“Without the night,” Nick says, voice pitched low, “there are no stars.”
I swallow, hard, hearing him repeat the words now etched into my skin even as I stare at them in the mirror for myself. My throat grows even tighter, and I press the back of my fist to my mouth. I don’t want him to see my lips trembling, but there’s no hiding the way I blink rapidly, chasing away the tears.
“It reminds me of you,” he continues in a deep rasp. “No matter how bad it gets, no matter what you’re trying to claw away from . . . just remember that you’re Mina because of all those restless moments.”
I don’t stop to let myself think twice.
Twisting on my heel, I throw my arms around Nick’s waist. He hisses out, “Shit, tattoo,” and I immediately drop my right arm. One-armed hug it is, then.
“Thank you.” I kiss his chest, as close as I can get to his mouth since I’m barefooted. “Thank you.”
I feel him press his lips to the top of my head. Then, “My turn. Let’s do this. No arrows, right?”
I ease back and hop up on the counter. “A huge arrow, like I promised. Look and see.”
Slowly Nick turns toward the mirror, and I watch his expression, noting every change like I’m skimming through a flipbook. His brows rise first, and then his cheeks hollow out with a quick exhale. My own breathing kicks into overdrive, nerves eating away at me. Tentatively, he touches a finger to the top of the church spire.
“How . . .?”
Feeling a blush crest my cheeks, I bring my hands to my lap. “That first day I came to your office, I saw the miniature sculpture in the waiting area. It wasn’t done, but I couldn’t—can’t—get the image out of my head of you working on it. The patience it would take. The acute attention to detail it requires. It could belong to anyone, but I saw it and I knew that it was yours.”
His jaw works tightly. “I can’t seem to finish it. It’s the longest I’ve ever worked on a piece, but this one . . . I just can’t get it right.” He slides me a swift, searching glance that sparks goose bumps to life on my skin. “Maybe I will now.”
“Do you like it?” I ask softly.
His gaze hitches back to his chest, to the geometric-inspired church window inked into the side of his ribs. The lines of the tattoo are intricately Gothic, almost haunting in their austerity.
He reaches for my hand, his thumb brushing over my skin. “You know me too well, koukla. It’s perfect.”
No, this feels perfect.
And it terrifies me how much I wish it all were real.
26
Celebrity Tea Presents:
Nick Stamos Spotted Getting Tattoos With New Girlfriend—And We Have A Name!
Readers, the headline says it all, but I’m here to spill the TEA. Take a seat, pour yourself a cup, and let’s get down to business. You may remember recent reports of Put A Ring On It contestant Nick Stamos stepping out with a mysterious woman. Well, a new source on Twitter claims that Stamos and his new girl (more on her in a minute) came into a tattoo parlor the source frequents. They picked tats out for each other, KISSED, and looked genuinely smitten.
“I was just coming in when they were checking out,” the source told Celebrity Tea, “and the moment I spotted Nick I remembered seeing your article! OMG, they were all over each other, and I secretly grabbed a video. By the way, he’s even hotter in real life. She is one lucky girl.”
Well, Dear Reader, we’ve done our homework (you’re welcome) and this Mysterious Woman is none other than one Mina Pappas of Cambridge, Massachusetts. Her social media accounts are pretty sparse, but never fear! Looks like our girl Mina is opening a new hair salon—according to her Instagram bio link, anyway.
Did our boy Nick hammer his way into Mina’s heart? Is Savannah Rose aware that her former beau has already moved on? So much to discuss, so little time. One thing’s for certain, a little birdie told me that Put A Ring On It will be airing sooner than expected, due to all the leaked footage. Grab some popcorn. Take a seat. It’s going to be a wild ride and you KNOW I’m down to deliver the tea, 24/7.
27
Nick
“Why is painting so satisfying?”
I stifle a laugh at Mina’s question. We’re camped out in Agape, painting the salon’s walls a mellow mauve that she claimed she couldn’t live without. Standing on the third-highest rung on a ladder, her hips sway back and forth to the tempo of a Greek song she’s playing off her laptop.
“You laugh, but I’m not kidding.” She dips her roller back into the paint. “It’s calming.”
“Said no one ever.” At her harrumph, I drape one arm over my bent knee. Mina wanted the chance to paint the upper halves of the room, which means I agreed to do the bitch work: edging. I would have put Vince and the boys on it, but I need them over at the museum today doing some preliminary demo work. “Painting is tedious. Edging is tedious. I could live the rest of my life without picking up another brush and be a happy camper.”
The roller splats against the white plaster as she goes back in for another round. She attacks it with such gusto I almost feel bad for the wall—it’s beginning to look like an abstract mural. And not the good, expensive kind.
“Well, I like it.” Mina’s dark ponytail slips over one shoulder as she reaches her arm diagonal across her chest to paint a bare spot she missed. “It’s a bit like coloring hair. So many stylists hate the process, but there’s nothing more exciting than making someone feel beautiful through color. The brighter the better, if you ask me.”
Everything about Ermione Pappas is bold: her personality, her laughter, the way she feels in my arms when she orgasms. Anddd, yup, there we go. Instant hard-on. If I had it my way, she’d skip staying with her parents and camp out at my place. I have a king-sized mattress, which beats the twin she’s currently sleeping on. But Mina’s stubborn, maybe even more stubborn than I am, and even though I’ve convinced her to come over for dinner, she’s yet to leave her parents. Personally, I think she’s holding out and hoping they’ll come around and all sing Kumbaya together.
All I know is that I’m glad we have the salon to ourselves today.
Fixing my attention on that ponytail of hers that’s swinging as much as her hips are, I ask, “You ever miss the pink?”
She touches her head with a gloved hand. “My hair, you mean?”
I nod. “Other than now, I can’t remember the last time you went au natural. High school, maybe. Even then I remember walking into my mom’s bathroom to find you and Effie covered in hair dye and scrubbing the floors before Ma saw it all. Purple back then, right?”
“You’ve got a good memory, Stamos.”
“Attention to detail, Ermione.” I tap my forehead. “As someone tells me frequently, I’ve got it in spades.”
“No truer words have ever been spoken.” Pausing with her roller resting on the lip of the paint tray, Mina shrugs. “And I do miss it. The pink hair. I promised Toula I’d strip it for her wedding—you know how she is about pictures—and I honestly thought I would have already ditched the black, but . . .”
“You like it.”
She nods, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Which one do you like more? The pink or the black?”
I hold my hands up. “You’re not tricking me into answering that one, koukla. There’s no right answer.”
That small smile grows bigger. “It was worth a try.” Another dip of the roller into the paint. “I’ll probably go back to the pink soon enough. Clients like it when hairstylists are edgy and fashion-forward, y’know?”
I don’t know a damn thing about cutting hair, but I love that Mina loves it—so I guess that’s what matters.
“Plus, people are commenting on Agape’s Instagram page left and right since that article came out. They’re loving any and all pictures of fun-colored hair inspos, so I guess I have my answer on that front. Colors of the rainbow, here I come.”
I didn’t have my second cup of coffee this morning, and I blame withdrawal for being slow on the uptake. Pushing up onto my knees, I drop the edger into the paint tray to my right. “Someone wrote an article about the salon? One of the local newspapers or something?”
Mina’s painting draws to a stop. “Nick, you did see it, right?”
“The article about Agape?” And this is the part in every man’s life that he fears. Mina and I may not be dating “for real”—yet—but that doesn’t mean she won’t do that woman thing where her eye twitches when faced with a guy fucking up. Think fast, man! “You know, I never really . . . read the newspaper. Much.”
Or ever.
I get my news from the TV and the radio when I’m driving all over the goddamn state to various sites. Scratching behind my ear, I watch as she clambers down the ladder. “Send it to me and I’ll read it. Promise.”
She huffs out a laugh. “You’re going to want to read this one—particularly since it’s about you.”
My stomach drops. “Us Weekly again?”
“Not them. At least, not yet.” Dropping to her haunches by our pile of materials, she palms her phone, taps away, and then holds it out for me. When I eye it like it’s a snake ready to attack, she rolls her eyes. “Someone saw us at Downtown Tattoo. There’s a video of us kissing.”
Well, damn.
Then again, this was the point of our entire deal, right? I overhaul the salon; she dates me in name only. Unfortunately, we’ve thrown the latter straight into the fire to burn to the ground. Hesitation slicks through me when I finally take the phone from her. I skim the article fast, and it feels like a damn miracle that it’s not longer than a few paragraphs. I don’t watch the video of us, mainly because I hate the idea of being filmed—again. What Mina and I have . . . it’s not for mass consumption and gossip columns. “And these people commenting on your page—they’re not being assholes?”