He chuckled and stuck his hand out. “Name’s Zane.”
I dropped my shirt and took his hand. “I’m Katie. Obviously, I want the writing in the empty spot. I need a font that fits, and I’ll write out what I want if you’ve got time to do me.”
“Sure thing.” He turned to Rome. “You want him in there with you?”
“That’s why I’m here, Zane,” Rome answered for me.
“You can leave the shit attitude on that side of the counter.” I pointed behind us. “I need you being supportive, not an asshole.”
Rome stalked by me as Zane handed me a form to sign and another piece of paper to write my words on. He explained his cleaning techniques, how I should sit, and when I should tell him to stop if it was too much.
“I can take a lot of pain,” I announced as I lifted my shirt over my head.
When I glanced at them both, Zane was prepping his tattoo gun, smiling at my bravado, while Rome glared at me. “Is no shirt necessary?”
“I’m sure it’s easier, right, Zane?”
The man didn’t even lift his head, too engrossed in his process. “Whatever makes you feel most comfortable.”
“I’m comfortable in less clothing.” I wiggled down into the chair, settling in.
“Do you always have to do that?” Rome pulled a stool up so his massive upper body was close enough for me to see all of his abs, all of his chest under the tight T-shirt he wore, and all of his broody, strong-jawed face.
I hated how much I loved seeing that jaw pop when I pissed him off. He was ready to unleash tonight, and I wondered if it would be on me. I knew he was dangerous, that his temper flared and let loose something wild. The kiss we shared so long ago was a memory of that. I wanted it again even when I knew Mario would never let his right-hand man casually sleep with me, even when I knew we were two hurricanes blowing through the world and there was no way we could cross paths without leaving destruction behind.
Still, I stared at his lips for moments too long before I replied, “Do I always have to do what?”
“Fuck, woman. You know you’re toying with me and every man you encounter.”
“Zane doesn’t care one way or the other. Do you, Zane?”
He inserted a new needle, tested his tattoo gun on a wet sheet, and spun around in his chair to start. “I only care that you get through these next fifteen minutes.”
Leave it to a tattoo artist to get straight to the point.
“You ready?” he asked.
My heart picked up speed, and the adrenaline kicked in. The need to feel anything other than what I was feeling became overwhelming. Not because of his question but all because Rome’s hand snaked up and grabbed mine.
Like he cared.
Like he gave just a bit of a damn.
I needed to feel anything but that. So I nodded. “Give me the pain.”
Zane’s gun pierced my skin, tiny needles wrecking it to produce something beautiful in the end.
Rome squeezed my hand, and I breathed out slowly as I looked his way. His other hand came up to tap my necklace. “Strong, like Cleo,” he murmured.
If I asked him to kiss me right then, I wondered if he would. His eyes tracked every part of me in those fifteen minutes, and when they journeyed all the way down to my toes, I wiggled them. He smiled like he knew he’d been caught and didn’t care.
“Thanks for coming,” I blurted out and almost covered my mouth in surprise at my word vomit.
Rome didn’t look at me but rubbed his thumb over my knuckles and watched Zane work. “Someone needed to come with you.”
“I’ve gotten tattoos alone before,” I announced and stared up at the fluorescent lighting just as Zane started marking over my rib bone.
“Doesn’t mean you need to do it that way every time. Now, breathe out and squeeze my hand, woman,” Rome coached me. “It helps.”