“Uh…”
“Say. Yes.”
“Okay.” I shake his hand.
He beams with pride.
Or maybe it’s desire.
Maybe he wants to take half-naked pictures with me.
Because he wants to be naked with me.
That’s something.
It may not be much, but it’s something.
Chapter Seventeen
Forest
This is simple. Carpe Diem surrounded by dandelions. All in black.
An easy tattoo.
No reason to think about Skye naked.
No reason to recall the taste of her neck.
Or the sight of her bare thighs.
Or those crimson lips wrapping around—
“Forest?” my client asks.
Fuck, I need to pay attention. I’m usually good at blocking shit out and focusing on work.
It’s what keeps me sane. What’s kept me sane since I was a kid.
And now Skye is—
Uh-huh. Not thinking that. Shutting all that down.
Yeah, she’s going to strip to her lingerie and sit in my lap, but—
I’m so fucked.
“You ready to keep going?” I make my voice as firm as I can.
Sure, this tattoo is a little played, but that’s part of the job. If the client wants something cliché, the client gets something cliché.
This design is badass. Even if it’s a little obvious.
The way the petals float away from the words—
It just works.
And I—
“I am,” she says.
I take a deep breath. Push thoughts of Skye to the back of my head. “On three.”
She grunts an okay.
“You’ve got this. Trust me.”
Her red hair shakes as she nods. It’s not the fire engine red of Mack’s hair. It’s a natural shade of copper.
But it still threatens my concentration.
Which is more distracting?
The mental image of Mack’s nails in Diego’s back.
Or my fantasy of Skye touching herself to my porn selections. Thinking of me. Groaning my name as she comes.
Shit.
I need to get over this.
This photo shoot is a great opportunity.
I’m not letting her fuck that up.
I’m not fucking that up.
“Forest?” My client’s copper hair falls to one side as she turns to me. “Count me down, okay?”
“Sure.”
Deep breath.
Steady exhale.
“Three, two, one.” I turn the gun on. Bring it to her skin.
She yelps, grips the chair harder, nods I’ve got it.
For a few minutes, my entire world is ink on skin. The curve of the script. The lines of the flowers. Black against alabaster.
Then I finish and the world rearranges.
Her breath comes into focus.
The music—some eighties jam Holden likes.
The conversation at the counter.
Copper hair falling over a slim shoulder.
A year ago, I’d have turned the charm to eleven, taken her home, fucked her.
She’s interested. She’s already looking at me like I’m her salvation.
There’s nothing stopping me.
Nothing except my complete lack of interest.
She’s not Skye. I don’t care what her neck tastes like, if her lipstick will stain my chest, if her—
Fuck. Not going there.
“Oh my God, Forest.” She turns from the mirror to me. Smiles wide. “It’s so perfect.” She jumps to her feet. Runs into my arms. Hugs me tightly. “Thank you.”
“Sure thing.” I pat her shoulder.
She lets out one of those oh my God, you’re so safe sighs.
This is her moment. I marked her body. We exchanged something. She wants to believe it’s more than that.
I’ll let her believe that.
She steps backward. Looks up at me with a dopey smile. “I… uh… I should get dressed, huh?”
“I have to clean you up first.”
“Oh. Right.” Her eyes brim with love. They’re blue. Softer than Skye’s. And darker.
This girl needs someone protecting her.
She needs someone looking out for her.
She needs someone who understands her. Who loves her. Who knows how to love her.
Skye does too.
Sure, we agree that carpe diem is generic and boring. Yeah, we understand each other.
But I don’t know how to love. And she deserves better.
After I finish cleaning her up, my client hugs me goodbye. She holds on like she’ll never let go. “I love it. Thank you.”
“Yeah.” For a second, I close my eyes. Let my mind wander.
It doesn’t go to Mack.
It goes to Skye.
Her bright blue eyes. Her wicked smile. Her lush body.
I shake it off—I can’t think about her like that—and walk my client to the door. Then it’s back to the counter.
Holden flashes me a shit-eating grin. “Didn’t get enough action from Skye?”
I roll my eyes.
Holden just laughs. He rises from his stool—he’s sitting behind the counter, working on a mockup—and surveys the room like he owns it. “Shit. She always seemed like the generous type to me. Don’t tell me she’s greedy.”
Fuck, I hope she’s greedy. I hope she demands to come on my face until she can’t take it anymore.
Holden’s laugh is knowing. “You’re thinking about her naked, aren’t you?”
Footsteps move closer. “He is going to hit you.” Oliver’s deep voice bounces around the room. It’s his usual removed tone. I don’t really care what you do. You’re an idiot. But I guess it’s entertaining enough.
“Got any stories to share?” Holden nods hey to his friend. He’s completely unmoved by mentions of violence. “She as flexible as those pictures suggest?”
“Which pictures?” Why am I asking?