Then his sea turtle choice. I mean... what? Why? Seriously, of all things, why would a guy want that? He had no other ink on his skin. He had virgin skin. So why one lonely sea turtle as his first tattoo? Why on this random Wednesday night had he walked into this tattoo shop wanting that of all things?
I’d also hijacked his tattoo. I’d called it lame after he gave me that small, annoying lecture on my safety. Then I’d drawn something I never thought he’d be into. Sometimes my brain worked in pictures. I’d see images in real life, and I’d want to chop them up, rearrange them, make them into something new. Most days, here at work, I stuck to the book, copied John’s artwork onto people’s skin, and never deviated. But tonight I’d deviated. And it floored me that this white-collar guy, who smelled like heaven, who was one of the most handsome men I’d ever seen in real life, was into my design.
Still, all of that wasn’t what had my skin buzzing. The little hairs on my arms were prickling being so near this guy. Not out of fear; it wasn’t fear I felt around him. But my senses were on high alert, and I kept trying to dissect him to figure out why I felt this weirdness around him.
“You really sure about this?” I asked again. “You want my design on your skin forever? You can be honest with me. It won’t hurt my feelings if you hate my artwork. I mean, most people just choose the stuff from the wall. And—”
I was following him down the hall, back to my station. But he stopped on a dime and turned to me. I nearly bumped into him. “Stop it. Stop doubting yourself. Stop questioning me.”
He stared at me with these insanely fierce blue eyes. The seriousness in those eyes made my heart race like a stampede of wild horses. They were eyes that could make a girl drop to her knees if asked. I was certain of that. I bet this guy could have sex with whomever he damn well pleased. One look like that, and any girl would be his.
“You are talented. I want you to put your design on my skin.” He stepped closer. His voice unwavering. I stared up at him feeling paralyzed. “Then after I leave, I want you to tear that paper in your hand to pieces. Don’t put it on the wall for anyone else to get. Don’t post it on Instagram for the world to copy. I want it to be only mine.”
He was intense. My conundrum over who the hell this guy was suddenly multiplied by one thousand. The way he spoke. The way his chest moved in a slow, even rhythm as he breathed. Not to mention, the way his shirt fit over the lines of his muscular chest. All of it had me at his mercy.
Completely at his mercy.
He had an invisible tether tied straight to me. I nodded, unable to speak. Then he touched me. His hands went to my neck.
In the four years I’d been working here, I’d never had a customer touch me. Not like this. His comments about my safety earlier—I’d ignored them. I’d never felt unsafe here. My coworker Finn was huge, he’d be back any minute, and I felt certain he could protect me from anything.
But then again, this guy’s sudden touch wasn’t unwelcome. The opposite, actually.
He had his hands on my neck. They were warm, wonderful. One of his thumbs traced over my skin, sending shivers all through me, and I’d never wanted anything more. Yes, he could have squeezed those hands around my neck. And it’s possible I wouldn’t have been able to fight him off. But he didn’t squeeze. He moved closer. He pressed his lips to mine.
My eyes fluttered closed just as he kissed me. This guy had the softest lips. The gentlest lips. I could barely believe a guy as beautiful as this man was kissing me. His kiss wasn’t fast or greedy. It wasn’t angry the way I’d felt anger in his words. He took his time. He moved in slow motion. Even when he deepened the kiss, and I tasted his tongue, he still moved carefully. Fuck, it was nice. It felt like he was savoring me. For minutes we stood there kissing and enjoying each other. The crush I’d had on him the moment he walked through the front door compounded exponentially. I felt like goo with this man.
Until he broke away, and I opened my eyes.
“That kiss was...” he started to say.
Incredible?
“Inappropriate,” he finished, moving a step backward. “I’m sorry. I’m having a shit day. I shouldn’t have done that. I promise it won’t happen again.” His words were harsh, direct, to the point. Almost as if he’d slapped me with them. A stark contrast to the perfect, soft kiss he’d just pressed on my lips.
Asshole.
“You shouldn’t have,” I agreed. “I have to go make a transfer for the drawing. Go lay down.”
He nodded, walking away.
I stood there for a moment, breathing in and out, fuming. He was a stranger. He meant nothing to me. So why was I feeling so pissed off over that one small kiss? I could barely think straight, I was so mad at him over it. Maybe because he started it and then he immediately took it away.
“Damn him,” I whispered. I went back down the hall to the transfer machine. I needed to copy the design I’d just drawn onto transfer paper. So I did that. When I returned to my station, the guy was still there. For a moment, I’d been thinking he might have left. He hadn’t left though; he was lying on my chair on his stomach with his pants half down around his hips like before. He had his head buried in his arms, and he didn’t look up as I came closer and sat down next to his side.
Rolling my eyes, so freaking annoyed with him, I got to work. I used alcohol to rub away the old design then I transferred the new design onto his skin. I was forced to speak to him again, only for a moment, as I asked him if the placement of his tattoo was right.
“It’s good,” he mumbled.
Seemed like we were both mad at each other over that kiss. Not long after that Finn returned. The thing with Finn was this: when I first started working here, we’d sort of dated. Our short relationship had consisted of one very boring dinner. Followed by one awkward-as-hell hookup, in the very chair this guy was now lying in, where we bumped heads a lot and the fluorescent lights killed the mood before we could even get to the good stuff. After that we gave up on trying to date and both decided we were meant to just be friends. We’d been good friends since. We even had this understanding between us, an act we would sometimes play, whenever one of us felt uncomfortable with a customer. Usually it was Finn who was the uncomfortable one, not me.
“Going okay?” Finn asked, stepping into my station to check on me. I could smell the onion and garlic on him from the pizza he must have just eaten.
“Fine, babe. It’s going fine, babe.”
“Love you, babe,” he said to me, instantly understanding what I meant. He grabbed an extra chair from the corner and plopped it straight down next to my chair.
“Love you, too,” I muttered in return.
That was it. That was our code with one another. The guy on the table—he didn’t even so much as flinch over my fake ‘I love you’ exchange with Finn. He continued to lie perfectly still.
~ CHAPTER 3 ~
NICK
Jesus Christ, this was awkward. I kissed a girl with a boyfriend. Meat Head was her boyfriend. Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be? Because my shitty luck always worked that way. I always found myself in these impossible situations. To make things worse, Boyfriend had positioned himself right next to my head, acting like Amanda’s own personal bodyguard. If I turned to look left, I would have been staring straight at his crotch. It was like the dude knew somehow what I’d done. He knew I’d kissed his girlfriend, and now he was hovering over me.