Wilde by Abby Brooks

 

Chapter One

Amy

There are moments in our lives that change everything. You don’t always recognize them when they’re happening, but afterwards, you realize the signs were there all along. Butterflies in the stomach. Energy crackling through nerves. An undeniable sense of importance regardless how mundane the task. The trick is learning to appreciate those moments from the beginning. To live in them.

During, not after.

That’s my new mantra for life. During, not after.

It’s time to stop worrying about ‘what if’ and start living like ‘why not.’ That’s the goal anyway.

And this? Right now? Me, parked in front of a tattoo parlor on a breezy March afternoon? It’s one of those moments. The life changing kind you don’t always recognize. Well, I recognize it all right, and it’s not because I’m about to get a tattoo, even though that’s so not a choice I’d usually make.

It’s him.

The guy leaned against the building; one foot braced against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. Black denim clings to muscular legs while a V-neck tee draws my attention to broad shoulders and well-defined pecs.

The way his dark hair hangs rough and tousled around his face…

One muscly arm obscured by a kaleidoscope of ink that disappears beneath his shirtsleeve…

He’s a tall, dark glass of danger that calls to some primal need I have for risk and excitement.

Old ‘what-if’ Amy would consider crossing the street to avoid a man like him. New ‘why-not’ Amy is working overtime, reminding me there’s nothing wrong with throwing caution to the wind and taking a chance now and then—especially considering I’ve only ever done the right thing.

Well, until quite recently, that is.

With spring just barely starting to chase away winter, the sun is warm though the air is chillier than I want it to be. Pulling my jacket around me, I slide my phone into my pocket, lock the car, and brace myself for whatever’s going to happen.

Do I have a plan? No.

Something witty or clever to say when I reach the sexy stranger? Of course not.

Are the chances high that this will end badly? Abso-freakin-lutely.

But here I go. Taking a chance anyway. With a final deep breath, I step onto the sidewalk, directly into his line of sight.

Nothing.

Whether it’s because a boring good girl like me isn’t that interesting to a man like him or because he has bigger things on his mind, I don’t know, but Sexy McBadBoy with the dark hair and sizzling eyes might as well have looked right through me.

All right then. Chance taken. Nothing lost. Nothing gained.

With a quick smile his way, I push through the door to the tattoo parlor.

Only the door doesn’t budge, and I almost ram my face against the glass, which makes me giggle at myself. I bet Tall Dark and Dangerous has noticed me now. I push again with a little more oomph and find it locked up tight. Huh. The website said Inked was open until five.

“Looking to have some work done? Or just looking?” The man’s voice is low and coarse, filled with accusation. It freezes me where I stand.

I decide to play it cool. Casual. Easy breezy. “Huh?”

Not quite as casual as I intended, but hey, you can’t win ‘em all.

Mahogany eyes dismiss me as the stranger pushes off the wall. “I asked if you’re ready to be inked, or if you’re just thinking about it.”

The condescension on his face boils my blood. He’s clearly summed me up as a goody two-shoes who’s too meek to go through with a tattoo. Yesterday, he would have been right, but today…?

“Ready to be inked!” I smile brightly and lift my chin. “I kinda have something in mind already but I don’t know how this stuff works.”

My bright smile bounces off his bored expression. “Come on inside and let’s see what you’ve got for me.” He steps into my personal space as he reaches for the door and pulls it back, smirking as he points at a sign on the glass. “Pull to open. I know. These things can be complicated.”

“Apparently so are manners,” I mutter before stepping inside.

The space is small. A single station fills the center of the room with a few seats lining the front. There’s a display counter along the back filled with various piercing accessories, and a door behind marked ‘Private.’ A few painted canvases are interspersed amongst the pictures of tattoos on the walls. As I study the paintings, I realize they’re all from the same incredibly talented artist. This place is unquestionably his. Everything carries his same edgy feel, which only increases my interest in the guy about a thousand times over. Confident, gorgeous, and talented? I’d be a goner if I wasn’t half-convinced he’s an asshole.

“What are you looking to have done?” he asks, stepping further into the space. “Did you bring a picture or is this more of a ‘you describe it and I sketch it out’ situation?”

His voice is rough at first but then smooth like honey.

I could listen to it pour over me for hours.

“Oh, right. One sec, let me find it.” I fumble through my phone until I find the image, then present it with pride. “I’d like this, please.”

He glances at the screen and scoffs, as if my request is some affront to his integrity. “What the hell is that supposed to be?” The look on his face is contempt, no question. “Three dots. That’s why you’re here? That’s what you want to pay me to permanently bond to your body.”

“What’s wrong with an ellipsis?” I frown. “You know, some sentences end before they’re finished.”

His answer is a single raised eyebrow designed to make me feel as stupid as he thinks I am.

The scrutiny breathes fire into my response. “There’s a lot of judgment happening, which is odd, seeing as I’m about to hand you my credit card for your services. Someone needs to learn how to treat a customer.”

It’s only there for a flash…but I swear the corners of his mouth just curled up. A smile gone so fast I question if I actually saw it. If I hadn’t already researched the hell out of this little adventure, I’d pick any other place to have this done. But, there aren’t that many tattoo parlors in this small town, let alone any with artists as well-rated as this guy.

“Look. Maybe we got off on the wrong foot.” How? I have no clue, but it’s the only way I can explain why he’d be so prickly. “I’m Amy, and I’m here for a tattoo. And you are…?”

And there it is again. That smirk. Like I’ve somehow done something silly or ridiculous. “Sweetheart, you ask anybody around and they’ll all tell you the same thing.” He brings his hand to his chest. “I’m Wilde.”

There’s so much arrogance dripping from his pores, I almost laugh in his face. “I’m sorry, are you saying your name is Wild? That’s it? Just, Wild…?”

Charm rolls off him like beads of sweat. “Some still call me Leo, but yeah, anyone who knows me calls me Wilde.” He rests his elbow against the glass countertop and leans in. “With an E.”

“All right then Leo Wilde, with an E. What’s your problem with my request?” I lift an eyebrow. “Too complicated?”

“You realize you could get that done by anyone? Like, literally anyone else could do it, for a fraction of the price.”

I do realize that, but the reviews for Inked praise the professionalism and workmanship of this Leo Wilde with an E. If I’m getting a tattoo, it’s coming from the best and apparently, that’s him. I don’t dare say that to him though. The compliment might swell his ego and burst that already enormous head.

I lift my chin. “So you don’t want my money?”

He rolls his eyes as he straightens. “Hey, it’s your bank account. I’m not going to charge less just because your design is dumb.” He guides me to the single seat in the middle of the studio and falls silent as he goes to work prepping his tools and sterilizing my wrist.

Part of me hates him for judging me without knowing me, but as he leans in and begins to work, the vibrating buzz of the gun drowning out all other sound, his body moves closer to mine and I breathe him in. He even smells tempting. Masculine and confident. Leather and smoke and sweat with a dash of sandalwood for good measure.

I try to think of anything else, but the sharp prick of the needle pushes every thought that isn’t Leo Wilde with an E away. What’s his life like? What’s he into? I doubt he needs to organize ways to push himself out of his comfort zone…like I do. I doubt his days bleed away in a string of forgettable events and useless interactions…like mine. I spent the first twenty-one and three-quarter years of my life like that. It’s time for more.

Until recently, I’d been steadily checking off some of the big items on a list I started when I was eleven: How to Live the Bestest Life.

Graduate high school with honors? Check.

Get accepted to a great university? Check.

Meet my soulmate/husband/future father of my two-point-five children? Check…

…although that box has recently, and somewhat unceremoniously, been unchecked. Avery McIntire is great on paper, but he and I are not meant to be.

Now, after certain recent events, I’m focusing all my energy on a new list. STEPS TO UNFUCK MY BORING-ASS LIFE. Or STUMBL for short. All caps, because it’s that important.

Item numero uno on that list? Get a tattoo. Not a step to take lightly.

“All done,” the arrogant artist proclaims as he sits up. “It’s a thing of beauty, if I do say so myself.”

I glance at my wrist and beam with pride.

Get a tattoo. Check.

The prep took longer than the actual work, but I’m pleased all the same. Pleased with the final product. And pleased with myself for having the courage to say why-not and go through with it.

“All right. Truth.” Leo meets my eyes and gestures towards my wrist. “Some sentences end before they’re finished. What’s that mean to you?”

What’s it mean to me? Everything.

“Oh, so now you’re interested?” I meet his gaze head on.

“Yes. Now I’m interested.” He speaks like his change of heart is the most natural thing in the world. Like he expects me to open up and pour out my deepest secrets just because…what? He spent thirty seconds dotting my wrist?

What would I tell him?

My childhood was ordinary. I grew up in a nice house, on a quaint corner lot, in a cozy middle class neighborhood. Other than the obligatory head pat of sympathy when someone learned I’d lost my mom to cancer, it was unremarkable.

Do I tell him my life was on track until, for reasons I definitely won’t get into with him, I realized I didn’t want any of it?

Quit school. Moved home. Dumped Avery.

Nope. No way. I won’t be sharing any of that.

I fish my credit card out of my wallet and hand it over with a saccharin smile. “You probably should’ve asked me that question before you were rude and condescending if you really cared about the answer.”

He cocks his head, those mahogany eyes flicking across my face as if I’d suddenly become the most interesting woman he’d ever met. “Well then, I have another question for you and this one’s more important.” He takes my card and swipes it, then hands it back with a grin. “Feel like grabbing a drink later?”

Old me would roll her eyes and leave without a word. She’d tell herself it was because this guy was rude and made her feel insignificant but really, she’d be running away because the way he made her feel scared her.

New me? The one whose STUMBL list has “Have a one-night stand and don’t feel guilty because everyone does it!” as item number two?

She surprises us both by taking a deep breath, nodding, and saying, “Just tell me when and where. I’m sure it’ll be Wilde.”