“What are you up to, Abs?”
I smile at her coyly. “Whatever do you mean, Meg?”
She shakes her head and kisses me on the cheek. “I’ll talk to you later.” Sliding in the cab, she gives me one last glance before the car drives away.
I walk up Hanover a few blocks, the bright burn of the neon sign outside his tattoo shop coming into view. Not sure what I’m doing, I open the front door without hesitation, entering the warmth inside. For an instant, I stand there second-guessing my decision. Then, Jamison’s deliciously masculine voice says my name, “Abby?”
My eyes float up to his, unique and questioning.
I want to say something clever, witty, charming, but all that comes out is, “Hello,” in a breathy voice.
Oh, that’s genius.
“Hi,” he says, a ghost of a smile cracking the perpetual hard line of his lips. “Why are you here?”
I forgot to think of a reason. I can’t tell him I stopped by because I missed him. That would be strange.
“To thank you for what you did for me.”
“It’s not necessary.” He smiles sympathetically as if he were saying ‘You crazy woman, leave me be.’ “Have a good night, Abby.” He walks into one of the tattoo rooms, disappearing behind a blue velvet curtain.
If I were smart, I would walk right out the door and stop bothering the poor guy. Instead, I follow him back. I guess I’m not smart. When he hears the curtain open, he glances over his shoulder, bewildered. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I,” I want you to take me right here on the table. I want you to ruin me, “was hoping you’d take a peek at my tattoo, make sure it’s healing alright.”
He seems to break a little, nodding. “Sure.”
While he parks his presumably fine ass on a stool, I take off my jacket, position myself in front of him, turning my hip toward him, and lift the hem of my dress, the thorny vine peeking out. He chokes down a gulp when he notices I’m not wearing any panties. I haven’t been able to since I got the thing where the strap normally sits.
“Um,” he stutters, skimming his fingertips over the exposed area. They’re electric. “Have you been cleaning it like I instructed?”
“Mm-hm.”
“Well, everything looks better than expected,” he assures me. “It appears you’re almost fully healed.”
“Thanks for taking a look,” I utter.
“You’re welcome,” he replies.
I wait for him to remove his hands, but he doesn’t.
“I should leave,” I state, internally praying something miraculous occurs to keep me here with him, a massive snowstorm, a citywide blackout, a divine intervention.
“Yeah,” he agrees, his fingers digging into my hips, “you should.”
Feeling off-kilter, I watch him fixedly, my eyelids like lead from his touch. It’s dizzying—really dizzying.
He stares up at me with a knitted brow, concern in his mismatched eyes. “Abby,” he says, but it sounds warped.
I don’t feel very—
Jamison
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