Every Night (Brush of Love 1)

I threw back another shot and screwed my eyes shut, trying to keep my tears at bay and shake the thought from my mind.

I had been so angry with him that night, screaming and yelling at him just like Mom and Dad did. My finger was in his face, telling him he was being an idiot and that I was offering him everything, and all he had to do was take it. He kept telling me he didn’t want everything, he just wanted a life he built for himself, one he worked for that he could be proud of. I should’ve been able to understand that.

Hell, I did understand it.

But not in that moment, I didn’t.

I threw back yet another shot as my vision began to blur.

I missed my brother. I missed him more than I could stand. There wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t see or experience something I wanted to tell him about. There wasn’t a moment that went by that a smell or a sight or a sound didn’t trigger a memory. John permeated my existence even now, but I was ripped from my thoughts when I felt something warm bump up against my forearm.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” a voice said. “Excuse me.”

I turned my head and saw a beautiful blonde woman sitting at the bar next to me. The seats were empty all around us, and that told me she intentionally meant to sit down next to me. My eyes grazed her thin body, clocking her long legs and her ruby red lips. She was a striking woman, that was for sure.

“I like your tattoos,” she said as her finger traced them. “What are they?”

“Well, the one you’re tracing is a 3-D spiral,” I said.

“It looks like it’s going right down into your arm,” she said.

“Yep. And a little farther up is a rose, but the petals reflect a piano keyboard.”

“Oh my gosh,” she said, gasping. “That’s absolutely beautiful.”

“And I’ve got another one on my arm over here that’s a fusion of different geometric designs,” I said.

“Oh, wow,” she said. “Do you, um, have any underneath these clothes?”

I could feel her fingertips slowly dragging down my side, her ruby red lips giving me that wholly innocent smile, but I knew better. The images flying through her head were tainted with nothing but unholy thoughts, and the way her pupils dilated told me everything I needed to know about why she’d sat down beside me.

“I’ve got plenty,” I said, grinning. “All depends on whether you want to see my chest or my back.”

“Oh, I have to pick?” she asked.

“Only good girls have to pick. Are you a good girl?”

The devilish smile that crept across her face warmed my pelvis. Her fingertips crept underneath my shirt, her hand fluttering up my chest as if she’d just chosen. I slid my shirt up and showed her the tattoo she had chosen, silently grateful that her hand hadn’t rushed up my back.

The lower left quadrant of my back housed a tattoo that was gravelly personal to me.

A picture John had drawn in high school of our family at the cabin.

“Oh, I really like this one,” she said as it came into view.

“Most people do. I’ve drawn all these tattoos myself.”

“Wait, you designed all these yourself? That’s incredible,” she said.

I could hear a bit of sincerity in her voice as her fingertips continued to dance along the Phoenix with its wings stretched out the length of my chest.

“Yep. They’re more personal that way,” I said as I put my shirt down.

“I know a place where I could become more acquainted with them if you’re up for it.” The blonde with the piercing hazel eyes and the rosy-tinted cheeks bit down onto her lower lip. Her long leg crossed on top of the other, her tanned skin shimmering in the dimly lit bar. The world was swirling, and part of me wondered what desperate woman would be willing to sleep with a man who was as drunk as I was.

But I could tell I wasn’t slurring my words, so I probably didn’t look as drunk as I felt.

“Actually, I’ve got an early morning,” I said.