After lunch, the doorbell rang.
I was ready, just waiting for her. I had told my father I was going out with Amanda. Since I hadn't seen him the night before, he probably arrived late and left early, as usual.
I took a deep breath before opening the door.
When I left the flat, I found her in the hallway.
A light blouse, a simple skirt... and yet she looked like she had dressed for an important event.
She was beautiful.
My gaze lingered longer than it should have. I know it did.
And she noticed.
The corner of her mouth slowly curved upwards.
"Are you going to keep analysing me or are you going to say 'hello'?" she teased.
I blinked, returning to reality.
"Hello."
She crossed her arms, amused.
"Is that all?"
"You're..." I paused, trying to sound less shocked than I really was. "Well dressed."
"Well dressed?" she repeated, feigning indignation. "I make an effort and all I get is 'well dressed'?"
I laughed.
— Okay. You look beautiful.
She tilted her head, satisfied.
— Now we're talking.
We started walking down the corridor towards the lift.
"You don't look bad yourself, Edu," she commented, glancing at me. "Trying to impress the tattoo artist?"
"No. Just making sure you don't give up on the piercing halfway through."
She laughed.
"Oh, I'm not going to give up. But it's good to know I have moral support."
The lift doors opened.
We entered still smiling, in that light-hearted mood of teasing and complicity that seemed to be becoming more and more natural between us.
"Nervous?" I asked.
She thought for a second.
"A little. But it's that kind of good nervousness."
She looked at me sideways.
"I'm glad you came." We arrived at the shopping centre and, as soon as we entered, Amanda slowed down.
"Before the piercing... I need to stop by a shop."
"Whoa. Changed your mind already?" I teased.
"No. It'll be quick. Marcos asked me to get a watch. A luxury edition."
She said "luxury edition" with a slightly sarcastic tone.
"Does he like watches that much?"
She let out a sigh.
— He doesn't even like it. He'll probably give it to someone else. He always does that.
I noticed the disappointment in her voice. It wasn't anger. It was frustration.
I didn't say much. I just went along with it.
We went into the shop, picked up the watch — too expensive for something that, according to her, didn't even suit him — and left.
"There. Now it's my turn," she said, trying to cheer up.
We walked to the studio I had found. When we stopped in front of it, she squeezed my hand for a second.
"Last chance to run away," I joked.
"No way."
We went in.
I looked around, trying to appear calm. When the receptionist called her name and I saw that the piercer was a woman, I let out a discreet sigh of relief.
Amanda noticed.
"Relax, Edu," she whispered, laughing. "Are you nervous for me or for yourself?"
"For both."
The professional calmly explained the procedure and showed us the sealed materials, everything well organised.
Amanda looked at me through the mirror.
"Stay here with me."
"Always."
She took a deep breath and held my hand more tightly.
"If I scream, pretend it's normal."
"I'll pretend you're singing."
She laughed, which seemed to ease the tension.
A few minutes later, it was done.
She slowly brought her hand to the spot, looking at the reflection.
"Well?" she asked.
I tilted my head, analysing it.
"It's perfect."
She smiled that satisfied, almost proud smile.
"See? I told you I was excited today."
She was still looking at her reflection in the mirror when she turned to me with a different gleam in her eyes.
"Now... a tattoo."
"Tattoo?" I repeated, just to confirm that I had heard correctly.
She nodded her head, determined.
"Yes. A small one."
"Amanda..."
She raised her hand, interrupting me.
"Calm down. Nothing huge. Nothing dramatic."
The tattoo artist approached us again.
"Do you know what you want yet?"
Amanda took a deep breath.
"A pepper. A very small one."
I blinked a few times.
"A pepper?"
She smiled slyly.
"It suits me."
And it really did suit her.
After choosing the size and location — discreet, delicate, on her groin — she sat down on the chair again. This time she seemed less nervous.
"If it hurts, I'll laugh," she warned.
"You laugh at everything," I replied.
The machine started making that characteristic sound. I watched in silence, horny with lust.
She kept her posture steady, only clenching her fingers once in a while.
A few minutes later, she was done.
Amanda tilted her head, analysing the small pepper drawn with a fine, precise line.
"Perfect," she said.
She looked at me.
"What do you think?"
I moved a little closer.
"It suits you."
"Why?"
"Hot..."
She laughed loudly.
"I like that definition."
We paid and left the studio. In the shopping centre corridor, she seemed different.
Lighter.
More in control of herself.
"So..." she said, walking beside me, "you still think I don't know how to do irresistible things."
"I think you know exactly what you're doing."
She blinked.
"Great."
And we kept walking, as if that little drawing had marked more than just her skin.