Her eyes widened. “What?”
“I’ll do it.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, why not?”
She clapped a hand over her mouth, giggling like I’d just suggested robbing a bank. “Okay.”
It was the easiest 'yes' of my life. She thought it was the tequila talking, but I’d been looking for a way to mark myself as hers since that first drink in Wimbledon.
I laughed, looking at the neon sign of the shop—Sink or Swim Tattoos. It looked just quirky enough that they wouldn't ask too many questions about the tequila on our breath.
I pushed open the door, dragging her by the hand behind me, the sound of her giggle mingling with the door chime. I caught the eye of the guy behind the counter; he recognized me instantly, his eyes widening. I approached the glass counter that he was standing behind “you available for some ink?” I asked.
“We aren't strictly supposed to ink anyone with a glow like that, man,” the guy muttered, glancing at Orla as she giggled at a flash sheet on the wall.
I pulled out my wallet, peeling off a couple of hundreds and sliding them across the glass. “It’s a single letter, man. Five minutes. I’m steady as a rock, I promise.”
He looked at the cash, then back at me, and shrugged. “Your funeral, man. Sit in the chair.”
Next thing I knew, I was in the chair, the buzz of the needle filling the room as I watched her from across the counter. She leaned on the glass, fascinated, eyes wide like she couldn’t quite believe I’d gone through with it. I couldn’t take my eyes off her,not even when the needle bit into my skin. Her smile, those shimmering dark eyes, took any and every pain away.
When the buzzing needle finally stopped, the tattooist wiped across my chest, but I barely felt it. All I could see was her, biting her lip, laughing in disbelief, like she couldn’t decide if I was the dumbest bastard alive or the most reckless romantic.
She had no idea. No idea what I’d do for her. No idea that I’d already built a hundred futures in my head with her in them, and every one without her left me gutted.
To me, that O above my heart wasn’t a dare, wasn’t a joke, it was the truest thing I’d ever put on my body. She was already under my skin. Permanently. The reality was this thing between us wasn’t casual or temporary. It was inevitable.
Maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was the way she was looking at me like she couldn’t believe I was hers. But the words slipped out before I could stop them. “You know, we could skip the rest of the bad decisions and go straight for the big one.”
Her brows pulled together as she slinked over to me, a smile still playing at her lips. “The big one?”
“Marry me,” I said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, because to me, it was. The certainty hit so hard it felt like it reverberated through my whole damn body.
She burst out laughing. “Tyler, don’t be daft.”
“Why the hell not? You’re it for me, O. Might as well make it official before we sober up and overthink it.”
She stared for a moment, as if she was waiting for the punchline. When it didn’t come, her laugh broke again, bright and disbelieving. “You’re insane.”
“Probably,” I said, pulling her closer, “but I’m also deadly serious. You know I want it all with you, so why delay the inevitable?”
I’d never been more certain of anything, not a win, not a trophy, not a damn thing.
She studied me, the gears turning behind her eyes, still trying to decide if I was bluffing. Then her lips parted, and she let out a shaky breath. “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”
For a second, I just stared deep into her eyes in disbelief, grinning so wide it hurt. “We’re doing it?”
She nodded fast and breathless, her cheeks flushed from tequila and complete insanity. “We’re doing it.”
I scooped her up right there in the doorway, nearly tripping over my own feet as I stumbled both of us out onto the Strip. “Let’s go make you Mrs. Reed.”
She laughed, burying her face against my neck like she couldn’t believe we were actually doing this. Vegas blurred around us, lights flashing, spurring us on, strangers cheering, music spilling from every doorway and all I could hear was her laugh against my ear, daring me to follow through.
It didn’t take us long to find a chapel which wasn’t half as tacky as I expected. It actually made the whole thing feel slightly less insane. It was modern looking, clean, with soft lighting and flickering candles thatalmostfelt intimate. Outside was chaos, but in here, it was quiet. Just us.
At the desk, a woman with a sleeve of tattoos and a nose ring looked us over with an expression that screamedanother drunk Vegas couple.I fumbled for my wallet while Orla handed me her licence. My hands shook filling out the paperwork, partly nerves, part disbelief, part sheer need to get her name written next to mine. When Orla leaned in to sign, she glanced up at me with that sly little flourish in her smile, like she couldn’t believe it either, but she was damn well committing.
