But she knew why. She barely let Coach Allan finish her end-of-practice speech before booking it to the car for her special errand—cupcakes. It was the only thing on her mind all day, and every stolen glimpse at Jeremy served as mini tests of her patience. By 6:15 she had none left.
She breathed deeply one last time and exited the car, walking slowly around the corner to the front of the garage where the doors stood wide open. Four bays. Two empty. One was occupied by an old Camaro and a shirtless boy—shirtless! Icing on her cupcake day!
The words “Oh my” slipped soundlessly from her lips as she gripped the pink cupcake box tighter. She gulped down the view, thanking all the gods in the history of every religion on earth for delaying the fall weather. Summer continued to sizzle, even at the end of September, and the heat mixed with a broken air conditioner was responsible for her delicious, decadent visual treat.
His back was to her, and she reveled in her voyeurism. She noted his broad shoulders, defined by what she could only imagine was a strict weight lifting regiment. Strong shoulders. Sculpted back that highlighted every muscle, tapering in a V-shape to his waist. Slender and athletic, like a basketball player. She never thought of herself as a visual person. She thought of herself as more of a words person. But in that moment, she would have been fine to stare at him indefinitely without a single word uttered between them.
And like all the heroines of any great love story, she was a sucker for tattoos. She would never brand herself with one, but she liked what she saw on him. She squinted to read the scripted words spanning his upper back, starting below his left shoulder blade and arching up and over to his right: Fiant sicut paleae ante faciem venti. Black ink. No images. Just words—dark and bold against his fair skin.
She quietly pulled her cell phone from her pocket and typed the words one-handed into her “Notes” app. Her thumb flew around the keypad with ease—a special skill only teenagers of the Disney Channel generation possessed.
On my to-do list for tonight, she thought, if Jeremy was unwilling to explain his tattoo. And he probably would be. After all, he wasn’t the sharing kind unless he was scribbling his feelings in a notebook.
“What are you doing?”
Her face flew up as the cell phone crashed to the ground. It bounced once and cracked open, battery spilling out beside her feet.
“Oh, shit!” Regan spat, bending over to retrieve all three pieces—front, battery, back cover.
“Were you taking a picture of me?” Jeremy asked.
“Are you crazy?” Regan replied.
He blushed and clenched his jaw.
She approached him and shoved the pink box in his hands, shooting a stealthy glance at his bare chest.
“Here. Take your cupcakes,” she barked, putting her phone back together. And then she muttered, “If I lost all my freaking pics . . .”
“You did take a picture of me!” Jeremy cried. “What the fuck?”
Regan held up her hand, demanding his silence. He complied. She turned on her phone and opened her picture gallery. Every shot accounted for. And then she relaxed, looking him in the eyes.
“I did not take a picture of you, you conceited ass,” she said. “I was typing something.”
“What were you typing?” he asked.
“None of your business.”
“Does it have anything to do with me?”
She shuffled her feet and muttered, “Well, maybe.”
“Then it’s my business.”
“You’ll think I’m weird,” she confessed.
“I already think you’re weird. The mere fact that you’re here talking to me right now is freaking weird. So let’s have it.”
She hesitated.
“I’ll just snatch your phone,” Jeremy threatened.
“Fine! I typed your tattoo in my phone so I could look it up later.”
Silence.
She wouldn’t look at him straight on. She let her peripheral vision do all the work as she watched him walk deliberately to the counter, toss the cupcakes, and retrieve a T-shirt. He pulled it over his blond head, down past his green eyes to his flushed neck. No, not flushed. It was screaming-in-pain red.
Her own neck along with her cheeks were screaming in pain, too, and she couldn’t stand it any longer. “I figured you wouldn’t tell me, okay?”
“About my tattoo?”
“I thought it’d be weird to ask.”
“And typing it in your phone wasn’t?”
She scowled. “I didn’t want you thinking I was staring at it or something.”
“Were you?”
“Oh my God. You seriously asked me that?”
Jeremy jerked his face, forcing the hair out of his eyes. “Yes. I mean, how should I know what you were doing back there? How long have you been here, anyway?”
“Two seconds,” Regan lied.
He raised his eyebrow.
“Get over yourself,” she said, and he snorted. “And I don’t like the way you just tossed my cupcakes on the counter like they don’t matter. You’re the one who told me to bring them.”
“I’m sorry,” he replied. “And thank you.”
“Furthermore, I’m not a weirdo for typing your tattoo. I’m a curious person, and seeing as how it’s a different language, I’d like to know what it means . . . and thought I’d discover it for myself.”
Jeremy smiled. “Okay. Creepy, but okay.”
“And one more thing,” Regan continued, ignoring him. “You have a lot of nerve making me feel unwelcome when you said I could drop by whenever I wanted.”
“I didn’t actually think you would,” Jeremy admitted.
“Well, that just goes to show that you know absolutely nothing about me,” Regan said.
“And you know everything about me,” Jeremy replied, “including my tat! God, that was the last thing, Regan. The last thing you didn’t know.” He threw up his hands. “Well, that’s everything. Congratulations. You’re the winner.”
Regan opened her mouth and then promptly closed it.
They stood shuffling their feet and avoiding each other’s eyes until Regan spoke up.