Jem

I’M BUSY WORKING ON A CAR, the steady heat of being under it warm and welcome. I haven’t called or texted Indie no matter how much I ached to since the time I last saw her two weeks ago. But she hasn’t called or texted either, and if space and patience was what she needed, then I’d give her all of it.

I could be patient, but that didn’t mean it didn’t set me on edge, and I’m one snap away before the boys at the garage went from tolerating me to kicking me out on my ass. I shift my focus to the car in front of me when there’s a nudge at my shoulder. Looking up, I find Ace grinning at me. I narrow my eyes. “What? ”

 “Someone’s here to see you.”

I frown to myself, but shift from under the vehicle, wiping my hands and walking to the front, nonetheless. This better not be one of Ace’s stupid pranks, where he lures you to a certain spot and pulls a string and a bucket of water falls on you or some shit. As I stride further away from the heart of the garage, it gets increasingly cold, and the thought of an onslaught of water makes me pretty fucking angry.

I’m so preoccupied with my thoughts I don’t notice that there actually is someone waiting for me. Face flushed with freckles and long curly hair loose. Indigo. She meets my gaze for a moment, those big brown eyes hesitant, before she draws her gaze away quicky.

She’s wearing an off the shoulder top, and although the material seems warm, I doubt the lack of it on her shoulders offers much reprieve from the snow. I hold back a grin. She must obviously care more for fashion than comfort. I recall the time she phoned me, and I found her in a barely-there top— when she was waiting on that abandoned alleyway all alone after her asshole ex cheated, and it strips away any impending humor.

“Hey,” she says, after what seems like eons.

“Hey,” I reply, strangely soft, and a flush warms her cheeks.

She wrings her hands, and I realize that she’s nervous as shit. I’ve never seen her like this before, and the sight both crushes and amuses me.

“I – uh.” She swallows. “I wanted to talk to you.”

I reach forward to lead her into the garage, where it’ll be warmer, but she presses forward like if she doesn’t get the words out now, she never will. So I drop my hand, nodding. “Okay.”

She nods, her energy jittery. “It hasn’t —” She pauses, like this wasn’t planned and now that she’s here, it’s hard to conjure up the right words. “It hasn’t been that long since I broke up with Kade, and I know I needed time to process it and move forward. Which means that I really should stay away from you—” I frown at that.

There’s a strange fragility to her when she speaks again. “But I couldn’t.”

And just like that, the frown slips from my mouth as I fight a smile instead. Indie doesn’t catch it, still not meeting my eye as she continues to speak.

“I just couldn’t. And then I thought: who am I waiting for, anyway? I didn’t do anything wrong. Why am I punishing myself? So . . . I’m here now. And I’m not asking you to be my friend.” I frown again, and she blinks rapidly. “Or for something more . . . or whatever it is that we are. But you haven’t called or texted for a week, and I didn’t know if you were mad at me, and I just wanted to—”

“Indigo. Hold up a second. You’re my friend, alright?” A dark part of me hissed and snarled at that. Accepted that it was true, but also wanted far, far more. Wanted things so filthy and carnal I’d never say it out loud. I clear my throat, meeting her gaze.

“Do you know how bad I wanted to call you? Hear your voice? Be with you? Touch—” I groan, running a frustrated hand through the scruff at the back of my neck. My hair has grown out longer than I usually allow it to, and I’ve taken to tugging at it in frustration. “Touch you.”

Indigo inhales sharply, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. If she knew how much I mulled over her fucking lips. I’d committed them to memory—full and pouty, heart-shaped, with a heavier top lip. Blush pink. Fuck.

I rip my gaze away from them before I go insane, pressing forward. “I held back because I wanted to give you space. You didn’t call or text me either, so I thought you were fine with it. I thought it was what you wanted.”

Indie shifts on her feet uncomfortably. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“I don’t think I could ever really be mad at you, Indigo. And I think you know it, too. My voice hardens. “I just never want to see that fucking asshole again.”

And I don’t have to clarify who I’m talking about. She knows already — just nods tightly and tries to change the topic. “How was your Christmas?”

I clamp down on my jaw. “Good. I brought Ma home and the boys helped me clean up.” Her eyes are filled with concern, but I don’t want to throw myself a pity party, so I ask her, “How was yours?”

She looks away uncomfortably, like she wasn’t expecting me to turn the question on her and was regretting asking it in the first place. But then she drags her gaze up to meet mine anyway, shrugging. “I spent it alone. Mae’s with family, and so was Scarlett, and mom was working. Scarlett invited me but I didn’t want to intrude.”

She spent Christmas alone? No wonder she looks so fucking miserable. My chest slices open. I should never have stuck to my quest of giving her space. I should have barged into her fucking apartment and dragged her — willing or unwilling — to my mom’s place. To celebrate Christmas with us, instead of alone. To be with me.

But she’s here now, just a few steps away, and I glance up at her, not wanting to waste any more time.

I lift a hand, beckoning her over. “Come here.”

Slowly, she listens. She walks into my arms, and my skin hums when she presses her body into mine. Outside the garage, snow descends from the sky. A slight shiver runs through her skin, like she’s finally registered how cold it is as my body heat pours into her.

I can feel the softness of her body against mine, her sweet scent— coconut and warm sandalwood— invading my senses. I settle one arm on her lower back, burying the other in her loose curls. “You came all the way here to tell me this?”

She nods against my chest.

Which means that after I let her go, she’s going to go home. But I’m selfish, and I don’t want her to. So I decide to swap out my plans for tomorrow to today instead. I pull away even though it’s the last thing I want to do, taking her hand in mine instead. “Come on. I need to give the car I’m working on a test drive anyway.”

She furrows her brows. “Where are we going?”

I throw back a slight grin. “I’m going to get some of my tattoos retouched.”

Her eyes go wide. “What?”

I nod. “The ink from my older tattoos have started to fade, so I need to get them redone.”

I was meant to do them tomorrow, but that would mean having no excuse for her to stay with me today. She’s here with me now, though, and I intend on keeping her for as long as humanly possible.

I unhook the key and unlock the car, tilting my head to the passenger seat. Indie’s stays rooted to the spot, though, clearly shocked about my retouching.

Concern floods her gaze. “So it’s going to hurt?”

I shrug, opening her door for her and guiding her in. “A little.”

“What?” She frowns, impassively following my lead. “Don’t you have a numbing cream or something?”

I shake my head, shutting her door before round the car and slip into the driver’s seat, switching the car into drive as we roll out of the garage. The windscreen wipers shift the snow away from the window as we glide out into the street. Indigo’s still suspiciously quiet. I think she has a skewed perception of how much it hurts to get a tattoo. That, or she’s just really concerned about me. Maybe both. And fuck if it doesn’t make my chest swell.

Deciding to play it up, I grin her way. “You just have to hold my hand real tight.”

To make my point, I let go of the stick shift, reaching for her hand. It’s a joke, but Indie’s jaw is tight, and she doesn’t even face me, nodding tightly and squeezing on my hand with steely determination. She’s so fucking cute.

Finally, we reach the place, and I make sure to park properly so I don’t get a stupid fine. The parking fines in this city are fucking atrocious.

Stef, the artist I’ve frequented for years and one of the best in the city, lets us in. He’s a few years older than me, average height, with jet black hair. Surprisingly, his skin is free of ink despite being a tattoo artist. He smiles when he notices me. “Valentine. Who’s the girl?”

He eyes her exposed shoulders keenly, and I supress a growl, shouldering off my jacket and, circling Indie’s wrist as I pull her closer to me. “You’re cold,” I huff, “Put this on.”

“What?” Indie frowns at me but holds up her arms for me to push the jacket on her anyway. She makes a slight noise of protest as I zip the jacket all the way up. My chest hums, satisfied that she’s covered up and looks warmer, too. “There.”

This isn’t even me­­ — I’m not the territorial, jealous type. But with Indigo, I can’t seem to hold back, and it frustrates me. That she could so quickly change what I was so certain about.

I turn to Stef, who gets the message and averts his gaze from her, keeping it on me instead. “This is Indigo. She’s here if the pain gets too bad.”

He shoots me a confused look. Because it’s never bad. I have an annoyingly high pain tolerance. I used to wish it would sting just a little—that I’d feel the bite of the needle and feel something. But I’m not that masochistic now. I’m just here for some maintenance.

“I can’t tell if he’s being serious,” Indie murmurs next to me, more to herself. Stef just grins, not giving me away as he tips his head to the back. “Let’s go, big man.”

I nod, following him. I look back at Indie, who stares at me, unsure if she should follow or wait out here. I reach for her hand, making the decision for her. “You can’t numb the pain from all the way over here.”

She swallows. “Right. Yeah.”

I drag her to the back, and surprisingly, she doesn’t let go of my hand as I sit on the slightly reclined tattoo chair, taking a seat to my side. Stef is at the back of the room, silently sanitizing the tools.

I tilt my head as I pose the question. “Do you like tattoos?”

Indie pauses for a moment, mulling over it before shrugging. “I don’t know.” And I hate the way something in me shrinks at that. “But I like them on you.” Blood rushes to her cheeks. “I can’t really picture you without them.”

And then the same thing seems to bleed with delight. Her hand in mine sends jolt of energy though my flesh, fitting in mine like it was made for me. I run my thumb across her skin absently. “Would you ever get one?”

“I thought about it,” she says, “But I think I’m too indecisive. Some days I think it’ll be nice to have a small one, and others I don’t want anything to be on my body forever.”

I nod at that, about to offer a response when Stef returns, tattoo cartridge in hand. “Alright,” he says, “You ready?”

I shrug. “Guess so.”

Indie holds onto my hand a little tighter as Stef switches the tool on and a low vibration fills the air as he brings the needle to the faded tattoo of a compass on my left wrist. Her eyes don’t stray from the needle, and mine don’t stray from her.

She’s clearly pretty worried, and I feel a little guilty for stringing her so far along. The needle doesn’t hurt, just tickles a little, and I want to tell her, but I doubt she’d let me hold her hand any longer, and I like the attention a bit too much.

So when Stef moves to the next tattoo, a much larger one at the top, of the grim reaper—a reminder to that death humbles all, I fake a hiss, just to see her reaction. Indie gasps, squeezing the shit out of my hand. Stef just stares at me, deadpan, and when Indie looks to me with alarm in her eyes, I can’t help it—I crack a grin, effectively breaking character.

“What…” She murmurs, brows drawing close in confusion as it dawns on her. Shit. The concern in her eyes is quickly replaced by anger. “You were pretending?” She rips her hand away from mine. “What the hell?” she snaps. “Asshole.”

For some reason, my grin only widens, and I have to supress the urge to laugh. “Indie…”

“Look at you! You’re trying so hard not to laugh right now. I hate you.” She gives me a sour look. “I’m gonna go wait in the car. Give me the keys.”

Sighing, reaching to my back pocket with my free hand and pass them to her.

Great. I rush the rest of the session and grind on Stef’s nerves, but he’s not the best for no reason, and he could use some pressure. I was one of his first test runs, so I get to give him some flack. When we’re done, I’m about to swipe my card when I spot something on the front counter, picking it up and dropping it in front of me. “I’ll take this, too.”

“Take it, then.” Stef shrugs. “It’s on me.”

After that, I storm to the car, to check if Indie is actually waiting, but like she said, Indie is sitting in the front seat, her arms crossed in front of her as she stares out of the window. My jacket is discarded, and I’m guessing she ripped it off because I clearly pissed her off.

I knock at the driver’s window from the outside, hoping to make reparations, but Indie turns to give me a blank, unimpressed stare before going back to watching the snow fall outside her window. Sighing, I open the front door and slide into the driver’s seat. She still doesn’t say a word.

“I was just messing with you, Indigo. It doesn’t hurt.”

She clamps down on her jaw as she turns, still not facing me. “Does it seriously not sting even a little?”

“Not half as much as you ignoring me does,” I admit. “You still mad at me?”

Indigo eyes the bandages both my arms. She shakes her head with a small sigh. “I don’t think I could ever really be mad at you.” She throws my words back at me in earnest.

“Good,” I say, “because I got something for you.”

A slow smile spreads on her lips as she eyes the temporary flower tattoo in my hand. “Are you giving me a tramp stamp, Valentine?”

“Where do you want it, Gallagher?”

Her smile fades slowly as she realizes I’m being serious. “Oh, uh,” She points to the exposed skin at the base of her neck. “Here?”

I nod, tearing the protective sleeve of the sticker off and gesturing for her to edge closer. She only moves a little closer, so I move more to cover the distance between us. There’s a sharp intake of her breath and goosebumps rise on her flesh. I swallow. So close to her, her scent is a psychedelic.

I resist the urge to graze my nose across the bare skin of her neck, pulling away slight to peel the patch off and place it on her neck, as the paper meets her skin. I lean forward, opening my mouth over her neck, pressing my tongue over the temporary tattoo patch. It needs water to work, and I don’t have any lying around.

It’s small enough that my tongue meets the soft skin of her neck all around it, and when she skips a breath, blood rushes to my dick.

When I pull away, we’re both breathing heavy. It takes effort to concentrate on the task at hand, and I focus every bit of my energy on the small patch, lifting my hand to slip the paper off her skin to reveal a tiny black flower — at the base of her neck, just above her exposed collarbone.

I lift my fingers to run them over the spot, and it’s smooth, her skin burning under my touch. I breathe hoarsely, somehow finding words. “Tell me to stop.”

She shakes her head. “No.”

I trail my fingers up her neck — up, up, up. Skimming the top of her neck. The curve of her jaw is sacrilegious — her warm flushed cheeks, and those goddamn lips—

“Fuck.” The curse bubbles up my throat, before I lean even closer, pressing my lips to hers

I swallow her gasp and steal her breath. She reacts almost immediately, pressing her lips to mine fervently, shifting in her seat to move closer to me, her hands coming up to the sides of my face.

She’s soft. So fucking soft, and exactly how imagined. Better. I flick my tongue over her bottom lip, and when she opens her mouth, I push inside greedily. A soft moan rises from her, and it spurs a groan from me, my chest rumbling.

My hand leaves her face, slipping under her shirt to meet the warm skin of her stomach.

“Fucking hell,” I snarl, “Tell me to stop.”

“No.”

And as if to emphasise her point, Indie shifts over the centre console, moving to straddle my lap. I lift a hand over her head so that she doesn’t bang it on the top of the car, and she takes the same hand and places it back under her shirt before pressing her lips back to mine.

The windows fog up with the heat of us as I slant my mouth over hers, taking whatever she’s willing to give greedily, licking the roof of her mouth and sucking her tongue with the urgency of a depraved animal. She tastes sweet, like something distinctly her. Something addictive.

Indie moves her hips, grinding her ass against my crotch, and I place my hands on her sides, guiding her movement. She’s soft under my hands, pliant like butter. She moans my name into my mouth, and I’m harder than I’ve been in my entire life. I can’t fucking get enough of her.

“You’re fucking killing me,” I groan.

I push my hand further up her skin until my fingers meet the bottom of her bra, lust bleeding through my veins. Indie lets out a slightly frustrated sound, her fingers dancing at the bottom of her shirt, like she’s about to tug it off. I grip her hands behind her waist, stopping her ascent.

“Don’t,” I growl. “Unless you want me to fuck you right here.”

She tilts her head, cheeks flushed and eyes heavy lidded like she’s considering if it would be that bad of an idea after all. Jesus fucking Christ. I’m so hard it’s painful, and I’m seriously considering dealing with the repercussions of fucking up the car’s interior and pushing my pants down, then hers so she can sink into me, when someone honks behind us.

I startle and Indie jumps, eyes wide as she pulls off me. She laughs, settling in her seat with a secretive smile. I huff a laugh, too, and a heated silence settles between us like a promise. I drive her home, running the back of my thumb over my lip as I hide a smile of my own.