10

Blair

Age 16

Just a little harder.

Just a little faster.

I glide through the ballet studio. People don’t realize that ballet is one of the most physically demanding things you can do. Ballet training is torture, but it’s the kind of torture I discovered long ago that I enjoy. There’s a brink I need to reach, where pain blooms into pleasure, consuming my mind until it blurs into numbness.

Faster. Harder.

I pirouette. There it is.

Ballet is like flying. Each leap, each second off the ground, I’m free of all these earthly constraints—gravity, my family’s judgment, the future they’ve planned for me. But it never lasts longer than a second or two. Maybe if I make it into one of the best ballet schools, my mom will change her mind, and I won’t be pushed into becoming another Stepford Wife.

“A little early on the jump, Blair,” my ballet coach sys. He’s strict, but I don’t mind. I pretend to hate it, joke about the long hours to my friends. Secretly, though, I love losing myself in the dance.

It was the best thing in the world. Until, of course, I discovered Asher Stone.

“Yes, sir.” I adjust my stance, and he walks over, realigning it with a firm hand.

“Better. Again.”

When the session ends, I change quickly and slip out of the studio, glancing around to make sure the coast is clear. I cross the parking lot to the figure waiting in the shadows. The tall boy dressed in black with the motorbike helmet. My heart jumps in my chest, just like it does every time I see that silhouette and remember he’s waiting for me.

“Hi, sugar,” Asher says, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I can’t stop myself from smiling. “Hi yourself.”

“How was ballet?”

“It was good.” I leave out the details about it feeling like beautiful torture. “But I kept thinking about tonight.”

“I’m distracting you, huh?”

“That stupid promise I made to you last week is distracting me.”

He grins and hands me his spare helmet. After nearly a year of sneaking out with Asher, I know what to do. I put it on, climb onto the back of the bike, and wrap my legs around it. The engine hums through me as he revs it up.

“Hold on tight,” he orders.

My arms slip around his waist, my stomach flipping. There’ve been a few moments I thought Asher might kiss me, but… it never happened. I feel silly for hoping. Asher is my partner in adventure, my friend in risk-taking and thrill-seeking. But he’s not my boyfriend and never will be. Tough, gorgeous, dark-eyed, murky-souled boys don’t go for girls like me. Boys as sharp as a knife edge don’t want a boring good girl from Bel Air.

Asher parks in the alley next to his house, securing the bike with a heavy chain. He leads me inside, and I greet his grandma on the way. She smiles at me with warmth my own mother has never shown. I can see the resemblance of Asher in her sparkling eyes.

Seeing how he cares for her touches me. This wild boy, with secrets and demons, is so gentle with the sick old woman he loves.

In his room, he starts setting up his tattoo gun, but he stops and looks up at me. “You’re still sure?”

That’s right. Goody two shoes Blair is getting a tattoo. I never considered it until I met him. The ink on Asher’s body is beautiful—it tells his story. I’m a dancer, not an artist, but I can see that this is art.

Although anything would look beautiful on him.

“I’m sure,” I say.

“It’s my first tattoo on someone else,” he reminds me. “That would make some people nervous.”

It doesn’t make me nervous; it makes me feel like I’m flying. No matter what happens, he’ll always remember me as the first time he ever marked someone’s skin with the beautiful lines he draws.

“You’re an artist, Asher. Besides, I trust you.” I pause. “Just… my parents can never find out.”

He laughs. “I’m not gonna tell ‘em. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“I’m serious. No one can find out.”

I hesitate, noticing a flicker of darkness cross his face. Did I say something wrong? It’s not that I don’t want people to know we’re friends. It’s just… I’m still too scared to have anyone else see this side of me. I’m not even sure I understand this side of me yet.

He smiles again, letting it go. “Guess it’ll just be our secret.”

I nod. “Just the bow, like I asked, right?”

This was the design I requested: the bow reminds me of when I was a little girl, the first time I put one in my hair and felt pretty. It’s a reminder to view the world through hopeful eyes. I can’t imagine anything better to carry on my skin.

Asher nods. “On your ribs, where your parents won’t see it.”

His face focuses as he assesses me, an artist sizing up his canvas.

He tugs the hem of my shirt up, exposing my ribs just below my bra line. The air feels cool against my skin. I bite my lip; the number of times I’ve imagined Asher doing this for very different reasons…

But if he liked me that way, he’d do something about it. He must know how I feel. Even if he can’t be my boyfriend, I still want him in my life forever. This strange, beautiful boy who makes me feel like I can fly.

He gently cleans a patch of skin, making me giggle at the ticklish sensation.

“Hold still,” he orders, eyes serious.

“Sorry,” I pout, earning a smirk.

He turns on the tattoo gun, and the hum makes my stomach flip. When it touches my skin, it feels like a sharp sting, halfway between a burn and a numb ache. The sensation is strange, but it reminds me of dance—the way pain transforms into a warm, numbing kiss.

“You okay?” he asks, glancing up.

“Never better.”

He laughs. “You don’t have to lie. Tattoos hurt, especially where you picked.”

I bite my lip. “I… kind of like the pain.”

I know I should regret confessing that seriously screwed-up fact about myself, but Asher’s pupils dilate. He drags his gaze from mine, like he’s forcing himself to concentrate.

“Kinky,” he mutters.

I laugh it off, but it’s not a joke. The thrill of it buzzes through me, like the champagne Mackenzie once stole for a slumber party. Only this time, I won’t feel sick tomorrow.

Asher’s mark, on me, forever. Maybe I can’t have him, but I can have this.

A few minutes later, he’s done. I meet his eyes; his face suddenly looks more like his age, boyish and nervous for once.

“How does it look?” he asks.

I look down and gasp. The tattoo is stunning—the lines of the bow delicate, perfectly black. It’s even more beautiful than the sketch, like it’s come alive on my skin.

“I love it,” I whisper. “Like, it’s my favorite thing about my body already.”

A smile flashes across his face before he shrugs it off. “Cool. You gotta take care of it for the next few weeks while it heals. It can be a bitch, but it’s not too big, so it shouldn’t be too bad. Here.” He thrusts a folded sheet of paper into my hands. “I wrote down what you need to do.”

“This is the most organized I’ve ever seen you,” I laugh. “I think you’ve found your calling. I really mean that.”

He shrugs. “It’s easier to give a shit about things that actually matter.”

“Funny how that works.”

“Thanks,” he says after a pause. “It takes a lot of trust to let someone give you their first tattoo. It could’ve looked like shit, you know?”

I shake my head, serious. “It’s beautiful. And you’re not just someone… you’re Asher .”

He exhales sharply, like he can’t hold himself back anymore. His hands cradle my face, and he presses his lips to mine.

I don’t have time to be surprised. Heat floods through me, and I melt into the kiss. The ache of my ribs fades; all I can feel is my lips against Asher’s and the hot, needy way I’m kissing him. Nearly a year of wanting, all released at once.

Somehow, we end up lying down, bodies tangled on the bed. I wrap my arms around him like I do when I ride on his bike, feeling the firm tension of his abs. I’m on fire. His hands are traveling my body like he’s been waiting for this his entire life.

He only draws back after I wince, his fingers brushing the sore skin of my new tattoo.

“Shit. Forgot about that,” he mutters.

“It’s okay.” I look up at him, captivated by the green glint in his dark eyes. “I didn’t think you’d like a girl like me.”

He blinks like I’m nuts, running a hand through his thick, dark hair. “Of course I like you. I really fucking like you, Blair Bennett. Have done since that evening in the park.”

A pang of regret hits me. All that wasted time. I could’ve been kissing Asher Stone this whole time!

“I just thought you wouldn’t like a guy like me. You’re miss fucking popular. The only future ahead of me is dropping out of high school.”

I bite my lip, realizing how childish popularity feels in this moment. “I guess I’m well liked at school. But I’m not cool like you. I don’t wear black or listen to…screamy music.”

He laughs softly. “ Screamo music, Blair.”

“Exactly! I don’t even know what it’s called.”

“I don’t give a fuck about any of that, sugar.” His voice is low and intense. He grips a big hand around my jaw.

“Now I’ve got you, Blair,” he whispers in my ear, “I’m never letting you go.”

I smile. Joy is flooding me. “Is that a promise?”

His answer comes in the form of a kiss.