Page 22 of Dare To Take

I open my eyes while Terry wipes down my arm and inspect the image on my skin. The thin lines, color, and shading bring it to life. The delicate blue butterfly looks ready to flutter right off my forearm. It’s angled in such a way that it adds realism to the tattoo.

“Wash it in non-perfumed warm soapy water a couple of times a day, and don’t scratch it when it itches,” the tattooist tells me.

He smooths cocoa butter over the butterfly before he covers it in Saran wrap. Carefully tugging the sleeve of my top down, I hop off the couch.

I can only imagine what my mother will say when she sees the tattoo. A smirk tugs my lips up at the thought.

“What else can you do around here for some fun?”

Chapter 15

Eli

“Define fun.” I drop my credit card onto the counter. “Take the payment for both tattoos and your usual tip.”

“I can pay for my tattoo.” The defensiveness in her tone is clear.

“I know that.” I keep my voice mild.

I don’t want to fight with her in front of Terry, and I’m trying very hard not to let her bait me. The last thing I need is her to go back home and report how awful I was. Maybe she knows the threat I’m under and that’s why she’s being so antagonistic.

When Elena told me she wanted me to spend the day with Arabella so we could get to know each other better, I said no. My mere presence brings out the devil in her, which, if I’m honest with myself, I like a lot, but I don’t think spending the day with my dick buried inside her daughter is what Elena had in mind.

But then she told me that my father is looking at brochures for military school to ensure I don’t return to my bullying ways when she goes back to Churchill Bradley, and her hope is that by proving we can spend time together without fighting, he will change his mind.

She repeated that she believed me when I said I didn’t leak the videos, but that I need to prove to my dad I can be trusted.

So here I am … trying to tame the kitten from hell.

“Always a pleasure, Eli.” Terry hands back my card and tips a wink at Arabella. “If you want to pay him back, you could always pay for whatever you do next today.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t give her ideas.” I pocket my card and walk to the door. “Come on, then. What does my little Hellcat want to do now?”

She doesn’t comment on the nickname. “You live here. What is there to do?”

We walk back to my car, and I lean against the side. “Well, there’s the beach, if you want to relax. Shopping, if retail therapy is your thing. Or are you looking for something tourists would do?”

“How do you spend your time here?”

“Painting, sketching, hiding out in my bedroom.”

“Don’t you ever leave the house?”

I shrug. “Only if I have to.”

I could tell her that before my mom died, I rode horses, swam in the pool, and spent almost every waking moment out in the sun, but very rarely left the grounds of our house. I could tell her how I avoided all the other kids because they were likely to beat the shit out of me because I was small, quiet, and weird. But she wouldn’t believe a word of it. And why would she? The kid I was is not who I am now. That quiet, shy boy who was scared of the world died alongside his mother.

“There must be something to do.”

“We could drive up to the Montauk Point Lighthouse and smoke a joint on the rocks.” I throw out the flippant suggestion, not really expecting her to say yes.

“You have …” her voice drops, “marijuana?”

“Weed.”

“I want to do that.”

My gaze cuts to her, eyes narrowing. “You want to get stoned?”

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