Part 11 (1/2)

”Don't apologize for him. Just . . . don't.”

”Now that's no way to smile for a picture,” Helen said, bustling over to Rachel's side and fussing with her hair. ”I don't know what's got you so worked up and grimacing. Is it the dress? It does look really tight. I-”

”It's fine, Mom,” Rachel answered through clenched teeth, her face going as red as her dress. G.o.d, sometimes I wanted to strangle this woman.

Helen's eyes flicked from Rachel to where Grace was standing, making an obvious comparison without even saying a word. ”Very well, dear.” With a shrug she made her way back over to her other daughter.

Forcing a happy expression back on her face, Rachel stepped around me before I could even utter a word and went straight for John. Maggie slipped in front of me, and I tucked an arm around her.

”How's she really taking it?” she asked.

”Better than I expected.” Not that her mom is making it any easier, I added in my head.

Maggie c.o.c.ked her head to the side, eyes narrowing. ”I think she might like him.”

”Who, John?”

She nodded. ”Yeah. Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe she's finally moving on from your a.s.shole brother.”

”G.o.d, I hope so.” Turning Maggie in my arms, I let one hand rest on her hip while the other one trailed along the length of her spine. ”Listen, not that I don't love Rachel, but my mind is on other things tonight.”

She wrinkled her nose at me, slipping one hand underneath my tux jacket and fiddling with the b.u.t.ton of my white dress s.h.i.+rt. ”Other things, hm? Like what?”

I tucked a riotous curl back behind her ear, knowing that it would bounce back into place as soon as I let it go. ”Like you.” Dipping my head toward her, I planted a tiny kiss on the tip of her nose.

”And dancing?”

I swayed with her to one side, and back to the other, dancing in place to a rhythm I knew only the two of us could hear. ”There will be plenty of dancing.”

She slipped her lip between her teeth, and gave one of my lapels a little tug. ”You think maybe we can slip out of there a little early?”

The smile spread across my face slowly. ”I'm sure that can be arranged.”

Chapter 19: Bianca.

The air was alive with a frenzy of buzzing as tiny needles jammed their way into the sensitive skin underneath my left breast. I puffed out small breaths through my nose since my lips were clamped so tightly together no oxygen was getting through there. The machine moved, and it felt like a cat dragging its claws over sunburnt skin.

Except there was no cat. No sunburn. Just me, indelibly marking myself in a place I hoped to G.o.d my parents would never, ever see. If they did, then it meant that a) I was either naked or b) I was wearing one of the tiniest bathing suits known to man. I couldn't watch, so I'd draped my arm over my eyes, s.h.i.+elding them from even the tiniest peek.

”Doesn't Ian have tattoos?” Harper asked.

”Mhmm.”

”Then why isn't the man himself here with us?”

I forced my lips apart and muttered, ”Busy.”

She snorted, the page of her magazine crinkling as she flipped it. ”When is he not busy? You see him what, once a week, if that? Some boyfriend he is.”

”Not . . .” The tattoo artist hit a particularly sensitive area, and I blew out a breath. I sounded like a bull getting ready to race down the streets of Pamplona. ”My boyfriend.”

Harper sighed. This wasn't a new reaction; she'd repeated it at least seven hundred times since I came back from the boardwalk and told her about my night. Although, that wasn't her initial reaction. We'd only gotten to that stage when I told her I didn't know what Ian's issues were, why he was so against dating, and that I had no intention of finding out. What was the point when I could already see the finish line cresting on the horizon?

Three more months. That's all I had left to live in the moment, to ride the wave. Three months before I had to stuff myself back inside the sh.e.l.l that was Bianca Easton. Back to late night cramming sessions, lonely afternoons in the library with my books, and absolutely no time for someone like Ian. Or any guy for that matter.

I wasn't going to think about that now because it would be an utter waste of my remaining ninety-eight days. What I was going to think about was Ian, and how I could convince him that letting down those walls and enjoying the time I had with him was a good idea.

I'd seen him once since our boardwalk adventure, for dinner. Another Thursday, which was starting to become our thing. Thursdays with Ian. It had been casual, comfortable. We'd spent the night talking. Chatting about nothing really, nothing of any importance. He didn't ask about my family, and I didn't ask about his past. Or his tattoos. When he'd walked me home, he'd kissed me once, on the lips, and left. It was that dry, awkward kiss again though, not at all like kiss number two.

The magazine slapped onto the counter behind my head. My muscles tensed ever so slightly, and I felt the needles disappear from my skin for the briefest of seconds before getting right back to work.

”Do you have your phone?” Harper asked. ”Mine's dead.”

”Purse.”

Her heels clicked across the floor. A zipper opened. Her heels clacked back, and the pleather stool exhaled when she plopped back onto it.

”Whoa! Well, what have we here?”

Gently, I lifted my arm off my eyes and squinted at her, trying to see through the colorful spots that danced through my vision. ”What are you looking at?”

Her gaze dipped back down to the screen of my phone. ”I think the question should be, what are you looking at?” She cleared her throat. ”'How to Give the Best BJ Ever.'”

A quickly stifled snort came from the direction of the tattoo artist.

My first instinct was to lunge for the phone, but at the moment, that was a huge no-no. Unless, of course, I wanted a really screwed up tattoo. Embarra.s.sment flooded my cheeks in the form of a furious blush, and I curled my toes as tight as I could.

”Planning something?” Harper's eyes danced with laughter as she grinned at me.

Ian's problem, as I saw it, was that he spent too much time in his head. When we were together I swear I could hear the gears grinding. No matter how good a time we were having, we always seemed to hit a point where his brain kicked in, and he remembered exactly why he didn't want to date. Or didn't want to date me. Or any combination of those two points.

Now if I could get him to stop thinking, maybe we could get over that hurdle. The only issue with the plan I'd devised was that my limited s.e.xual experience did not guarantee any type of brain shut-off.

So, I did what I did best-I researched.

”Maybe,” I finally answered her.

”Another thirty minutes here, maybe forty-five,” the tattoo artist said to me. I flicked my eyes down to him. The tip of his tongue peeked out between pursed lips as he concentrated, the ends of his s.h.a.ggy black hair dipping over his forehead and tickling his eyebrow piercing. The corners of his mouth were pressed firmly down like he was trying to repress a smile, and his hazel eyes danced with amus.e.m.e.nt.

Harper crossed one leg over the other, gripping the edge of the stool in either hand to balance herself. ”Want some tips?”

”Nope.”

”Why, of course I'll give you some, Bianca,” she said, completely ignoring me. ”What kind of friend would I be, letting you give your first b.l.o.w.j.o.b without any helpful hints?”

And that's exactly what she did, in very great detail and with accompanying visual demonstrations. Even without a mirror I could tell that I was blus.h.i.+ng absolutely everywhere, from the tips of my ears, all through my face, and down my neck. And d.a.m.n her if I didn't listen, soaking in every word she said.