Page 15 of Huge Dynamite
“I’m glad.”
Nodding, she continues. “Do you remember that night we met in the ER?” She looks me in the eyes.
Jesus, do I remember? That night plays over and over in my mind constantly. “Of course, I remember.”
“Well, do you remember that I noticed your tattoo?” She points to my arm with the tattoo. “I mentioned how nice it was, and you said that if I ever wanted one, you could get me in contact with a really great tattoo artist?”
“You want a tattoo?” I thought it was impossible for this woman to be any sexier. But I was wrong.
“I think I do.” Nodding faster and faster until I worry she might shake her brilliant brain loose, she stops abruptly. “Yes, yes. I do want a tattoo. I’ve wanted one for as long as I can remember. But no one in my life has been exactly supportive of it. Until you.”
“Hell, yeah, I’ll support your decision to get a tattoo. Getting a tat can be one of the most liberating and freeing things you ever do.”
“Yes.” Her eyes are smoldering as she stares up into mine. “I need that. I need something liberating and freeing.”
Smiling at her, I can tell it’s true. “But you have to be sure this isn’t an impulse thing. A tattoo is forever.”
“I know that.” She takes a deep breath. “I have thought about it nearly every day of my life for the past twelve years—since I was sixteen.”
“Why have you waited?”
“Because I wait for everything. That’s what I do. I think it over until I talk myself out of it.”
Nodding, I pull my cell out of my jeans’ pocket and shoot a quick text.
“Come on. Let’s go.”
I hold out my hand. She looks at it and then up to me. “What? Where?”
“To get you a tattoo.”
“Now?” Her eyes light up. “We’re going now? Don’t we need an appointment or something?”
“Got one.” Smiling at her, I explain, “I told you, I know a guy.”
“I…” Looking at the ground and then back up to me, the expression on her face changes from unsure to resolute. It’s the same expression she had when she jumped on that gurney and saved that Viper’s life. “I’m game.”
Dropping her keys into my palm, she smiles. Holding my arm out for her to walk around the back of the car before me, I open the passenger door for her and she climbs in.
Hustling around to the driver’s side, I jump in. Running my hands up and down the expensive leather of her steering wheel, I breathe in the new car smell. “Beautiful car.” Feeling the knobs and buttons and the expensive leather interior, I mumble, “Nothing like German engineering.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Is this new?”
“The car?” She shakes her head. “No. It was a med school graduation present from my parents.”
“Nice present.”
“Yeah, I guess.” Leaning back, she rests her head against the seat.
“You guess? With these features and this finish, this is around an eighty-five-thousand-dollar nice gift.”
Rolling her head so she faces me, she asks, “Do you measure the quality of a gift by its price?”
“No.” Shaking my head, I understand what she’s asking. “No, I don’t. And I’m guessing neither do you?”
Sitting up straight, she turns to me. “It was incredibly generous of them. Anyone would be thrilled to receive a car like this for a gift.”
