Page 20 of London Inked Boys: The Complete Trilogy
Hand in hand, we leave the gallery together, both flushed and casting glances at each other that are somewhere between adoring, shy, and lustful. I can barely believe she allowed me to do that to her, taking her on the table while multiple tourists and art gallery staff walked past. We could have been caught at any moment and thrown out.
I’d taken Tess to be uptight and conservative, completely opposite to the type of person I am, but the more I look past thesmart clothes and salon-cut hair, the more I catch glimpses of the adventurous woman beneath.
I’ve always chastised people for judging me the moment they see me, but I’m starting to wonder if I’m guilty of doing the same.
12
TESS
We leave the gallery, my body still humming from the orgasm he gave me. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt excited like this, as though the world has suddenly grown brighter around me, objects sharper, colours more vibrant.
Art hooks his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in against his big body. I feel stupidly happy—teenage girl with her first crush happy—and even the normal guilt that surrounds me can’t dampen its edges, though it tries. The moment I think of back home, the guilt attempts to push its way in, but now this little bubble Art has created around me holds back the emotion. I find myself grinning at complete strangers as I pass them by, no longer caring about the looks I’m getting by being on Art’s arm.
“You know,” he says, “one thing about living in London is that you never come to any of the tourist areas. It’s kinda cool coming into central London for once to show you around.”
I nudge him with my shoulder. “I’m not a tourist either anymore, remember? I live here, too.”
“How’s that work, with visas and stuff?”
“My dad was English, so I get to stay as long as I like.”
He grins at me. “So I won’t have to worry about you running back to the States any time soon then?”
“Nope, I’m here to stay.”
At least, I think I am. Truthfully, I don’t have anywhere else to go. I can’t go back home, I know that much. I’m banking on this huge, faceless city to save me. I hope Art’s asking because he doesn’t want to see me go, rather than that he’s fishing to see if he might get the building back to himself sometime soon.
We’re in Trafalgar Square. Multitudes of pigeons swarm the paving. Two huge fountains, ordained with mermaids, dolphins and tritons, are positioned either side of the towering monument of Nelson’s Column. People mill around everywhere, taking photographs with the spurting fountains behind them, or throwing crumbs of their sandwiches to the pigeons. Between the tourists march suited men and women—city workers who are just trying to get where they need to be.
“How about there?” Art asks, gesturing to a bar with outside seating.
I grin. It’ll be nice to sit and watch my new city go by. “Perfect.”
We choose a table, and Art vanishes inside to grab us a couple of beers. I don’t miss the way plenty of women’s eyes follow him as he weaves his way between the tables, but he doesn’t seem to notice any of them, or if he does, he doesn’t show it, and I’m thankful for that.
He returns with our drinks, condensation beading on the sides of the bottles. He brings us both a couple of glasses as well, but he takes a swig from the neck of the bottle, and I do the same. This is the new me. The carefree, easy going Tess, who drinks beer straight from the bottle with sexy tattooed men. I think I could get to like this version of myself.
Art reaches over the table, and takes my hand, his fingers entwining with mine. “So, what’s your real reason for comingover here, Tess? You didn’t really tell me the last time I asked. I can’t help but think there’s more to it than just wanting a change.”
I search for the right words. I don’t want to lie to him, but can’t tell him the whole truth. Not yet, anyway.
“I wanted to see the country my father came from. Get back to my roots.”
“What about your friends back home? Don’t you miss them?”
I nod. “Sure.” I motion to the cell phone, which I’d placed onto the table in front of me. “But we still call and text. It’s not as though the world is so big anymore. You look at London and just see home. You don’t see how beautiful and exciting it seems to someone from small town America. It was always on my bucket list to visit, and then this place just landed in my lap, so I thought why the hell not.”
He's looking at me in amusement. “Your bucket list? What else is on your bucket list?”
“Umm,” I press my lips together as I think. There are plenty of things I want to do in my lifetime. I count them off on my fingers as I mention each one. “Swimming with dolphins, visiting the pyramids, oh, seeing the aurora borealis, and maybe paying a call on Santa at the same time.”
He laughs. “You know Santa isn’t real, don’t you.”
I smack his hand. “Don’t say things like that. Of course he’s real.” I think again, and have to suppress my smile. “Oh, and getting a tattoo.”
His eyebrows lift. “So I was right. You don’t have any tattoos.”
“Nope, not one.”
