His Dirty Virgin(2)

“Y-yes, please,” I managed to croak out.

He moved to glance down at the tire, then at me. “I’m Jake Huntington.” He easily introduced himself, sticking his big hand out for me to shake. “Just so you can report my name to the police when I get in your car and drive off.” My eyes instantly went wide, and he took notice. A wicked grin spread across his face. “Just kidding. I can’t drive away with a flat tire.” His eyes raked up and down my figure, from my mop of brown hair and all the way down to my wedge sandals.

“Seriously, it was a joke. Ever heard of one?”

I realized I was still staring, not responding. I shook my head. “I’m sorry, but this flat hasn’t put me in a joking mood. This day’s just getting worse, and it’s barely after lunch.”

“You and me both,” he grumbled.

“I’m Becca, by the way. Becca Madison.” I noticed the look on his face—recognition. It was the same expression I had just moments ago when he introduced himself.

Jake Huntington…the name definitely rang a bell. He looked like the same Jake I’d met back at my mother’s funeral dinner years ago. The same eye and hair color. Only now, the teenager I once knew had grown into a man. Crazy for me to remember after so long, but he was…unforgettable. The Jake beside me now was all man. He was much taller, more muscular, and stood proud like he had his shit together. Maybe he did, even if he left home and turned his back on his family. Yeah, I’d heard the story because Jake’s dad was my father’s corporate attorney.

It had been big news in our small town—when Jake ran away. Well, he hadn’t run away like a five-year-old. He’d been studying pre-law when he decided he didn’t want to become a lawyer and his father had flipped. I didn’t know the details of what happened after that, but I hadn’t heard a peep about Jake since. All I knew was that he wasn’t considered part of the family anymore.

“Whatever happened to law school?”

A slow smile spread across his face. “I’m infamous enough that a pretty girl on the side of the road knows who I am.”

I shrugged. “You know who I am by my name, just as I know you.”

He slowly shook his head. “You don’t know me. Just what you’ve heard.”

I looked him over from his boots to his very well-worn jeans to his black t-shirt which left nothing to the imagination. “You’re right. So what happened to law school?”

A smirk made its way onto his face at my repeated question. Damn, he was hot. “Nothing. I decided not to go and instead started my own business after I got my degree.”

“Oh? What business?” I guessed his life was turning out much better than mine ever would. I didn’t think I could do what he did, turn my back on my family and make it on my own. Telling my father off at lunch was one thing, but go solo? I had no idea how I’d make it. Maybe my father was right. He’d given me everything, and I didn’t know how to stand on my own two feet.

He stuck his elbow out. “Does my arm say enough?” I couldn’t miss the corded forearms, the bulging biceps. A gym? “Tattoo parlor.”

I nodded my head. “Was it your mother that steered you in that direction?”

He looked shocked at my question until a smile surfaced once again on his face. “You remember my mother?”

“Of course.” I smiled back. “I might be younger than you, but our families are pretty close. Your mom, she’s…definitely a character.”

His mother was the antithesis of what our fathers were like. They were masters of the universe. At least of this town. They were powerful and rich. They were the type of people that no one could say no to, even if their demands seemed unrealistic. People under them just had to make things happen.

“Definitely.” At that, we both shared a laugh. “But yeah, she nurtured my interest in the arts, taught me how to enjoy life and not take it so seriously. Because of that, I started drawing when I needed to de-stress. She’d bring me along when she went out with some friends sometimes. I knew I’d get bored sooner or later, so I’d always bring my sketchpad, and when they saw my art, all of them were asking me if I could tattoo my artwork.”

“Oh, wow…so your business started organically.”

We stood on the side of the road chatting until he suddenly remembered the tire. He grabbed the tire iron and knelt by the flat, got to work.

He seemed like a nice guy and he’d gotten out from under his father’s wrath. I envied him that.

“Yeah, they’d see my art, but there was always a deeper meaning whenever they chose their designs, and that—the stories and meanings behind the tattoos—turned my hobby into a passion. People sharing their experiences through art is such a great way to connect. It’s as if once they see you have a tattoo, their walls instantly come down. Even if they’re doing it as a dare or out of drunkenness, they’re still showing some kind of vulnerability—they’re giving me and everyone else the opportunity to judge, and that’s the thing—I never judge. I embrace.” I was too engrossed listening to him I hadn’t realized he was finished with replacing my tire. “There you go, princess.”