To my surprise, he does answer. "It says ‘forgive me' in Arabic. I got it after my tour in Iraq."
"You were in the war?" I ask incredulously. So, the charity is near and dear to their hearts because of Ian!
"I don't like talking about it, Kelli," he says solemnly. His use of my name is startling and I look at him with wide eyes. "It was a difficult time in my life. A time that changed me forever, and not for the better. I can't forget it, that'd be impossible. But I try and put my focus elsewhere."
"I'm not trying to sound like a bitch, I promise," I hedge. "But why get a tattoo on a highly visible spot, one you look at constantly for work, if it's something you are trying not to think about?"
He gives me a sad smile, "Fair point," he says. "As I said, I can't forget what happened, but one thing I need to remember, one thing I need to keep praying for, is forgiveness. I … I did things ..." he falls silent, unable to finish.
I reach across the cab and touch his shoulder. It is warm and strong and if I weren't buckled into my seat, I might have slid across and laid my head upon it.
"I get it," I say, and effectively end the conversation. Of course I'm dying to know what happened. I have a thousand questions: How long did he serve? What branch, unit? What was his role and how was he discharged? What did he do that has him looking so haunted and permanently asking for forgiveness? I want to know the answers to all of these and more, but today is not the day.
We drive in silence a bit longer before I decide to lighten the mood.
"Soooo," I start slowly, trying to excite his anticipation. "When I was 19 years old, I came home from school for the summer. My eldest sister was in rehab and one day they had a family picnic at a lake. My other sister and I went to be supportive and I started flirting madly with this guy named Mark," I pause. "Ha, I can't believe I remember his name!"
Ian looks over and smiles, clearly bemused by the start of my story, and perhaps a little grateful that I've changed the subject.
"Ugh, looking back Mark was a hot mess! He was only mildly attractive, but he had long hair, which at the time, was totally my thing!"
"Right, Def Leppard," Ian says with a smile.
"Anyway," I continue quickly, not wanting to rehash that story. "I was wearing a bikini top and capris and we were hanging out, whatever. The picnic started to break up and it was time to leave. I got up and went to fold the blanket I was sitting on, good Samaritan that I am."
"You're a regular Mother Teresa," Ian mutters with a smirk.
"Shut up! Do you want to hear my story or not?"
"By all means," Ian says, "please continue."
I give him a sidelong glare before continuing. "As I was saying, I was bending over to get the blanket so I could fold it and the clasp on my bikini top broke and my boobs come flying out!"
Ian lets out a full throated laugh, hitting the steering wheel with his hand before swinging his beautiful head over to look at me. He was grinning ear-to-ear, a little gleam in his eye, and I could tell he was imagining what that would look like.
Blushing a little, I forge ahead with my story. "Well, needless to say, I was mortified. It was right in front of Mark! I really don't know if he saw, I couldn't look him in the face. But this other man definitely saw. In a loud, snide, rather high pitched voice he crowed, ‘That's what you get for trying to hold up boulders with a little string.' Oh, it was horrific."
I shake my head, remembering how embarrassing it was.
"I'm sure Mark absolutely loved it," Ian says laughing. "Hell, I'm absolutely loving just thinking about it." He gives me a grin that speaks of dirty thoughts and I hit his arm. "Fuck you," I say without any heat.
We lapse into silence once again, but this time it is comfortable and almost pleasant. It's amazing what an icebreaker a little self-inflicted humiliation can be.
I settle back in my seat and ground myself in the moment. To my left I have the Pacific Ocean and Ian, two of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. It is a gorgeous day, the Santa Ana winds are blowing strong and warm. The sun is starting its descent and I can tell it is going to be a wonderful sunset. There are so many perks to living in Los Angeles, but the sunsets are one of my favorites. I don't think I could ever get tired of watching them. The sunsets, and Ian. I don't think I could ever get tired of watching him either.
After about an hour, Ian finally pulls off to the side of the road and throws the truck into park.
"We're here," he says.
"Um, yeah, okay. Where is here, exactly?" I ask looking around and not seeing a whole hell of a lot.
"You'll see," he says and jumps out of the truck, slamming the door behind him.
Startled, I swing into motion. I unbuckle and grab my purse from the floor and turn to open the door. Once more, Ian has beat me to it and he holds out his hand to help me down. At 5'8" I don't particularly need assistance out of the truck, but I'm certainly not going to pass up the opportunity to touch him. Placing my hand in his, I slide off the seat and onto the sandy shoulder of the road.
Grasping my hand firmly, he leads me across the street, to the ocean side of the road. This extended contact with his skin has my nipples hard and I roll my eyes at myself. Surely, surely at some point this will stop happening! I'm beginning to get really annoyed with my body.
We head down a sandy path to what I assume is the beach and after a few feet I can hear that there's a party in full swing by the shore. We crest a dune and it comes into view. There are two large bonfires about twenty feet apart and between them a stage has been erected. At present there are about ten bikini clad women dancing on the stage, undulating with abandon, and a gaggle of men gathered appreciatively below them. In all there are probably about 100 people on the beach; some young, some old, some attractive, some regular looking. I wonder instantly how Ian knows these people. He is always at the pub, and none of these people look familiar, so who could they be?
"Ian man, you made it!" I follow the sound of the voice and striding towards us is an honest to goodness overgrown leprechaun! Normally small, and mythical, leprechauns wear little green suits and talk about Lucky Charms and pots of gold. And while this man is easily 6'5", he is dressed in a green t-shirt and olive cargo shorts and looks exactly like I'd expect a leprechaun to look. He has bright orange hair, a long, well trimmed beard with no mustache, and dancing green eyes. They are nowhere near as brilliant as Ian's, but they are attractive all the same. To top it off, he has a pipe and top hat. Who wears a top hat? Clearly, leprechaun is the look he's going for.
"Wouldn't miss it, man!" Ian says as they shake hands and then half embrace, patting each other on the back. "This is Kelli," Ian says, gesturing to me.
"Well, hello Beautiful," he says, taking my arm and leading me towards a large group of people. "Let me get you a drink." The group parts to let this behemoth through and in the center is a keg. He grabs two cups and starts to pour, handing the first one to me and the second to Ian who has followed closely behind.
"Ta!" Ian says before taking a sip. "When are you guys going on?"
"‘Bout an hour," he says. I still don't know his name. "I think most of the food is gone, but there's plenty of beer, so enjoy yourselves! I'll catch up with you later." Then he strides off.
"Who was that?" I ask Ian.
"Oh, sorry, I didn't introduce him, did I? That's Bernie; he fronts the Fighting Irish. I'm thinking of hiring them into the pub on Wednesday nights. They've got a pretty decent following and I thought maybe they could draw in a few customers mid-week. He mentioned they were doing this gig and I thought it'd be good to check out their fans. I have a feeling they get pretty rowdy and I'm not sure I want to chance damage to the pub to sell a few extra pints."
I smile up at him. He's so logical and thorough. Always thinking, that Ian. And he's so fucking hot. The sun is setting and the warm light seems to make him glow. Dressed in his standard black t-shirt and jeans, he is easily the most handsome guy on the beach. I wish I had known we were going to the beach, maybe then I could have thrown on a suit and persuaded him to do the same. Of course, that would have required him seeing me in a swimsuit and I'd never actually let that happen. But this is fantasy, and in my fantasy I'd do about anything to get Ian shirtless.