FINN

At Winter’s glare, I knew my ham-fisted attempt at marking my territory hadn’t gone over well. It was definitely a case of speaking before thinking. When Adam had called me for lunch, I’d suggested the East Village. I’d figured it wouldn't take much effort to convince him to stop by Atra since Adam's numerous tattoos and piercings had to be at least partially responsible for Atra's existence. He wasn't dumb though and knew exactly what I was about when I-oh-so-casually suggested a walk from the sub shop down the street.

“Did you suddenly get over your fear of needles?” he asked.

“I used your name to make an appointment,” I replied easily.

"You could just ask her out."

"Already did," I said.

"Got shot down, huh?" His tone was less a question and more of this doesn't surprise me at all.

"You sound like you expected that."

He shrugged and before I could punch him added, "You've never had to ask any girl out."

"So?"

"You're rusty. Your game is rusty. All you've had to do in the past was show up, and now you have to work for it. Give me your pitch."

"My pitch?" After about five steps, I realized Adam had stopped walking. I turned back and raised my hands in a what's up gesture.

"Yeah, I'll critique it and help you craft a new one."

"And you've had so much practice?" I scoffed. Adam was a girl magnet. Set him in any public space and in ten minutes, he had the prettiest women pressed against him.

"I ask women out all the time. That my success rate is embarrassingly high is something you should appreciate rather than take for granted."

I thought about it for a minute and realized he was right. He did ask women out regularly, but he did it in such a smooth way that it seemed entirely uncalculated.

"I told her that we'd had a good night and we should try it again," I paraphrased.

He frowned. "That's it? No, ‘I can't stop thinking about you’ or ‘I've never wanted anyone like I want you.’”

I gaped at him. "You say these things to women in a bar that you want to hook up with?"

It was his turn to gape at me. “No, but this is Winter Donovan. You dated her sister all through high school. If you wanted a quick hook up, why are you going after her?"

"I want to spend time with her; I'm not asking her to marry me."

"There are plenty of women you can spend time with. Why the hardcore push for Winter?"

I didn't want to explore my feelings about Winter in the middle of the sidewalk, but Adam was looking at me like he wasn't moving until I answered his question. "Because I like her. She gets me. I understand her. And we had fucking awesome sex. You ever have that, man? Where you feel like the top of your head is coming off and the world shifted, and when you were put back together, everything felt different?"

He hesitated and then walked past me to the door of Atra.

"No response?" I called after him.

He turned, one hand on the glass door, and replied. "No. Never felt that way, but I want to."

Inside Atra, Motown music played loud enough that the tambourines accenting the back beats sounded like they were clanged next to your ear. The shop was surprisingly small and looked not unlike the barbershop where I got my hair cut. The floor was some kind of ceramic tile, and the long room was divided into what looked like four different stalls. Three were occupied with clients and artists. I couldn't see the last one, in part because my eyes were pinned on the two leather chairs situated closely in the back. A dark head was bent close to a blond one. Way too close.

I felt Adam's warning hand on my arm, but anger—maybe a little fear—drove me forward. I knew I hadn't chased after Winter when she first left. But in my defense, my old man had passed away and I was dealing with a lot of shit, not the least of which the night with Winter had blown my mind. We hadn't just screwed our way from one end of the trailer to the other, but we'd talked in between. She'd listened to me, and she'd offered me thoughtful replies.

She understood. I'd held her and her sister after their parents died. In fact, I remembered comforting Winter one time and growing a completely inappropriate boner with my arms full of sixteen-year-old sweetness.

With trooper man here, though, it made me realize I may have let it slide too long.

I ignored the two men and focused on Winter.

"What are you doing here?" she gasped.

I couldn't piss on her shoes, so I did the next best thing. "I'm your next consult, baby."

The tatted guy standing next to me wearing plastic gloves and holding a blue paper towel arched an eyebrow. "Thought Adam was coming in."

"Tucker, Finn's with me." Adam popped up, having my back like the boss best friend he was. "I brought him here to see the best for his virgin skin."

"So we're popping your cherry today." Tucker looked at me appraisingly, but I got the message. He had some protective feelings toward Winter which, as long as they were brotherly, didn't bother me at all.

"We'll see. I want to talk to the artist in residence and see what ideas she has."

We all looked down at her bent head. Her sketchbook had suddenly become intensely interesting.

Tucker toyed with a piercing at the corner of his lip and then came to a decision. "Dorsey, why don't you come up to the front, and Gig will get you on the schedule."

Dorsey rose reluctantly. "If you get hungry and want some company, my phone number is in your system."

"We're not allowed to use client information for our own personal use," Winter replied primly.

"Don't worry. You won't get in trouble. After all, I am the law." He looked straight at me when he said that, but I was done with him. I dropped into the chair he'd vacated and proceeded to shut out everyone but Winter. Ruefully, I knew I was paying for my earlier deeds and wondered for a split second whether I was a barking up an immovable and disinterested tree. But I didn't think so.

She fidgeted awkwardly with her sketchbook. One finger fretted at the edge of the paper. I took this as a good sign. A girl who was indifferent wouldn’t be avoiding me.

"When did you stop being afraid of needles?" She finally broke the silence.

"That would be never, which is why I'm still a virgin, as Adam likes to call it."

"Then why are you here?"

"You know why." I wanted to reach over and take the sketchbook away so she was forced to look at me.

"But why me?" she asked softly. It was an unintentional echo of Adam's earlier question.

I laid it out as honestly as I could. "Because you make me happy, and I think, if you give me a chance, I could make you happy too. Both of us need that. I think we need each other."

She looked up then. There was a lot of emotion in her dark brown eyes. Most of it I couldn't comprehend, but the dark burn of need and want and hope shone through. "I'll think about it."

While I wanted a more concrete agreement, I didn't press her for more. "One of my crew members told me about a memorial tattoo."

"Oh, yes." She seemed surprised that I was here for a legitimate business purpose. "That's when you ink the ashes of a loved one into a tattoo."

"That's right. The grading subcontractor told me about it. He and his father have his grandfather's ashes tattooed into a gravestone on their upper arms." I rubbed the spot just below the shoulder. "It says ‘in memoriam’ and their last name."

"That's pretty cool. You want that?"

"No, I want you to design something."

"Can you tell me what ideas you have?"

"I will, but they're personal, and I'd rather share them with you outside of this place."

"You're relentless," she replied but couldn't completely hide her smile.

"It's true I haven't had to fight for a lot in my life. But that doesn't mean I don't know how."

She didn't answer immediately. I took the time to admire the graceful line of her neck, the sweet smell of her body wash or shampoo that reminded me of strawberry pie in the summer. I could wait indefinitely for her verbal answer because her body was already giving her away. The pulse at the side of her throat beat rapidly, and her breath quickened. The changes were minute and probably not obvious to anyone else, although our protracted silence did gain some attention.

"Is there a problem here?" Tucker was back and defending his territory.

"No problem. Just working out the finer details of my tattoo. A memorial design. My dad passed away over three months ago."

He looked skeptical but didn't want to call me out just in case I wasn't bullshitting. "Winter? Got any ideas?"

She flipped her notebook closed before everyone could see the blank sheet. "A few. Thanks for coming in, Mr. O'Malley. I'll email you when I have some preliminary sketches."

She stood and held out her hand. I took it and squeezed it, appreciating even that small bit of contact.

"I'll talk to you soon."

Outside Adam look shocked and awed. "Did you just use your dad's death as an excuse to get Winter to go out with you?"

"Maybe."

"That's amazing."

"I know."

"He'd be so proud."

"I know."