Practice Makes Perfect: A Novel

I expect Annie to hesitate outside the tattoo parlor. It doesn’t look like the friendliest place, but the options were slim within a fifty-mile radius of Rome. Luckily, the highest rated parlor according to Google was this one, only twenty minutes away.

Annie let me drive her truck—and I enjoyed it more than I thought I would. I get now why people are addicted to these gas guzzlers. There’s something about the feel of an old leather Ford steering wheel with ridges all around that’s way more satisfying than a new smooth one. Even better if it comes with a beautiful blonde woman hanging her arm out the window and letting her hair fly all around her face as you drive.

It’s not safe, and I don’t condone it, but I took a picture when she wasn’t looking.

When we pulled up to the parlor, I put the truck in park and looked over at Annie, expecting to see some trepidation in her expression. I couldn’t have been more wrong. She jumped out before my eyes even had time to land on her.

“Come on,” she says, excitedly waving me forward. “Why are you moving so slow?”

I close the truck door and meet her on the sidewalk. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask, looking in the lit-up parlor and feeling a pang of remorse for instigating this. Not even sure why. It’s just that the thought of Annie in all her softness going into that place and being inked forever has me suddenly feeling like an overprotective mother. What the hell? I’ve never been one to overthink any choices in my life. I joined the military when I went to the grocery store for milk and the recruiting tent was parked out front, for God’s sake.

And yet…something about being with Annie makes me want to be cautious for once. I have the distinct feeling of holding something precious and not wanting to let it drop. I feel protective. Possessive even.

Annie laughs and eyes me speculatively. “Yes! I’m so sure. Let’s go.”

In an ironic turn of events, Annie grabs my hand and tugs me along behind her. We go into the parlor, and it smells old. Nothing like the updated, trendy, and clean places where I’ve gotten my tattoos. This is a backwoods country parlor through and through, and who knows what sort of disease she could get from just sitting in one of their chairs? Are their needles sterilized? How long has this artist been in business?

I can’t let Annie do this.

“Hey—on second thought, why don’t we wait and go somewhere in the city?”

She only has a second to frown at me before a burly man with a biker beard comes around the corner. “You a walk-in?”

“Yes, sir!” She chirps happily, and I instantly clench my hand tighter around hers. She’s about to mark her body forever. Because of me. By a man I absolutely don’t want anywhere near said body. Look at the size of the paws on him.

I’ve never felt the weight of being a bad influence before. Normally, I thrive on it, actually. But not when I’m looking at Annie’s perfect blank canvas of soft skin and imagining her stuck with a tattoo she might hate for the rest of her life. All because I made it happen.

“Follow me,” the man says, and there’s zero tenderness in his voice. He doesn’t care that the woman in front of him is sunshine in the flesh. He looks like he’s going to make it hurt twice as much simply because she smiled at him. Why isn’t Annie scared? I’m scared, and I’ve sat through more than twenty hours of tattooing. I can’t let her be in pain tonight.

Annie starts after him and I tug her back. She whirls around and nearly bumps into my chest, her soft smell flooding my senses and illustrating her perfect contrast to this disgusting place. “What’s wrong?”

“This is a mistake.”

“What?” she asks with a laugh. “No, it’s not. It was the best idea. I’m so glad you thought of it.”

I wince. “Exactly. I thought of it. A tattoo should be your idea. Not something I push you to do.”

“But you’re not pushing me.” She looks down at where my hand is tightly holding hers. “Currently you’re actually holding me back.”

“Let’s just go,” I say, slicing my gaze over her shoulder to the burly man pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “You don’t want a tattoo from him. Come on, I’ll drive you into Nashville on a different day and take you to my tattoo guy. We can make a weekend of it.” I sound desperate and I don’t know why.

Annie’s face tilts up to mine. Determination and a warning flash through her eyes in a way I have yet to see from her. It makes the hairs stand up on my arms and my heart race. And my knees go a little weak.

She pokes me in the chest. “Don’t you dare, Will.”

I frown. “What are you talking about?”

“I see what’s happening right now. You’re treating me like everyone else. Like I’m too sensitive and sweet for this. And I’m warning you…don’t. I can handle it from everyone else—but not you. Never you.”

And just like that, my apprehension melts. She’s right. And hearing that my opinion means more to her than anyone else’s…damn, give me the tattoo gun and I’ll do it myself. I’ll single-handedly make sure all her dreams come true this very night. She wants to travel? Let’s go. She wants to hike Mount Everest? I’ll get the gear.

I push Annie’s hair behind her ear. “Go get your tattoo, Annie.”

“Thank you,” she says, looking so proud of herself she’s practically glowing. “And actually, I think I want you to stay out here.”

Apprehension returns.

“No. I’m coming back there with you.”

She raises one saucy brow that sends heat spiraling through my veins. “Let me rephrase. I’m going back there by myself—and I’m going to surprise you with what I get. End of story, Will Griffin.”

I clench my fist at my side but not because I’m angry. Because I have to physically restrain myself from taking that hand, cupping her jaw, and taking her mouth in a frenzied kiss. I’ve never felt an urge so strong. An attraction so intense.

Every day Annie reveals a new layer to herself—and dammit if I don’t like each one more.

I have no choice but to stand back and smile as I watch Annie’s perfect ass stroll away from me.

—

Thirty minutes later I hear footsteps. I look up in just enough time to see Annie blaze past me—power walking out the front door. “Let’s go,” she says quickly. “I paid in the back.”

What in the world?

I follow her out, quickening my strides to catch her. “Annie! Hold up. What happened?”

She doesn’t answer. She thrusts open her truck door and jumps inside, slamming the door behind her.

I practically run to the driver’s side and hop inside. Worst-case scenarios are flying through my head. And then when I twist to fully look at her, and I take in her crumpled expression, fury and rage overtake me.

“What did that asshole do to you? Did he hurt you? Was he inappropriate? I’m going to kill him!” I say, putting my hand on the door latch and preparing to open it. Annie tugs the back of my shirt before I can.

“Stop. Grady didn’t do anything wrong. He was so nice, and I’m going to provide flowers for his six-year-old daughter’s princess birthday party next month.”

I relax only in the slightest measure because now Annie has a tear streaking down her cheek, and I’m inadvertently the cause of it. I pushed her to do this tonight. I’m the asshole.

“Then why did you storm out of there?”

For the first time, her misty blue eyes slip to me and she smiles sadly. “I needed to get to the truck so I could cry.”

“Because you hate the tattoo?”

Her smile widens, big tears pooling in her eyes. “No. Because I love it so much—and I’m so proud of myself for getting it. Thank you for making this happen, Will.”

I expel a breath as the tension in my shoulders releases. So this wasn’t a bad thing for Annie after all? In fact, it was good. I want to dive further into that logic but decide it’s not safe. I might come to conclusions in the end that I shouldn’t.

I put my hand against Annie’s jaw and chuckle, wiping the tear from her cheek. “I would have committed murder for you just now.”

“I do appreciate it,” she says with a laugh too.

We’re both laughing and she’s crying and I’ve never experienced this kind of emotion with anyone else. It’s so fragile and vulnerable. I feel guilty that I’m the one who gets to experience it with her. And yet I’m greedy for it at the same time.

“Can I see it now?” I ask, dropping my gaze to her wrist. But there’s nothing there.

She nods and adjusts a little away for me in her seat, gathering all of her long hair and tugging it over one shoulder. And then my breath catches as she tugs the neck of her shirt down, revealing her beautiful bare shoulder.

Well…her bare shoulder inked with the cutest small tattoo I’ve ever seen.

“I got a book,” she says, sounding like she just won a million dollars. “I was going to get the flowers we talked about, but then I realized flowers were always my mom’s dream—not especially mine even though following it has worked out nicely for me.” She pauses and I admire the fine lines of a book, lying open with its pages fluttering like the wind caught them. “I wanted something special to me. Just me.”

I smile at the sight of Annie poised with her shoulder presented to me—the profile silhouetted by the streetlamp outside the truck. And her soft mouth curled up in a gentle smile. I’ll never forget this moment. And before I can stop myself, I tip forward and kiss the skin just beside her tattoo. Annie sucks in a breath, and I memorize the feel of her skin against my lips, as smooth and blazing as a shot of expensive whiskey. I want to kiss every square inch of her. I want to lick the base of her shoulder. I want to kiss my way up the side of her throat all the way until I find her mouth, and there I’ll linger, caressing so thoroughly that our lips sting afterward.

If I had it my way, I’d pull this warm, sweet, tenderhearted woman over onto my lap and show her just how in awe of her I am. I would worship her body.

Instead, I pull away and gently pull her shirt back up over her shoulder. “It’s perfect, Annie.”