His gaze slides lazily from my face and down my naked body. “Tomorrow.”
“No, now.” I blast him with my best grin. It’s nowhere near as good as his smirk, but it’s occasionally been known to get me my own way. “Please?”
“You’ll be more comfortable in the shop.” Gaze still roving my nakedness, he folds his arms beneath his head. “I’ll see if I can fit you in.”
I’m momentarily distracted by muscles bunching in his arms and the little shockwaves of lust currently vying for another round of make-Stanza-scream. I clear my throat and cross my arms over my breasts to block his view. “Trust me. I’ll be more comfortable where nobody can accidentally walk in.”
“I like it noisy.” His lips twitch. “Besides, the guys in the shop have heard way worse.”
I roll my eyes and climb off his body to grab my cell from my guitar case.
Arms still behind his head, he watches me cross the room, his eyes darkening with my every step. It’s ... distracting.
One knee on the bed, the other foot still on the floor, I swipe the screen to life, open my Pinterest app folder then hand the cell to him.
His eyes widen as he scrolls through my extensive research and inspiration photos. “I see.” He flicks his gaze to mine then returns to his scrolling.
I do believe I’ve surprised him. Or piqued his interest. Or both.
My teeth find the inside of my cheek. Patience has never been one of my stronger traits. I flop down onto the bed beside him and prop my chin on his chest. “Do it.”
He glances down at me. His jaw ticks, eyes on me, but also sort of far away like he’s working something out.
Seconds trudge by. I’m about to tell him to forget it when he jolts up-right and stretches across me to open the drawer of the bedside table.
When he leans back, he’s got a pencil and a notepad in his hand. “You like the chandelier thing.”
It’s not a question. I shuffle around until I’m sitting beside him so I can see what he’s already started doodling.
Serious Sonnie is perhaps the hottest Sonnie yet.
His hand flies over the paper, sketching out a vague outline of my torso, my pre-existing tattoos and all. He’s just finishing the old-school swallows that fly high on my ribcage when he pins me with another of his thoughtful looks. “It’ll have to be free hand.”
Excitement with a slight twist of apprehension sends a tremor down my spine. I’ve seen his work. I’ve no doubt he’s capable. I swallow hard and nod, licking my suddenly dry lips. I always get a bit jittery before a tattoo. It’s part of the fun.
There aren’t many things that can give me butterflies.
“Where do you want me?”
He gives the room a quick scan. “There.”