Her dead dad, killed in an accident when they were still in high school, back when Aidan hadn’t known she’d existed.
He wanted to kick himself.
Sam had gone still, comb hovering above the crown of her head, watching him.
“I don’t need to shave,” he said. “Just going to work.”
She nodded, stared at her reflection a moment, and then turned to him, comb forgotten on the counter.
It was wonderful, for some reason, to see her with her hair undone, her façade unfinished first thing in the morning, in the privacy of her bathroom at home. She could feign no stiffness or reserve with him here.
His breath caught, just a second, when she lifted a hand and passed her fingertips down his chest. He wondered if she could feel it, that fast stutter under his skin.
“I still can’t see very well,” she said, because she wasn’t wearing her glasses yet, “but the colors…” Her eyes tracked what detail she could make out of his ink. “What’s this one for?” she asked, and he knew which one she was looking at.
It was his largest, most intricate piece, after the roses, the one that made the most sense. “The Tennessee River,” he said, because that was how the image began, as his hometown river, intricate depictions of the Henley Street Bridge and Neyland Stadium marking it as such. “And the Thames, in London.” In the center of both his chest and the tattoo, the landscape around the river changed, the water flanked by Big Ben and the London Bridge on his other pec. In the center, above the water, was the running black dog that was their club logo. “The original and American mother chapters of the club,” he explained.
“It’s beautiful,” Sam murmured.
It was far from the first time someone had complimented one of his tats, but it was the first time he felt almost lightheaded as it was happening. Apparently, his sister wasn’t the only sappy romantic in the family. Who knew?
Her eyes lifted to his. “How many do you have?”
“A shit-ton. Wanna count them?”
She smiled. “When I’m not on my way to work, absolutely.”
“Yeah, me too–” Oh shit. He had work, yeah, but he also had a lunch meeting with Greg he’d managed to forget about last night.
Her face fell. “What. It’s just sinking in what happened last night?” She attempted a grin, but it was brittle and sad.
It caused him actual, physical pain to see that look on her face and know the direction of her thoughts.
“No.” He caught her face in both hands before she could step back. “Sam, baby,no.” When she raised her brows in mingled surprise and disbelief, he said, “I just remembered I’ve gotta have a very unpleasant lunch meeting today, and if I don’t get a move on, I won’t be able to swap lunch breaks with Merc.” He ducked his head and kissed her, lingering afterward, so he could speak while their lips were touching. “Last night was the best night I’ve had in…well, ever, sweetheart.” He grinned as he pulled back. “So don’t act like I think otherwise, alright?”
She took a deep, shivery breath and let it back out in a rush, smiling. “Yeah. Alright.”
When he released her – reluctantly, and they both knew it – she faced the mirror again and reached for a tube of some sort of gel goo that she squirted into her hand and then worked into the wet waves of her hair. “What kind of meeting? With your dad?”
He winced at his reflection and passed a hand through his disorderly curls. “Worse than that.”
“Ouch.”
It struck him as so domestic, the way she was treating her hair. He’d seen his sister do as much, in those brief years when they’d shared a bathroom at home, and for some reason, watching Sam’s morning rituals like this cemented last night in a whole new way.
Before he was aware of thinking it, he stepped in behind her and wrapped both arms around her waist, arresting her movements, drawing a grin and startled laugh from her.
“I gotta head out,” he said. “But I want to see you tonight. Or sooner, if that’s possible.”
Her grin widened; he watched it in the mirror and felt a resulting tug in the pit of his stomach.
“I can come by the shop after class,” she said.
“That’d be good.” He kissed the top of her head. “What are the odds your mom knows I’m here and is gonna throw a fit?”
She laughed. “Good…and good.”
“I was afraid of that.”
