"I'm sleeping with my boss. You think I'm going to tell you not to go after someone working here?"
"Yeah." She brushes her dark hair behind her ear. "You can act all tough and no-nonsense, Chloe, but you don't fool me. Deep down, you're a softie."
"Am I?"
"Yeah. You probably have some sort of advice for me that belongs on a poster. Follow your heart. Chase after your dreams. Today is a gift. That's why they call it the present."
I can't help but laugh. Emma is usually perceptive, but she's dead wrong about this. "Are you going to fuck him?"
"No." Her cheeks flush. "He thinks I should join a convent.”
I shoot her a look.
She makes that ugh, my brother is so annoying sound. “Brendon asked Hunter to keep an eye on me. So… he’s basically an annoying babysitter."
“You never had a crush on an older baby sitter?”
“Never.”
“Then why do you keep staring at him?”
“I don’t.”
I nod you do. “He’s staring back.”
“You think?” She clears her throat. “I mean… it doesn’t matter. We’re friends. If that.”
“You’re not into him?”
“Yeah. Totally.” She swallows hard. “Not at all.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Say I was?”
“Say you were.”
“It wouldn’t matter. Brendon will kill him if anything happens. And… Uh… Ahem.” Her gaze shifts to something behind me. "Dean. Hey. Great work. Amazing. You're talented."
"What are you trying to hide?" Dean looks from Emma to me. His fingertips graze my hip for a second, then they're back at his side.
The stolen touches are divine. Wrong in the way that's so, so right.
"Nothing." Emma's dark eyes fill with nerves. She shoots me a girl code, please look.
I nod. Of course.
It's quite the thrill, being able to participate in the girl code again. For a long, long time, I've been on the sidelines. I've been avoiding connections.
Reaching out feels good.
Dean's fingers brush my wrist. "We've got two hours for lunch. I need the first one."
Emma raises a brow. "Keep it down."
His smile gets wicked. "If only." He takes a step toward the office. Motions follow me. "We're being good."
"You can be good?" Emma asks.
"Depends," he says.
She laughs. "On?"
"How much Chloe glares at me." His laugh bounces around the room. "You know that glare does things to me, sunshine."
I shoot him said glare.
He presses his hand to his heart. "Just kidding. It's more here." He presses both hands to his crotch.
Emma shakes her head you're ridiculous.
He really is.
In the best possible way.
I follow Dean into the office.
He leaves the door open. "You have your gun?"
I motion to the autoclave.
He nods and peels the gun from the device.
His fingers brush mine as he hands it over. "Today is the day."
"Huh?"
"You're ready to do skin."
My heart thuds against my chest.
My stomach flutters.
My breath catches in my throat.
I'm ready to do skin.
That doesn't feel possible.
But there isn't a single sign of teasing on Dean's beautiful face. He's dead serious.
I muster up all the confidence I have. "Okay." This isn't like before, where he dared me to tattoo his ankle. This time, I'm ready.
"It's up to you if you want to do me or yourself."
I nod.
"But you should know, I'm gonna watch either way." He winks. Back to teasing Dean.
But that feels right too. Teasing and serious Dean want the same thing. Both of them want a reaction.
They want love, attention, affection, respect. They're just going about it in different ways.
"Can I really do you?" I ask.
He raises a brow what do you think? "We should probably do the ink first."
My lips curl into a smile. "Should we?"
"Yeah. I'm a greedy fucker. I'm going to take the whole afternoon if you let me."
My shoulders soften. The teasing helps. This is a big, serious moment, but it feels wrong treating it with dry respect.
This is exactly how it should be.
"Do I have to do another star?" I ask.
"Or a spade or a heart. Your call."
My fingers curl around the metal. My call. Do I want my first piece of ink on me or him?
There's something so, so right about tattooing my teacher. And about tattooing Dean in particular.
But this is still my journey.
It should be me. "I want to do myself."
He pulls his cell from his pocket. "I can record it for later, right?"
"One picture."
"You into that?"
"Pictures?" Heat builds below my belly. I've never really considered the idea of recording myself, alone or with someone else, but the thought of doing it with Dean…
Fuck, it's hot in here.
My nod is heavy. Needy. Not at all professional. "Stop distracting me. I'm doing this thing."
He motions to the materials on the desk. Everything is here. Rubbing alcohol. Gloves. Tracing paper. Cotton balls. "Make the stencil."
I slide the gloves on, pick up the sharpie, and draw the perfect heart. A tiny, smooth thing with an arrow through the center.
He places his body behind mine, his chest against my back, his arm around my waist, his breath warming my neck.
Fuck, the heat of his body feels good.
Distractingly good.
Which is another point in the we can't handle keeping work and play separate column. But I'm not willing to give up either. Not right now. Not when I finally have everything I want.
"You sure you want something that tricky?" He brings his hand to the drawing. Traces its shape. "It will be easier if you lose the arrow."
"But it wouldn't be right."
He nods fair enough. Hands me the stencil.
I transfer the design and cut where I need to.
There.
It's ready.
But where the hell do I want this? I stare at the thick plastic like it has the answers.
Of course, it doesn't.
"Did mine on my ankle. It's tricky to get into position, but it's a good spot. Easy to hide if you fuck it up. Especially if you live in combat boots."
"What if I decide I love sandals?"
He shakes his head with mock disgust. "I'll have to look outside to check if pigs are flying."
"See if hell has frozen over."
"Exactly, yeah. But I'm pretty sure it did last night."
"Huh?"
"Nothing." His voice drops to that soft, sweet tone. "Come on, sunshine. Sit down and ditch the pants."
"I could just roll them up."
"Where's the fun in that?"
I can't help but laugh. He's just so… Dean.
He makes me feel so warm and fuzzy. Like a birthday card, a tea on a cold morning, a sweater, a puppy.
Like every cheesy simile in the world.
God, the things he makes me feel.
They go beyond like.
But then…
If everything isn't okay…
I can't…
I can't think about that right now. I have to do this.
My first tattoo.
On my skin.
No pressure.
I set the stencil on the desk while I set up in the office chair. My inner left ankle will be easiest—I'm right handed.
I unlace my boot, kick it off, peel off my socks, roll my jeans to mid-calf.
There. Cotton swab. Rubbing alcohol. Stencil. Tape.
That's it.
I'm ready.
Technically.
Dean hands me the gun and a fresh pad of ink. I set the latter on the table. Flip it open. Stare at it like that will give me a bit of courage.
Doing ink is terrifying enough, but doing it on my skin?
God.
My stomach flutters.
My heart thuds against my chest.
My breath… I'm not sure I even feel my breath.
I bend my leg, set as much of it as I can on the desk. It's not the most comfortable position, but it gives me the perfect canvas.
My fingers curl around the gun.
"Take your time, sunshine." Dean's voice is sweet. Caring. Then it's silly. Teasing. "The shop is open until eight."
"Fuck you."
"We already hashed this out. After."
We did. But he was kidding. But then… I hope some of him meant it, because I'm already buzzing with adrenaline. By the end…
Fucking him is the perfect way to close this.
I suck a breath through my teeth. Exhale slowly. I've done this a thousand times on fruit. Skin is similar. It's just it's my skin and I'm going to feel the pain of the needle while I figure it out.
But this pain is nothing compared to what I've been through.
The buzz of the gun fills the room.
Needle to ink.