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While she cleans up, I can’t stop staring at the fresh ink. Even though it’ll be gone tomorrow, even though it’s the last thing I’d have picked for myself, there’s something poetic about it. It’s designed to be permanent, and yet we’re getting them for the sole reason that they’re temporary.
“So where are we putting this?” Gemini asks when she’s ready for Miles.
I twist, tapping my lower back, just above my belt.
Miles groans. “I should have known,” he says with a half grumble, but to my surprise, he doesn’t protest as he makes his way to the chair.
“You just wanted to get me shirtless again,” he deadpans as he tugs off his shirt and drapes it on the chair next to me. It’s such an un-Miles-like thing to say that I have to muffle a cackle.
I try not to look at his chest. And I succeed—but then Gemini adjusts the chair for him and he positions himself facedown, giving me a full view of his back. Broad shoulders he hides beneath flannel shirts, the long length of his spine that curves slightly upward before disappearing into his jeans. A smooth landscape of muscles and tan skin. And… what the hell? This shouldn’t be worse than his chest.
It’s just his back. His lower back. It’s a completely non-sensual, non-sexual part of the body…
… except when I remember what Miles said about making love to someone, which I absolutely need to stop thinking about, along with how he might be in this kind of position during it.
I need to get my hormones under control.
Gemini starts working on the transfer while I contemplate tattooing CALM THE FUCK DOWN on my forehead, and when she holds up a mirror so he can take a look at it—because I’m too giddy to wait until she’s done—his mouth falls open.
“You put ‘property of Barrett Bloom’ on my ass?”
“If we want to get technical, it’s on your lower back,” I say. “But yes. Yes, I did. Do you love it? The font is beautiful, and the petals of the rose are just…” I kiss my fingers.
“If we wake up on Thursday,” he says, “I hope you’re ready to pay for tattoo-removal appointments, along with all the therapy I’m going to need to recover from this traumatic experience.”
Gemini turns on the machine, blessedly oblivious to our conversation. Every so often, Miles lets out a staccato breath, the muscles in his upper back tightening. I’m relieved when his phone rings from the pocket of his jacket, which is draped across the back of my chair.
“It’s your brother. Again,” I say as I dig it out, even though of course he already knows. “You’re really going to keep ignoring him?”
“I’ve already answered about a dozen times,” Miles says through gritted teeth as Gemini works the pen along his back.
“And yet you’ve given me hardly any details about why he’s calling.” The phone continues to vibrate in my hands. “What if it’s the key to—”
Miles brings his head up, eyes sharp. “You really want to know why he’s calling?” It’s not anger in his voice, but there’s a sternness I’m not used to. He beckons me over, and I accept the call and hold the phone up to his ear. “Hey,” he says into it, and I can’t hear his brother over the buzzing of Gemini’s machine. “I—I know. No, I didn’t forget… yeah. Okay. I can be there in about an hour.”
I take the phone back as Miles turns his head to talk to Gemini. “I’m sorry about this, but we have to take off.”
“You sure?” she asks. “Because right now, I just have half a flower and PROPERTY OF BAR.”
If Miles didn’t look so distracted right now, I’d laugh.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
He grimaces as Gemini applies a bandage to his lower back. “We’re going to pick up my brother from rehab.”
Chapter 27
MAX KASHER-OKAMOTO IS NOT AT all what I expected, but given that Miles has barely mentioned him, maybe I should have been prepared for anything.
Max is at least six feet tall and wears his height with confidence bordering on ego. No slouching or leaning—only towering. His ears are pierced and there’s a tattoo behind one of them, a whorl of dark ink I can’t quite make out. In black jeans, a distressed denim jacket, and vintage Chucks, Max looks like he could be the fifth Ramone. If Miles is marginally attractive on certain days, at certain angles, Max is a certified thirst trap.
Max and Miles. It would be adorable if this situation weren’t so serious.
“A Thousand Miles,” Max says, opening his arms, and okay, there is definitely something adorable about that nickname. “Good of you to decide to make an appearance.”
Miles hugs him. “Sorry. We were… indisposed.”
“I’m just screwing with you. Means a lot that you’re here. Really.” Max pulls back and assesses me with a lift of one eyebrow. “And you, enticing stranger.”
