Knox simply chuckles. “You get used to it over time.” He lies back on the floor and puts all his weight on his elbows. “All right, Bambi, you earned it. Pick two.”
I look over his body, having so many different options to choose from. However, there’s one I’ve wondered about for a while now.
“The skulls on your forearm.”
He looks down and rubs his finger over the inked skin. “I got that one two years ago. They’re all intricately tied together, and there are five of them. It represents Zayn, Easton, Gage, Stone, and me.”
“Wow,” I breathe. “That’s admirable.”
“Not really. We’ve just been through a lot of shit together, and they’ve always had my back. I have no doubt they’ll always be in my life, so it seemed only fitting to get something about them permanently on my body.”
Letting his words seep in, I can already see that I was right about him. He’s a lot deeper than people give him credit for. There’s so much more than what you see on the surface.
“And the sparrows?”
His brows furrow as he drops his head to see them—one near each collarbone. “No matter where they go, sparrows always return home. They’re loyal to a fault, and loyalty goes a long way with me.”
BY THE TIME WE’RE four shots in, I’m so drunk the room feels like it’s spinning. In exchange for swallowing the vile liquid, I’ve learned that the palm tree on his bicep is something he got while he was high on spring break, the black rose is meant to show there is beauty in darkness, and the praying hands were to cover up a penis his friend tattooed on him wh
ile he was passed out drunk.
“That’s too good,” I laugh as he shows me where the balls are hidden within the palms.
“Yeah, fucking hilarious,” he groans. “I couldn’t take my shirt off for three fucking weeks, until it was healed enough for him to cover it.”
“Aw. Poor baby.”
He glares at me playfully and pours himself another shot, swallowing it down with ease. “It was bullshit.”
I lie on the couch and relish in the fact that I feel calmer than I have in a long time. Whether that’s because of the alcohol or my company, I’m not sure.
“Is there one I haven’t seen yet? Like one on the inside of your lip or something?”
The look on his face tells me there is, and he takes a moment before answering. “I have one on my ass.”
I gasp. “No, you don’t.”
He stands up and turns around to pull down his pants. Sure enough, in chicken scratch writing, the words “Teenage Dirtbag” are there—the black a striking contrast to his milky skin tone.
“Oh my God! What the hell made you do that?” I can’t mask the shock from my voice.
Shrugging, he pulls his pants back into place. “A good friend of mine got his first tattoo kit. He needed someone to practice on.”
“So, you volunteered your ass?”
“You’ve seen it! It’s horrendous. I’m just glad it’s in a place no one sees.”
I shake my head, trying to hold in my laughter. “Clearly, you make great choices.”
He grins. “You’re just figuring that out?”
Truthfully, no. It’s something I’ve known for a while now, but no bad decisions he’s made could keep me from being so strongly drawn to him. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m where I’m meant to be. Like I won’t be alone forever. Like someone could love me for me.
MY FIST POUNDS HARSHLY on the door, waiting for someone to answer it. If Knox knew I was here, he would probably kill me for it, but I don’t care. He’s not getting away with this. Especially not when I’m the reason he did it.
Carter opens the door, and his eyes widen when he sees me. “Delaney? What are you doing here?”
I place my hands on his chest and shove him as hard as I can. It doesn’t do much, but it’s something. “What the fuck is your problem?”