Against the Tide (27 page)

“Meg. You can’t …” He runs to catch up with me and I spin around, dropping my bag in the hallway. “Take some time to−”

“To what, Torr? Think about it? It’s all I’ve been thinking about since the day I found out. It consumes my every waking thought, and keeps me up at night. It’s not something I want to do, but I really don’t have a choice. It’s fucked up.” I fling my arms around me wildly, expressing my frustration.

“Come here,” he orders, opening his arms.

I hesitate for just a second before tucking myself into him and he curls his arms protectively around me, resting his cheek on the top of my head. “We do this a lot,” I mumble against his chest.

“Yes, we do.”

“You’re such a good friend to me, Torr.”

“I just want to see you happy.”

“I know.”

Our little moment is broken by the door opening and someone calling out.

“I’m going to go and get myself sorted,” I say, pulling away from Torran.

“Sure, but if you’re not fit to work ...”

“I am. I’m fine, promise,” I insist, giving him a small smile and grabbing up my bag. I go to the back room, leaving him to get the customer at the front desk. But before I’ve even had a chance to re-apply my lipstick, Torr comes back in the office with a massive water bouquet of pastel coloured flowers.

“You shouldn’t have,” I joke.

“I didn’t.” He sets them down on the side table and I look at him with confusion. “They’re for you. You want the card that came with them?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” I’m stunned. I’ve never had flowers delivered to me before. In fact, it’s been a long time since Damien even brought me flowers home and even then they would be half dead ones from the twenty four hour garage. With shaky hands I open the small envelope that’s nestled carefully amongst the beautiful petals and pull out the little message card.

I’d love to take you out on a date, please. I’ll pick you up from work. If you really don’t want to come, call me 07892 *** *** Finn x

I can’t help but smile at his persistence. Isn’t this what I’ve always wanted? But the churning in my stomach reminds me that he just complicates everything. He’s complicated everything from the very first time I set eyes on him. It’s like he forced his way into my life, all the while trying his hardest to push me away. I’ve got whiplash from all the different directions I’m being thrown in and I don’t know how to put a stop to it.

“Damien?” Torran asks.

“Nope.”

“Baby daddy?”

“Shut up, Torr.”

“I was only asking!” he protests with a laugh. “I’ll be out front if you want me, okay?”

I grab my phone out of my pocket and swipe the screen to send Finn a message. I have no idea what I’m going to say yet though. The screen that greets me makes my stomach sink. The voice memo is still open and even though it’s not still running, it brings me back to earth, reminding me what a rollercoaster my day has been since the crack of dawn.

Finn on the beach. Damien getting arrested. Finn outside my work. Then more Finn, on a date? How twisted can this day get? I close the voice memo and open my messages. I realise that by acknowledging the flowers by sending back a text, I’m giving him my number and I’m not entirely sure how I feel about that yet. My self-preservation has kicked in and Damien has made me realise that I need to look out for number one. As much as my heart is telling me to go out on a date with Finn and see where it could lead us,
if
it would lead us anywhere at all, my head is telling me that I need to step back and let my life calm down before I can think rationally about something like that. He’s already shown me that he’s not in a good place. He’s already told me that he can’t give me what I’m looking for, whatever that is, so really I should be running a mile.

I tap out a quick text, carefully copying the number from the card.

The flowers are beautiful, thank you. But no date, Sorry. M x

I hover over the send button for a few seconds before getting fed up with myself for being so bloody indecisive and send it. There. Done. I feel a stab of disappointment, there’s a small part of me that wanted to go on a date with him, and I still do. But my mind is so up in the air. I’m pregnant, by him, and I haven’t even got my head around it yet.

A nipple piercing and two ear piercings later and I think I have checked my phone a million times. Dammit. So much for taking control of my actions and not letting my heart rule my head. I’m actually disappointed that he’s given up so easily, or at least hasn’t made the effort to message me back, and that pisses me the hell off. I might as well have agreed to go on the damn date with him if I knew he was going to consume my thoughts as he is now.

I fiddle with a pencil while sitting at the front desk and staring into space trying to slot everything together. Torran is busy doing a three hour back piece that he’s only an hour into, and I’ve checked on him more times than is necessary out of sheer boredom, the last time I went in he told me to piss off, and Tam is having a half day today which suits me fine as she seems snippy with me this week or maybe it’s me that’s been intolerant. My phone stays as silent as it has for the last two hours, but just as I’m about to get up and polish the glass cabinets for the tenth time this afternoon, Finn walks through the door.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Hi,” he answers, walking right up to the front desk. “I have an appointment at three thirty,” he says confidently with a cocky smirk touching the corners of his mouth.

“
You
have an appointment?”

“Yes.”

“With
me
?” I gulp.

“Yes.”

“Mr …James.” Crap. All it says in the diary is ‘James’. I never would have even thought it was anything to do with him, why would I?

“If I have to buy your time, I will.” He narrows his eyes with amusement.

Fine, play it that way
, I think to myself as I tick off his name in the book, and put on my professional face. “If you’d like to follow me, sir. Prince Albert it is.” I hear him chuckle lightly behind me and I don’t miss the nervous edge to his tone no matter how much he tries to hide it. Game ON.

Prince Albert? What the fuck is a Prince Albert? Do I want to get whatever that is, pierced?

“Okay,” Meg says, piling her hair up on top of her head and securing it with a band and exposing the delicate, soft skin on her neck. I involuntary lick my lips as I recall how she tastes. But that thought doesn’t last long. “Trousers off, and hop on the chair,” she orders.

“Is that your idea of sexy talk, sweetheart, ‘cos I can’t say I’m very impressed,” I joke with a hint of anxiety scraping at the edges of my voice.

“You booked my professional time. I am not a professional hooker, slut, whore or whatever you might want to refer to it. So, unless you tell me what you would like pierced, then you’re wasting my time and I suggest you leave.” She cocks her hip and tilts her head, looking at me expectantly.

“Okay, okay. Professional, eh?” I perch on the edge of the chair, resigning myself to the fact that I might just have to get pierced to get a date. Fine. Whatever it takes.
Man up, Finn
.

“Yup, professional.”

“Well, what piercing do you recommend? Do you have any personal favourites? What’s the most badass?”

“Your friend asked me the very same thing, then practically ran out of here screaming. You boys trying to prove your manhood or something?”

I laugh deep and slow, which causes her eyes to crease in a smile, betraying the scowl she’s trying to keep fixed on her face. In a swift move, I’m up and standing in front of her and she straightens, sucking in a breath. “You should already know that I don’t have to do anything to prove my manhood, Megan,” I whisper huskily, looking over her body with hungry eyes. Electricity bounces between our bodies and familiar sparks set all the hairs on my skin on edge. I watch as her chest rises and falls quicker than before, and I’m turned on at the mere thought that I’m affecting her. There is no way she’s going anywhere near my cock with a needle right now.

“You see, Meg.” I keep my voice low, “If I were to have a date with a certain beautiful woman either today or in the near future, I wouldn’t want a vital part of my body being sore from a piercing, would I? Take my tongue, for example …” Her eyes lower to my mouth and she parts those ruby red lips of hers in a silent gasp that she tries her best to hide. “How would I kiss if I had a sore, newly pierced tongue? It would be a crying shame if I couldn’t kiss you, wouldn’t it, Meg?” I tilt my head so my lips are a hair’s width from hers. She sucks in a sharp intake of breath and seems to remember where we are and what we are doing here. She steps back abruptly, putting distance between us to regain her composure, and I look at her in amusement before taking a seat back on the chair again to give her some space.

“So, uh …where were we?” she mumbles to herself.

“You were
professionally
telling me what you think I should have pierced.”

“I was? Oh, yeah. I was. Well, I can’t make that decision for you, it’s something you have to decide for yourself, but, if you don’t want to go for something that will be too, intrusive, I would suggest your ears, or your um …nipple.”

“Nipple sounds good.” There’s no way I would get my ear pierced, she would think it was a pussy move. So I whip my t-shirt off over my head before I can change my mind and flex my pecs. “Left or right one, do you think?”

“Uh, that’s your call.” She peels her eyes away from my chest, and turns to the basin to wash her hands. She tries to suppress a giggle but it escapes and turns to infectious laughter that we can’t seem to control. It feels good to laugh. It feels even better to laugh with her. She’s so goddamn sexy when she lets herself go.

“Okay,” she says, still half laughing. “Seriously, Finn, you don’t have to get something pierced so I’ll go on a date with you.”

“I don’t? Does that mean you’ll let me take you out?”

She rolls her eyes and nods slowly, “Yes.”

“Great!”

“So, nipple piercing, yes or no?” she queries.

“Do you think it’s sexy?”

“Uh, yeah,” she answers looking up at me seductively through her thick dark lashes.

“Then do it,” I answer with as much confidence as I can muster up, but I’m feeling nervous as hell. I’ve never been great with needles, and I always had to be bribed with sweets or days out as a child to get my jabs, but knowing I’m going to take Megan out on a date, makes it worthwhile and it surprises me just how much I’m looking forward to it.

“Okay, you need to sign this consent form, then lay back flat on the chair for me.”

“What exactly am I giving consent for?” I ask cheekily, waggling my eyebrows at her.

“Just to pierce your nipple. I promise I won’t take advantage of you while you’re vulnerable.”

Her voice trails off and her eyes soften when she says that to me. She realises the depth of her words and suddenly she looks even more beautiful than before. I hold her gaze for a fraction longer than is necessary. It’s far too easy to get lost in the way she looks at me, and it takes all my restraint to stop myself from pulling her close and pressing my lips to hers. If I started now, I don’t think I could stop and this is not the time or the place. Besides, I don’t want her to think that’s all I want. Even though we’ve jumped the gun on the physical side of things long ago, I’m actually excited about getting to know her now. “I’m going to raise the chair up,” she mumbles, shaking her head lightly to get her focus back. I stretch out on my back, rolling my shoulders to try and loosen the tension that’s drawing all my muscles together.

“Relax,” she says in a quiet gentle tone. “No need to be scared.”

“Meg?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m shitting it! Be gentle with me, please?” I don’t miss the deeper significance to my words, and she gives me a reassuring smile, understanding everything we’ve just conveyed.

“It’s just a small pinch, and then it’s all over.”

“Hang on … You’d know that because, you’ve got your nipple pierced?”

A blush sweeps across her cheeks and she giggles. “That’s for me to know. You allergic to latex or anything?” she asks, checking off boxes on the consent form.

“Nope.”

“Sign here,” she indicates and I comply without hesitation.

She drops the forms on the side table. “Right, let’s get this show on the road.” She gloves up her hands and moves around the room collecting the equipment that she needs. Some of it looks like torture equipment and it makes me shudder.

“You know, if you’re going to be a baby about it, maybe it’s best that you don’t look?” she comments, but doesn’t give me time to answer. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

She cleans the area with antiseptic, and changes from playful to professional. I watch her work with confidence and ease and it’s clear that she really knows what she’s doing and loves it too. “Do you do tattoos?” I ask, trying to keep my mind off what she’s doing. I love the feel of her gentle hands on me, even covered in latex, and it has me hardening in my jeans, but if I think about what she’s actually about to do, it’s enough to make anything deflate.