“Oh my God! You are driving slower than molasses! What the hell?”

“Shh,” I say, pulling very carefully into the parking lot. I hate that I drove this slow. This car was made for power, but no way am I going to test that tonight. Not until I am in good standing with Phillip will I attempt that. “I’m taking it easy.”

“Taking it easy? Jeez, I’m driving home,” she says, throwing the door open and getting out. I do the same and point my finger at her.

“The hell you are. I’m the man – I drive.”

Putting her hands on her hips, she says, “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I was riding with my great-aunt. A real man would put the pedal to the medal. You were driving so slow, I’m pretty sure we were passed by a slug.”

Glaring, I say, “Take that back.”

“No, it’s the truth,” she says, standing a little taller.

Taking a step toward her, I expect her to take a step back or even run from me, but I forget that Claire isn’t like other girls. She doesn’t back down from a fight, and man, that turns me on. Cupping my hand on the back of her head, I pull her against me, crashing my mouth against hers in hot need. Walking her back until we hit the wall, I deepen the kiss, my hand squeezing her hip as her fingers hook in the loops of my pants.

Parting only an inch, I say, “I drove slow because I don’t want to give Phillip any more reasons to hate me.”

Meeting my gaze with a lusty one, she smiles. “It doesn’t matter what he thinks. All that matters is that I love you.” My heart feels as if it is literally coming out of my chest as she cups my face. Looking deep in my eyes, she says, “Stop worrying about pleasing him. It isn’t going to work. Just worry about us.”

As much as I want Phillip to like me, I know she’s right. He doesn’t hate me as a person; he hates that I am important to Claire and what I could potentially do to her. As long as I do right by her, it doesn’t matter what he thinks. She’s all that matters. I just need to remember that. I think, too, that it has something to do with the fact that no one has ever hated me. I’ve always been liked at first meeting, and for once, someone doesn’t like me, and that bothers me. I feel like we could get along great, but that’s not the case. He cares more than anything about Claire and doesn’t want any sort of pain to come her way. I get that; I just need to accept that he’ll probably never like me.

But I know someone who will always like me, and I’m kissing her.

Nibbling on her bottom lip, I say, “I can do that.”

“Good, now let’s go do this,” she says before pressing her lips to mine.

Parting, I wrap my arm around her shoulders and we head in. When my tattoo artist Mackie sees me, he stands from his chair, a grin on his face as he shakes my hand. “Jude, my man, nice to see ya, bro.”

“Hey, Mackie,” I say, my arm hanging loosely on Claire’s shoulder. “This is my girl, Claire.”

“Claire,” he says, shaking her hand softly. “Wonderful to meet ya. You ready for this?”

She nods slowly. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Awesome, come on over into my studio and check out what I have for you.”

We follow him to his studio and then to his desk where the stencil for her tattoo lays. We have been sending him pictures and planning this tattoo all week. I’m excited to see what Mackie came up with, and like always, he does not disappoint.

“Oh wow,” Claire gasps, leaning against the desk with her palms on it, taking in the beauty of the drawing.

“It’s perfect,” I say as my eyes roam along the paper. In the middle is a bright red phoenix; it’s so bold and vibrant, almost real enough to come off the paper. Around it are big red and black blossoms, giving more depth to the picture. Underneath it, it says: “Ón luaithreach, a éirím”which is Gaelic for “From the ashes, I rise.”

Nodding her head, she says, “Yeah, it is.”

“Awesome!” Mackie says, and then he grabs a piece of paper before turning to Claire. “Now all I need is for you to kiss this.”

Her brow rises before looking back at me. “Huh?”

“For my tattoo,” I say with a grin, and I take out a tube of red lipstick I stole from her dance bag since I knew she would protest to this. Ever since I mentioned it at the wedding, she’s been telling me I’m crazy for this, but I want it.

“I thought we decided against that?”

I shake my head. “No, that’s not what we did. I’m ready for this.”

“Jude. That’s insane. We’ve only been together a little over a month! That’s crazy, right, Mackie?” she says, turning to look at Mackie.

He shakes his head. “I work in a tattoo parlor in downtown Nashville. Him wanting your lips tattooed on his chest is nowhere near crazy.”

She lets out a breath. “You’re not helping.” Turning to me, she says, “Jude, come on, let’s wait. When we get married, we can get matching tattoos or something. It just seems so early to me.”

Crossing my arms across my chest, I say, “You don’t want me to have your lips on me?”

“I didn’t say that. I’m saying let’s wait.”

“I want it now,” I say and she glares.

“And I am asking you to wait. Why rush this?”

“’Cause I want to,” I say and I’m not budging. I want this.

“Whatever,” she says, shaking her head as she looks away, her face red with frustration. “I wish you would just stop being so headstrong and wait.”

“I don’t want to wait.”

“Yeah! I get that,” she says, letting out another long breath.

“Are we fighting?” I ask, even though I’m pretty sure I know the answer.

“No, I just think it’s crazy.”

“You’re starting to hurt my feelings. I love the way your lips look. They’re a work of art, Claire. Aren’t they, Mackie?”

Mackie nods and Claire glares at him as he says, “Hottest lips ever.”

“You are no help,” she accuses again before holding her hands out in front of her. “While I think that’s totally romantic and hot, Jude, I don’t want you to regret this.”

Taking her hands in mine, I pull her to me. “I can’t regret something as beautiful as a tattoo of your lips. Even if for some insane reason we don’t work out, I’ll always have that piece of you. I want that. I want that constant reminder of the greatest love ever. Not that I’ll ever forget us, but just something to remind me of you every time I look in the mirror.”