“Don’t be such a baby. The website said the procedure is virtually painless. They use some sort of skin chiller.” She shrugged as she led the way up the stone pathway toward the front door.
Following her inside, he shook his head. “I’m just saying. They can claim whatever they want on their website. This shit’s going to hurt.”
Several other people waiting for their appointments glanced up at him with worried expressions and Parker hit his arm. “Shhh, you’re bad for business,” she said, as they approached the reception desk to check in. “Hi. Parker Hamilton and Tyson Reed—we have appointments with Dr. McNally at eleven.”
The young receptionist’s eyes lit up as she stood. “Oh my God. I saw the name on the appointment schedule, but I thought no way could it be you.”
Parker smiled. “Yes, I . . .”
But the girl was looking straight at Tyson. Parker stopped speaking and shot him a look.
He laughed as he shrugged. “What? Vegas is my city . . . go back to Hollywood,” he said with a teasing grin.
“Would you sign something for me?” the receptionist, whose name tag read Amber, asked. “Here. We also need these filled out,” she said distractedly, handing Parker a clipboard with a new patient registration form attached while she continued to stare at Tyson, waiting for an answer.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Tyson said.
Coming around the desk, she handed him a marker, then lowered the edge of her white uniform blouse, revealing the tanned, shapely swell of her breast.
Parker’s eyes shot daggers.
He hesitated. It wasn’t the first breast he’d ever signed, but they were in the middle of the clinic reception area. And Parker looked ready to punch the girl. “Are you sure you don’t want me to sign something a little more . . . permanent?”
Amber shook her head. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll take a selfie before I take a shower.”
“Of course she will,” he heard Parker mumble as she carried the clipboard to an open seat in the waiting room.
He signed his name, then hurried to sit next to her. “You know, this place doesn’t seem so bad after all.”
“Shut up and fill this out,” she said, handing him the clipboard.
He took it. “Are you jealous?”
“Why? Because you’re a fan favorite? Not at all.”
He set the clipboard aside, and turned to face her. “I meant because I saw her breast in record time.”
She scoffed. “I’m an actress. Are you going to be jealous when I’m kissing other men on set?” Her gaze was locked on his in challenge.
His smile faded. Shit. He hadn’t even thought of that until now.
“Good to know,” she said, her own smile returning.
* * *
“All right. Let’s see what we’re dealing with here,” Dr. McNally, a man in his late forties, early fifties said, putting on his glasses as they entered the treatment room.
“On three?” Tyson asked her.
“Just pull your pants down and show him your ass.” He probably wouldn’t have had a problem doing it for Amber, she thought wryly, lowering the side of her jean capris to expose her own tattoo regret.
The doctor studied hers first. “Yeah, we actually see a lot of these Japanese symbols. They were quite popular at one time.” Then he turned to Tyson. He squinted. “Obviously a homemade job . . . but what is it? A bird wearing a bike helmet?”
“Exactly,” Parker said with a smirk. She shook her head, seeing the tattoo for the second time. She’d have to have been pretty drunk to let that happen to herself.
“Hey, at least I know for sure what mine is supposed to represent. Yours could be the symbol for beef and broccoli and you’d never know,” Tyson said, pulling his pants and underwear back up.
Her grin faded. She hadn’t thought of that before. Now she really wanted it gone.
“Okay, Parker, you’re first,” Dr. McNally said, reaching for several pairs of protective glasses from the shelf behind him.
Darn. She’d been hoping Tyson would go first. She wanted to see the process before she did it; that way she could back out if it did look painful. “Tyson can go first. His is smaller.”
“His is also older and faded already quite a bit. I have to use a more powerful laser on yours, so climb on up,” he said, patting the table.
“What’s the matter? It’s virtually painless, remember?” Tyson winked.
“Fine.” Removing her jeans, she lay on her side on the table, covering herself with the sheet but giving him access to the tattoo on her hip.
“Okay, great. Put these on, please.” He handed her a pair of dark sunglasses.
“What are these for?”
“Well, we are working with lasers so we want to be as safe as possible.” He handed another pair to Tyson.
She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. Maybe there was more to this than she’d thought. She forced a breath as she put the glasses on.
“Now, I’m going to turn on the skin chiller. It will help manage the pain.”
She sat up. “The website said this was painless.”
The doctor gently touched her shoulder, easing her back down onto her side. “It’s about as pain-free as you’re going to find . . . but it’s still a laser,” he said.
Tyson laughed. “Told you.”
She raised her glasses to glare at him. “Being right isn’t going to make yours hurt any less.”
He stopped laughing.
“Ready?” Dr. McNally asked, rolling his stool closer, laser in one hand, skin chiller in the other.
She nodded and a second later a blast of freezing air was directed on her hip. Then . . . Oh my fucking God. She closed her eyes tight and gripped the edge of the table, as her skin felt like it was being shocked over and over again. “This . . . is . . . not . . . pain-free.” She gasped.
“Just a few more minutes. Hang in there. Do you need a break?” the doctor asked.
What she needed was a fucking time machine to go back and tell her stupid self not to suggest this in the first place. “No . . . hurry,” she said as the laser’s heat combined with the freezing was almost too much to take. She knew if she stopped, she’d never let him start again.
“And we’re done,” he said, far too long later. “Take a look.” He turned off the machine and handed her a mirror to see the results.
She sat slowly, removing the glasses and stared at the white frosting on the surface of her skin in the shape of the tattoo. It was still visible beneath, but already parts were faded, and despite the pain seconds before, she was glad she’d gone through with it. “How many more sessions will I need?”
“Two . . . maybe three.”
Two, maybe three more episodes of that excruciating pain. She sighed. She could do it. It would be worth it in the end when she didn’t have to be embarrassed by her rebellious mistake or cover it up all the time. Still she was glad she had to wait six weeks between sessions, long enough to start forgetting how awful it actually was.
Behind her, Tyson was frowning as he sniffed the air. “What is that burning smell?”
“Burning flesh,” the doctor said. “You’re up.”
Unlocking the door to her home an hour later, she was barely inside before Tyson’s arms were around her waist, his lips at the base of her neck. She leaned back against him, enjoying the moment. The pain of the tattoo removal had been worth it if it meant spending the day with him. She’d been surprised when he’d suggested they go back to her place instead of heading to the gym, but his hands sliding up her body left no question what his intentions were.
Reaching behind her back, she felt for his hard-on and smiled. “I thought we weren’t going to do this again.”
His lips moved up her neck and he kissed her ear. “You knew we were going to do this again . . . it was just a matter of when,” he said, before scooping her into his arms and carrying her up the flight of stairs toward her bedroom.