Page 39 of Clean Point

‘I almost got one in Ibiza last summer,’ she admitted, smiling at me. ‘It was three in the morning, and I was drunk. We’d had bottle service at the club, and nothing had ever been a bigger mistake. I thought it was a great idea to get a tattoo half out of it; I told him what I wanted in some lame cursive they had and passed out in the chair. I came to with the man this close.’ She holds up two fingers a centimetre apart. ‘Then I threw up on him and they kicked me out. Thankfully. It did not look hygienic there, even before all the sickness.’

I smiled at her memory. She had so many stories of her last two years, and none of them sounded anything less than carnage, chaos, and a hell of a great time. Just like she was turning out to be.

Curiosity got the best of me as I asked, ‘What was it?’

‘What?’

‘The tattoo?’ We were almost back at the villa, the glass doors leading to the kitchen in sight. ‘What terrible mistake were you going to get on your body forever?’

She made a noise that almost sounded like a laugh. Her gaze looked straight ahead while her arms crossed in front of her. I was certain she was nervous when she answered, ‘It said “clean”.’

‘Clean?’ I repeated, and she gave me the smallest nod. My brows pressed together. ‘Like not …’ I trailed off, and before I could say another word, she clarified.

‘Like “Scottie Sinclair is fucking clean”. Or at least, I remember trying to get the tattooist to write that, but he refused, said something about it already being dumb enough getting a tattoo drunk, never mind a curse word along with it.’

I didn’t know what to make of it. What any of it meant, but one look at her and I knew it was important, the emotion in her eyes, the set of her jaw. I knew not to question, not to push. If she wanted me to know, she would tell me.

‘I like it. It’s bad ass,’ I said, trying to comfort her. She sent me a nervous smile, and I opened the door to the kitchen. The AC cooled air made it feel as if I’d stepped into an icebox. I held the door open for her, watching as she slipped by me, a single shiver as she faced the cold.

‘It was dumb,’ she said as I closed the door.

My shoulder rose on a shrug. ‘Better than getting an ELITE tramp stamp.’

She laughed, the noise warm as it prickled under my skin. ‘At least they’d pay me to do it.’

An idea bloomed, and before I knew it, the words tumbled out of me. ‘I know a good artist in London. We could go together.’

‘To get an ELITE tattoo?’

‘No. I mean, in general. If you still wanted one.’

Her eyes narrowed playfully at me. ‘Why? Do you enjoy watching people wither in pain?’

‘I thought I’d distract you through the pain, but now that you mention it, it could be an unexplored kink.’ Scottie’s eyes grew wide for a moment, her pink lips parting before she pulled herself together.

‘Funny,’ she said as we reached the break in the hallway where we would go our separate ways. ‘I might just have to take you up on that.’

I raised my brows in surprise. ‘That so?’

‘I meant the tattoo, not the kink,’ she replied, patting me cheekily on the shoulder. ‘I’ll leave you to figure that one out on your own.’

My cheeks burned red with embarrassment as I nodded, gaze avoiding her. I was getting too close to her, too open. If the moment in the doorway had taught me anything, it was that. We said a quick goodbye before heading to our respective rooms to wash up. I continued to beat myself up the entire length of the hallway. This was supposed to be a professional relationship, with professional thoughts and not an entire training session distracted by the curves of her body or how she looked bending down to pick up a ball.

Scottie Sinclair might as well have had the words ‘bad idea’ tattooed in block capitals on her forehead. The absolutely opposite type of person that I would normally let myself get close to. Too impulsive, too wild, too young.

And yet, here I was, offering to take her to my favourite tattooist and hold her hand. Keep her distracted while she got her first ink because when she opened up to me, allowing me to peer into the real Scottie, things aren’t adding up.

She wasn’t impulsive or reckless. She was hurt and growing through that. She had some wild moments, but to me, it sounded as if she had gone out and had some fucking fun for once. Whatever happened two years ago with the doping, I wasn’t sure. But it didn’t sound like the Scottie I’d gotten to know.

In fact, just the opposite.

19

Nico

Family Friend – The Vaccines

‘Are you calling or folding?’ Henrik’s voice pulled my attention back to the table and away from the one person that always seemed to capture it. We’d been playing cards all evening out on the patio. But when I’d caught a glimpse of Scottie through the doors to the kitchen, I’d lost track of the game entirely.

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