One Night of Trouble (16 page)

Chapter Sixteen

Two Weeks Later

It was Meet the Parents day.

And no, not a movie date featuring one of Brett’s all-time favorite films. But by God, she wished it was.

She wasn’t ready for this.

Which was more than a little ironic because
she
was the one who’d insisted. Actually, she’d done a lot of insisting these past couple weeks, and she was kind of surprised AJ had put up with it.

When she’d finally been granted access to his sacred apartment last week, she’d promptly taken it upon herself to bring some life to his sterile surroundings, in the form of colorful rugs, throw pillows, and some of her framed drawings.

When she’d discovered what a horrendous cook he was, she’d taught him how to prepare a hearty Irish stew that he could freeze and then nuke as needed.

When she’d found out he didn’t own a DVD player, she’d gone out and bought one for him, then proceeded to make him marathon six hours of vampire television.

And when he’d mentioned last night that he was going to his parents’ house the following afternoon for lunch, she’d offered to go with him.

AJ hadn’t complained about any of it, including her suggestion to meet his parents. He’d hesitated for only a split second before nodding in agreement, and that told her he was actually doing it—taking steps to be the man he was, and not the one he pretended to be.

But Brett was still nervous about meeting them, even more so after AJ had awkwardly asked her if she minded covering her tattoos.

Her first instinct had been
hell no
, but AJ had been honest about how traditional his folks were, and since his mother was already in poor health, Brett had decided it wouldn’t be the end of the world if she pruded it up today. It was only for a couple hours, and besides, if her and AJ’s relationship continued the way it was, his parents would eventually see her ink.

“Is this outfit okay?” she asked as she slid into the waiting Jeep by the curb.

Her distress grew when she noticed what AJ was wearing. Board shorts, T-shirt, and sneakers, an outfit that made perfect sense for a hot mid-June afternoon. Her attire, on the other hand, looked insane compared to his. Jeans to shield her legs, a cardigan to hide her arms, and socks to cover her feet, just in case she was asked to take off her shoes at the Walsh house. She would have to make a conscious effort to keep her sleeves from riding up; otherwise the ring of roses around her wrist would peek out.

“You couldn’t find a lighter shirt than that?” AJ said skeptically. “You’re going to be sweltering sitting by the pool.”

She paled. “Pool?”

Oh God, what if his parents wanted her to go swimming?

“We won’t be taking a swim,” he assured her. “Honestly, I think it’s just a show pool. I’ve never seen either one of my folks go in.”

Brett fiddled with the edge of her sleeve. “I tried to cover everything up. That stuff you said about your mom being fragile after her heart attack freaked me out.”

AJ sighed. “Shit. I’m sorry. I feel like an ass for even asking you to do it, but I just don’t want to make any waves today. You should have seen the looks on their faces when they saw Reed’s tats for the first time. They almost fainted in horror.”

“It’s okay. I’m not mad that you asked. I totally understand.”

Did she, though?

She couldn’t deny that she’d experienced a teeny-tiny pang of resentment when AJ had made the request last night. She wasn’t used to altering her appearance to appease other people. She was
proud
of the way she looked.

A thought suddenly occurred to her. “That’s another reason you don’t have any tattoos, isn’t it? Because they’d freak?”

He nodded, looking resigned.

“Well, I still think it’s a damn shame. That hot bod of yours needs some ink.” She batted her eyelashes. “And when you decide to get it, I know a great tattoo artist.”

He snickered. “Not until I cash in on that bet, remember? You’re the one who’s getting another tattoo. Maybe a…hmmm…what are your thoughts on unicorns? Pink unicorns.”

Brett gave him the finger. “Go ahead and keep threatening to choose something awful. We both know you won’t follow through on it.”

“You sure about that?”

She ignored his mocking smirk. “Oh, I’m sure. Because if you pick something mortifying, I’ll strap you down to my chair and tattoo the words ‘fuck you’ on your ass. And I have experience with that, too—I did it for a client last month.”

“Ha. I’m not letting you and your tattoo gun anywhere near me. Especially if you’re in the same kind of mood you were in last night.”

“She broke up with Damon!” Brett burst out, her disbelief over their TV marathon swiftly breaching the surface again. “How could I
not
be mad?”

Granted, yesterday’s outburst might have been a
tad
excessive. But she refused to apologize for being passionate about her interests.

“Besides,” she said accusingly. “You totally agreed with me. You know Elena belongs with Damon.”

“Yeah…maybe…” AJ pursed his lips. “Sometimes I think she and Stefan might be soul mates, though.”

“They are not. Damon is way more interesting.”

“You girls just can’t get enough of the bad boy, huh? Nice guys like me don’t stand a chance.”

“Ha,” she mimicked. “You’re not nice. Not after what
you
did last night.”

A.k.a. shutting off the TV midepisode and taking her right there on the living room floor. Doggy style.

Nope, he wasn’t nice. He was wicked.

Deliciously wicked.

“You enjoyed every second of it,” he said smugly. His hand moved to the gearshift. “C’mon, let’s get this show on the road.”

Fifteen minutes later, he parked in front of a two-story home in a quiet neighborhood in lower Southie. The house was a lot more modest than Brett had expected, small and pleasant, with a lovingly tended garden and a white-picket fence, just as AJ had said.

She reached into the backseat to grab the dessert box she’d brought, then followed AJ to the bright green front door. He strode into the house without knocking, calling out a cheerful hello.

“We’re out back,” came a muffled male response.

From the pool, no doubt. Crap. Brett cursed the cardigan she’d worn, and mentally prepared for a couple of hours of being hot and sweaty.

AJ gave her a quick tour on their way to the rear of the house. They stopped in a spacious, cozy kitchen so Brett could put the pie in the fridge, then walked through the sliding door onto a large outdoor patio. The weathered deck led down to a small, kidney-shaped pool surrounded by another spectacular garden. There was a patio there as well, and Brett’s pulse sped up as she spotted AJ’s parents.

Blond hair like their son, but AJ had gotten his green eyes from his father. His mom’s were deep brown, with thick eyelashes and faint wrinkles around the edges.

AJ wasted no time approaching his folks. He slapped hands with his dad, then hugged his mother before stepping back to introduce Brett.

“Hi,” she said, feeling uncharacteristically shy as she shook hands with both of them. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Well, aren’t you a tiny thing,” Tom Walsh teased. He gripped her hand gently, as if he were afraid he might crush it.

And he probably could. The man was as tall and broad as his son, and far more muscular than she thought a windows and doors salesman would be.

“I’m tougher than I look,” Brett answered, grinning as she gave his hand a firm shake.

AJ’s mother was more guarded than her husband, her curious gaze sweeping up and down to assess the woman her son had brought home. Then the older woman’s face relaxed, and she smiled widely, as if Brett had passed her unspoken test.

“I’m tougher than I look, too,” Karen told her, then hooked a thumb at her husband. “If only this one would quit coddling me. He’s still keeping me from my garden.”

Brett softened her tone. “AJ said you were ill a while back. I’m really sorry to hear that.”

“Aw, thanks, sweetie. But I’m fine now.” Karen tapped her left breast with gusto. “This heart of mine is stronger than ever. Come on, let’s have a seat. AJ, pour Brett a glass of lemonade, will you?”

A moment later, Brett was seated next to AJ’s mother, who was so sweet and bubbly that Brett couldn’t help but like her. The four of them gathered at the table and chatted for a while. AJ’s parents were intrigued when she told them she was an artist, but she left out the tattoo aspect of it and spoke instead about the black-and-white drawings she sold on the side. Eventually, AJ went inside to grab the apple pie Brett had brought, which delighted his mother, who thanked her profusely for the gesture.

So far, so good. Actually, things were going far better than Brett had anticipated.

She should’ve known her luck would run out.

“Lord, it’s humid out today,” Karen exclaimed, wiping beads of sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. “Let’s go dip our feet in the pool, sweetie. It’ll be refreshing.”

Brett tensed.

Crap.

Crappity-crap-crap-crap.

She glanced at AJ, whose face had gone expressionless. He didn’t shake his head, didn’t convey an unspoken warning, but she thought she spotted a muscle tic in his jaw.

She was helpless to argue, though. Karen was already dragging her toward the edge of the pool. The woman took off her sandals and dipped her toes into the crystal-clear water, sighing happily when her feet were submerged.

Brett remained standing, frantically trying to think of an excuse.

And then…she stopped trying.

So what if Karen saw the little blue sparrows tattooed on her feet? She
loved
her sparrows. They made her happy. In fact, all her tattoos made her happy. Every line, every curve, every bit of shading and flash of color. She was an artist and her body was her canvas, and if Tom and Karen Walsh couldn’t appreciate that, then to hell with them.

Because how was she ever supposed to convince AJ to be proud of himself if she didn’t set an example?

Lifting her chin in defiance, Brett unlaced her shoes and peeled off her socks, then slid her cardigan off her shoulders and flopped down beside AJ’s mother.

…

As Brett’s arms were revealed, AJ swallowed a lump of dread, praying that his folks wouldn’t comment. Or judge. Or do anything but continue to treat Brett with the same level of welcoming warmth they’d shown her this past hour.

But that was too much to hope for.

“Oh,” his mother squeaked in surprise. She stared at Brett’s angel as if she couldn’t figure out what she was seeing. “Look at that.”

A laugh rose in his throat, but he choked that down, too. His mother’s eyes had traveled to Brett’s dainty feet, which she was wiggling in the water, causing the sparrows to ripple as if they were about to take flight.

He glanced at his dad, whose startled gaze was also focused on Brett. When their eyes met, AJ offered a little shrug, but his father didn’t look amused.

“I didn’t realize you had tattoos,” Karen said brightly, her cheerful tone betrayed by the tense set of her jaw.

“I have several,” Brett answered with a smile. “A couple on my legs, too.”

That got her another “Oh.”

Tom cleared his throat. “Did you, uh, draw them yourself?”

Brett twisted around to smile at him, too. “Some of them. My dad did the angel, and my older brother did the fish on my leg. They’re both tattoo artists.” A pause. “Like me.”

“I see.” His mother’s mouth tightened.

AJ briefly closed his eyes. He hadn’t asked Brett to lie about what she did for a living. He’d fully expected it to come out today. But he’d hoped his folks might pleasantly surprise him. Welcome Brett into the fold without a shred of judgment or disapproval.

Again, too much to hope for.

What followed was a lengthy discussion revolving around when Brett had gotten her ink done, why she’d done it, whether she planned on doing it again, and the best part, the sanitary implications of her using needles on her skin.

“Brett and her family take precautions to make sure everything is safe and that every piece of equipment is sterilized,” AJ said brusquely. “Tattooing is a growing business, Mom. It’s a respected profession.”

His mother looked so unconvinced, and so revolted, that it triggered a wave of embarrassment. Brett’s cheeks had turned bright red, her lips pressed together as if she were trying to bite her tongue. He didn’t blame her. His mother was being a jerk, and he was so damn ashamed of her behavior.

He was about to force a change of subject when his mother did it for him. “I was meaning to ask you,” she said, turning around to look at him. “Did Tamara get in touch with you?”

AJ froze.

So did Brett, before she swiveled her head too, her eyes voicing a silent question.

Tamara
?

“We were chatting on the phone, and she mentioned you still hadn’t called her.” His mother’s tone epitomized casual, but it was clear she wasn’t oblivious to the rising tensions on the patio. “So I gave her your number. She said she sent you a message.”

The look on Brett’s face, a mixture of hurt and accusation, sliced into AJ’s chest like a dull blade. Crap. Tamara
had
texted him. Last night, in fact, when he’d been in the process of making Brett come on her living room floor. He hadn’t texted back, because, frankly, he didn’t frickin’ want to. But he had been wondering how on earth his old classmate had gotten his number.