Full Contact
Page 20

 Sarah Castille

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“No, he took off. Asked me to say good-bye. I hope you’re not seeing him. I told you before, he’s not the right kind of guy for you.”
I slump against the vehicle and sigh. “No, I won’t be seeing him again. He came in for a tat, but I have a feeling he won’t be back.”
Tag’s eyes widen. “I thought you’d start screaming at me about interfering in your life. I know you like him and—”
“He isn’t my kind of guy, and I’m not his kind of girl.”
“If you say so.” He pulls open the passenger door. “You can ride up front today.”
“Gee thanks. No treating me like a criminal today. I feel honored.” I pull my door closed and fasten my seat belt while he climbs into the driver’s seat beside me.
“Can I stay at your place tonight? I don’t feel like being alone.”
Tag grimaces. “Actually, my place is a mess. I’ll come and sleep on your couch.”
“But your place is always a mess. It’s never bothered you before.”
He stiffens and glares. “I said I’ll come to your place. I’ve found someone to take my shift.”
When I startle at his uncharacteristically sharp tone, his face softens. “After a traumatic event you should be somewhere comfortable and familiar.”
Emotion wells up in my chest at his oblique reference to the night I made the worst decision of my life. The night I didn’t listen to Tag and my whole world changed.
He turns on the radio and the sad notes of No Doubt’s “Don’t Speak” fill the vehicle. Just what I need. A tear, unwanted and unexpected, trickles down my cheek.
“You okay?” He looks over and I shrug. But no, I’m not okay. Memories assail me. I’m outside the Psi Beta Pi frat house, eighteen years old, heart pounding with excitement that socially connected college bad boy Luke Rotherberg, star quarterback on Tag’s football team, has asked me to go to the post-game party with him. Me—newly minted high school grad, starving artist, plain, and shy; the girl who just had her first art exhibition in the school gym; the daughter of a cab driver and a florist with none of his high-society connections.
Overwhelmed by the attention, I didn’t listen when Tag warned me that he’d heard rumors about Luke and that it wasn’t safe to go to the frat party alone. And I didn’t pay attention when my skin prickled as Luke took my hand and told me he was going to show me the time of my life, or when my blood chilled when he winked at his friend. Instead, I thought about all the girls who were desperate for his attention and how Luke had picked me. So I told Tag I wouldn’t go and I went anyway.
And when he pinned me to the bed and tore off my clothes, I screamed for Tag. Because he had been right and I hadn’t listened. Because he had always been there to save me when we were kids. Because in my heart I knew he would come.
And he did.
But too late.
“Tag…” My voice is nothing more than a whisper. Too much emotion. Too many bad memories. Too much pain resurfacing tonight.
“Oh God. I didn’t think.” Tag reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I didn’t mean to bring it all back. I’m just messed up right now. Fucking messed up.”
“Join the club.” A wave of sadness sweeps over me, not just for the part of me I lost that night, but because for a moment Ray found her, and now she’s lost again.
Chapter 7
And whoosh, he is gone
Four days after the shooting, the feds finally remove the police tape from Rabid Ink and let us back into the studio. Everything has been destroyed—workstations, chairs, tables, equipment…even the paintings on the walls.
Christos, Rose, Duncan, and I visit Slim, who has been discharged from the hospital. The bullets didn’t hit any major arteries, and he is already up and around, although he can’t move his left arm very well. Unfortunately, the shop reopening might be delayed because of issues with his insurance company. Concerned about losing clients, he asks us to find temporary chairs in other shops until he can rebuild, and, if possible, to stay together. Easier said than done. Four tattoo artists, no equipment, and a receptionist with an attitude. Not a recipe for success.
And neither is trying to forget about Ray.
Two kisses and I can’t get him out of my mind. Two kisses and he is burned into my skin. At night, I dream about him. During the day, I hear his voice in every café and on every street corner. Alone in my bed, I fantasize about his hands on my body, his deep voice rumbling against my chest. Then I pull out my vibrator and make the fantasy real. And when I climax, I moan his name.
Always practical, Jess asks for her twenty dollars because she won the bet, then tells me to get over him. She points out that I barely knew him; I don’t know where he lives or what he drives or whether he shares my addiction to potato chips. She thinks my inability to move on is a result of crushing on Ray too long before we met. I tell her she would know since she’s been crushing after Tag for longer than that. We have a fight.
Of course, our fights never last long. By way of making amends, she offers to set me up with her brother’s best friend’s cousin’s sister’s ex. I tell her there is something about Ray that makes my heart pound and my knees weak, and until I figure out what it is, her brother’s best friend’s cousin’s sister’s ex will have to wait. Then I invite her to my parents’ house for Sunday dinner because I know Tag will be there. I can make amends too.