One Night of Trouble

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.