My Secret Deal 22

Lily’s POV

We didn’t set alarms. We didn’t wear uniforms. We didn’t pretend to be anything other than what we were that day: two kids skipping school, clutching freedom with both hands.

Jake pulled up to the park in his beat-up car, windows already down, music thudding through the speakers. He handed me a coffee and a warm bagel through the open window like it was a peace offering, grinning like he had no regrets at all.

“I told you,” he said, sliding his sunglasses onto his nose with an easy flick. “Ride or die.”

“You’re going to get me expelled,” I muttered, even as I slid into the seat beside him.

He smirked, putting the car into gear. “Worth it.”

The amusement park wasn’t crowded, which somehow made the whole thing feel even more illicit. Like the universe had decided to reward our recklessness by handing over a playground that belonged only to us. We raced toward the roller coasters first, barely stopping for breath before running straight to the bumper cars. Jake dared me to eat a fried Snickers bar and then immediately dragged me onto the spinning saucers.

I said yes before thinking it through.

I regretted it about three seconds in, clutching my stomach and laughing until I nearly fell over.

We screamed through loops, raced to the top of the ferris wheel, stole each other’s fries at lunch, and made up fake names to scrawl on the souvenir walls. All day, laughter bubbled out of me — real, full, belly-shaking laughter that left my cheeks sore. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt that free, like I wasn’t carrying the weight of expectation on my back.

While we shared a giant blue slushie on a chipped bench near the arcade, I looked at him sideways, straw between my teeth.

“What’s your favorite movie?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

He thought for a moment, tilting his head back to stare at the sky. “Anything Tarantino. Or Studio Ghibli.”

I blinked at him, thrown by the combination. “That’s… a pretty wide range.”

He gave a little shrug, bumping his elbow against mine. “I contain multitudes.”

I snorted into the slushie, almost choking. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leaned in closer, his breath warm on my cheek. “What about you, Waters?”

“Pride and Prejudice,” I said without hesitation.

His smile widened. “Of course. Enemies to lovers. Makes sense.”

I rolled my eyes. “You’re the one who tried to make me skinny dip on day two, remember?”

Jake just grinned lazily. “And now you’re skipping school for me. So tell me… who’s the real bad influence here?”

I didn’t answer. I just rested my head lightly against his shoulder, letting the sun soak into my skin, letting the simple peace of the moment wrap around me.

“I feel like someone else when I’m with you,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t respond immediately. He just threaded his fingers through mine, his thumb brushing slow circles on my skin.

Later, as we wandered past a row of shops near the arcade, something bright caught my eye. A tattoo studio. Neon light buzzing faintly in the afternoon air.

I stopped short.

Jake noticed immediately. “What is it?”

I pointed at the window. “I want a tattoo.”

His brows shot up. “Right now?”

I nodded. “One of my bucket list items.”

He turned to the glass, considering. “What kind?”

“A clover,” I said, almost shyly. “Small. Simple. Right here.” I pointed to my right hip.

He watched me carefully. “Why a clover?”

I swallowed hard, the lump rising in my throat surprising me. “My grandma always wanted to name me Clover. My parents said it wasn’t… elegant enough. She was the only person who told me happiness wasn’t something you earned, it was something you chose.” I blinked rapidly. “When she died, I forgot how to choose it.”

Jake’s expression softened in a way that made my chest ache.

Without a word, he turned, pushed open the door to the shop, and held it open for me.

The artist didn’t even blink at our spontaneity. He just smiled, pulled out some simple sketches, and let me pick one: a single-line clover, delicate and understated. Jake sat beside me the whole time, holding my hand while I lay on my side, hoodie bunched up and my stomach fluttering with nerves.

“You okay?” he asked as the needle buzzed to life.

I nodded, squeezing his hand tightly. “I’m good.”

“You’re braver than me,” he said, his voice low enough to make me shiver despite the warmth of the room. “Most people cry.”

“Stop flirting,” I muttered, even as I squeezed his fingers tighter.

He chuckled softly. “Not flirting. Stating facts.”

When the artist finished and wrapped the tiny clover on my hip, Jake stayed quiet, just watching me with something raw and unguarded in his eyes.

I nudged his shoulder. “You’re next.”

Jake smirked, running his fingers through his hair. “I already have ink, remember?”

I nodded, remembering exactly — the sharp script across his ribs, the compass on his shoulder, the faint snake coiled down his right bicep that I’d traced with my fingers more than once.

“But not one like this,” I said softly. “Not one for… hope.”

His jaw tensed for a moment. Then he turned, eyes scanning the wall of flash designs. He pointed to a simple heartbeat line — a sharp spike framed by two thin stretches of ink.

“This one,” he said. “On the inside of my left forearm.”

I stared at him. “Why there?”

He glanced down at his arm, flexing his hand. “Close to my veins. Close to where I give blood. Close to where it matters most.”

“Why?” I whispered.

Jake’s voice dropped.

“Because I want it to mean something. Because I want to remember that I’m still here. And maybe… remind someone else they should be too.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

“I want to be someone’s reason to stay,” he added. “Even if I never say it out loud.” He looked at me. “And maybe I already am.”

I didn’t speak. I just took his hand again, holding it steady while the artist worked, while the black ink carved a new promise into his skin.

When it was over, he didn’t smile. He just stared at it for a long moment like it carried every secret he didn’t know how to say out loud.

I kissed his shoulder, right above the brand-new tattoo.

“You’re mine,” I whispered into his skin.

He didn’t say it back.

But the way he pulled me into his arms, kissed me like the earth was tilting off its axis without me — it told me everything.