bringing over her chosen design for reference. From my own experience, there’s a bond that forms between client and artist. Both have to trust the other, and be willing to step into the unknown. It lasts only as long as the sitting, but the effects are as permanent as the ink.

“We can do a mockup, make sure it’s what you want.”

Kirilee’s eyes brighten. “Yes, please. I like that.”

“Go ahead and store your things in that cubby,” Leif says, nodding at the empty squares built into the half wall on my side of the station. “I’ll need access. Can that sweater come off?”

I bristle, and Leif shoots me a steady glance, like he can read the protective thoughts running rampant in my head.

“Yes, hang on,” Kirilee says, and takes her coat and purse to the cubby, then slips off her sweater. Underneath, she’s wearing a fitted tank top. No bra. Or maybe it is the bra. It’s sexy as hell, whatever it is. I avert my eyes while Kirilee settles on the table and curls the tank fabric up.

But once she’s exposed the curve of her left rib cage, I’m drawn to the place about to be marked forever. Is it weird that I want to caress her there, just once?

Instead, I pull up the stool facing her. I take her hand and cradle it between both of mine, which makes the diamond on her finger bite into my palm. But it’s better than staring at it.

Leif takes a picture of Kirilee’s side with an iPad, then uploads her design. He fiddles with it, zooming in, editing, then he sets it in Kirilee’s lap.

She sucks in a gasp. The bird’s wings are spread in easy flight, soaring, with one wing tip at her side and the other following the curve of her rib .

At this point, the design is only a mockup. She could change her mind. Ask for something different. Bail on the idea entirely.

Her eyes turn glassy. “Wow.”

Leif raises an eyebrow. “Is that a good wow or a fuck no wow?”

Kirilee laughs. “A good wow. I love it.”

Leif uses the tip of a pencil to point out how he edited some of her design to fit the curves of her body. Where he’d do heavier line work, what areas work for shading or color if she wanted.

Kirilee nods along but her eyes stay fixed on the screen.

“…okay then, Brydeen can get you scheduled.” Leif sets the iPad on his workstation.

Kirilee’s eyes tense. “When can you get me in?”

“I think February is my next opening.”

Kirilee seems to shrink in the chair. “February?”

Leif grimaces. “Sorry if that’s bad news.”

“It’s okay,” Kirilee says in a voice so full of courage and heartbreak that my stomach twists into knots.

“Any way to get her in sooner?” I ask while helping Kirilee to her feet.

Leif gives me a pained glance. “Wish I could.”

We gather her things and Leif walks us to reception.

Brydeen is on the phone, so gives us a “one minute” with her index finger.

“Take care till February,” Leif says with a friendly smile, then retreats down the hallway.

I help Kirilee into her coat, and she zips it up. She won’t look at me, and I can tell by the stiff way she’s carrying herself that she’s doing her best to shove her feelings down.

Brydeen ends her call. “How’d it go?”

“It went great.” Kirilee turns for the door.

Brydeen frowns. “Do you want to schedule?”

I open the door for Kirilee, bringing in a gust of cold air.

“I’m on a bit of a timeline,” Kirilee says, finally meeting my gaze. “But thank you anyway.”