Page 70 of Here's to Yesterday

My eyes must be playing tricks on me, because I swear the heart starts beating faster and faster and faster. It’s not until two fingers gently press into my chin, angling my face upward, that I remember it’s Tucker I’ve been staring at for the last severalmoments.

I pull my face from his touch and clear my throat. “Did you designit?”

“I wish I could say yes. I told the artist a general idea of what I wanted, and he sort of went for it.” He gestures to his body. “This was the endresult.”

“Who’s the artist? If I ever get the courage to get a tattoo, I’m usingthem.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He smirks, sitting down next tome.

“Try me,” I challengehim.

Something flashes in his gaze at my words, but it quickly vanishes. “It wasGaige.”

I gasp. “Noway!”

“Way. Phenomenal, huh? Can’t believe the asshat is wasting all his potential at JackedUp.”

“That’s sad. He’s hiding serious talent. Did that tattoo dude have to modify it atall?”

Tucker smirks again and leans in close, and I know he’s about to divulge a huge secret. “Gaigeisthe tattoo artist.” I reel back, my mouth hanging open in complete shock. “You didn’t hear this from me, but he very rarely works at a shop in downtown Boston. It’s this secret you-gotta-know-somebody-who-knows-somebody type thing to get an appointment withhim.”

I know my eyes are about as big as saucers, but I can’t seem to wrap my head around it. “How did you find out,then?”

He chuckles and relaxes back on the couch, placing his dress sock clad feet up on the coffee table. “He’s my best friend, other than Hudson. He told me.”Well, duh, Maura. Dumb question.“Now go get comfy. I’m gonna make you learn to love the Winchesters.” Tucker points to the hallway. “Second door on the right. Move it,woman.”

I groan and grab the clothes he set on the table and get up to go change. The first thing I notice when I walk into the bathroom is how clean it is. Sure, there’s a dirty towel on the floor and dried toothpaste in the sink and a couple questionable stray hairs here and there, but it’s practically spotless for a bachelor’splace.

Grabbing a washcloth, I begin washing away what’s left of my make-up, careful not to spend too much time gawking at my reflection. I have a feeling that I won’t care too much for what I see looking back at me. It’s supposed to be a heartbroken girl, but I know that’s not what I’ll see. Chances are the girl staring back will appear lighter, almost happy. She’ll also look ashamed and frightened, maybe unsure. But I know she won’t be sad anymore, and that’s a huge accomplishment for me. And also something I don’t know that I can face in thismoment.

Once my make-up is off, I try tugging my dress over my head. After it almost gets stuck—which would have left me basically bare assed to the world since I’m wearing a thong—I call out Tucker’s name for help unzippingit.

Like the gentleman he is, he knocks lightly on the door. “Comein.”

“Youcalled?”

“Could you, um…,” I begin, suddenly nervous to be so close to Tucker in this tiny space. “Could you unzip me?Please?”

“You’re asking me to take clothes off a beautiful woman? Sure!” he jokes, trying to lighten themood.

It doesn’t help at all because my nerves are still all whacky as I present my back to him. I take in a sharp breath when his warm hands make contact with my cool, clammy skin. Air rushes in and out of my body, my chest pumping with anticipation of his next move. Stupid on my part, because the only real place he can go is to the zipper on the bottom back half of thedress.

Or at least that’s what Ithought.

Rather than picking his hand up and moving it to where it needs to be, Tucker slowly drags his fingertips down the center of my back, causing chills to spread out across my body. I shiver from his touch and let out an unsteady breath. The shiver is quickly replaced by warmth as Tucker steps in closer, so close I can feel his hot breath on my neck. He tugs on the zipper, pulling me closer into him, and I can’t help the small whimper that escapes as his mouth finds its way to the exposed area of my upper back. His kisses are slow and soft and unexpected. My head screams that it’s too soon for touches like this, that it’swrong. But my heart rejoices at howrightthis feels, how good this moment is. I’m not sure which one tobelieve.

The only sounds in the apartment are the zipper and my breathing. Both are too loud. Tucker continues placing gentle pecks on my back, brushing his lips back andforth.

“You’re fucking beautiful, Maura,” he exhales. “Your skin is soft. Delicate. Tell me, is this where you’d get your tattoo?” He presses a heavy hand into the center of my back, and I nod slowly. “You should. A bird. That’s what you need. Something to symbolizefreedom.”

That’s exactly what I’ve always wanted.I hate how well he knowsme.

“What do your tattoosmean?”

“It’s my push and pull against life. I feel like I’m only halfway livingit.”

“But what happens when you start fully living it? What will they meanthen?”

“One half will be a reminder of what I don’t want to be again. Half alive.” He plants another kiss on my back. “I don’t want that anymore, Maura. I want to becomplete.”

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