Page 74 of Rebel Summer

But Dax didn’t swirl the alcohol swab. He kept it firmly pressed against my upper arm.

“Is this…to numb the spot or something?” I asked, my eyes still closed and my body tense. If it was, I wanted ice. A cold rag was not going to cut it.

No answer.

Finally, the pressure eased, and the cold left. I opened my eyes in time to watch Dax peel off the back of a temporary tattoo.

“I couldn’t find any butterflies in the stack of press-ons they sell up front, but I thought this one fit you pretty well.”

He leaned in closer and blew his cool breath across what looked like an open book with a vine of flowers coming out of the spine. In confusion, I blinked up at him.

“This is now worth twenty-five hours, Books.” His lips held a ghost of a smile even as he tried to look serious. He held up a stack of identical tattoos. “I’m buying more so we can keep applying as needed. You have to wear it until you go back to Nashville, and it has to be visible every day for this to count.”

For a moment, I lay stunned while my mind caught up to what had just happened. He had given me a fake tattoo. And it was beautiful–exactly the kind of thing I would have chosen if I had actually wanted a tattoo. How did Dax know?

One gentle finger brushed my chin, turning my face toward his as he spoke. “Lesson number one in bravery, Caroline. Never let anyone talk you into doing anything you don’t want to do. Tattoos are something you need to think about for longer than a minute, and you should never make a decision like that when emotions are high.” He leaned closer and waited until I looked him in the eye. “You don’t need a tattoo to be brave or to stick it to your dad. And I’m not making you get one for our deal.”

He was saying words. Sweet words, even. But all I could feel was the light touch of his hand on my face and the sudden relief coursing through my body. A breath expelled from my lungs while the tightness in my bones slowly melted away.

When I had collected myself enough to speak, I asked, “Does Big Bernie actually work here?”

“He’s my tattoo guy.”

“Did you plan this the whole time?”

“Yeah.” He said the word so matter-of-factly I felt like an idiot to have been so duped. “People usually have appointments scheduled for weeks in advance to get into this place. I texted Bernie and told him I wanted to play this out, and he said he’d have a room ready.”

I covered my face with my hands while embarrassed laughter bubbled out of me. And then I sat up, and slid from the chair, hesitating for only a moment before slipping my grateful arms around his shoulders. Maybe I’d get a real tattoo one day. But that day wasn’t today, and for that, I was so grateful.

“Thank you.”

His arms wrapped around my waist, gathering me close, the warm spice from his cologne tingling my senses and the strength of his body holding me upright.

“I was going to do it,” I insisted, my face smashed into his chest. “I want that on record.”

He patted my back, and I could almost feel the eye roll he was no doubt giving me.

“I know, Books. I know.”

Later that night, my song came knocking through the shared wall, loud and clear. Three distinct knocks with some before and after. I still couldn’t place it.

DAX

Any guesses?

ME

SexyBack?

DAX

You’re so bad at this.

Make sure you don’t get your tattoo wet.

ME

I’ve got to be honest. I’m kind of liking this thing. I could be the world’s most intimidating librarian.

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