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Mr. Judgmental returns with a design, and as he takes his seat, he hands me the piece of paper. “What do you think?”
Turning the paper around, I take in the beautiful design—a finely lined rose with the cursive words ‘Hypothetically Yours’ acting as the stem. The swoops of the y’s are accentuated to create leaves, and the tops of the t’s become thorns. The delicate line continues up, and at the very top is the rose.
My heart starts to race. “It’s perfect,” I say.
“Alright,” he says, taking it back and glancing over it one more time. “Where do you want it?”
I throw my hand right over the back of my head and point to the top of my spine as I awkwardly try to turn and show him. “Right here.”
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath, probably knowing that I’ve done absolutely no research on how badly this is going to hurt. But there’s not a damn thing I wouldn’t do for Ezra, and if having some big dude tattoo my spine for the next thirty minutes is what I’ve gotta do, then count me in. Besides, I have a high pain threshold. Mostly. Well, I mean, kind of. Or maybe not. I’m a little bitch whenever I stub my toe, but period cramps don’t bother me too much, and that’s gotta count for something, right?
Ahhh fuck. Maybe this isn’t such a great idea after all.
“Right, hop on the table,” he says, glancing over my shirt. “You’ll have to take that off, but keep the underwear on. I’ve got something I can drape you with if you’re more comfortable.”
“I’ll be okay,” I say, certain he’s seen a lot worse than some random girl’s bra straps. Besides, it’s not as though we’re alone here. At least six other people are hanging around, and despite his judgmental tendencies, he seems like somewhat of a teddy bear.
I scooch up on the table and whip my shirt off as he gets to his feet. “Relax,” he says, shaking his head at my enthusiasm. “I’ve got a few things I need to prepare and then we’ll get started. You need anything? Food? Water? A piss? I don’t want you getting up during your session and screwing with my flow.”
“I’m good,” I say, kinda wishing I could adopt this guy. He seems like fun. Bit rough around the edges, but I like that he’s straightforward, and I’m not left wondering about his intentions. It’s comforting.
He takes off, and I’m left twiddling my thumbs for a few minutes, scrolling through my gallery on my phone and trying to find a picture of me with the band to prove to him that I’m not some desperate groupie like the other girls that have been hanging around a lot lately.
My tattoo artist returns a few minutes later, and after quickly getting himself set up, my face is squished against the table with his big arms positioned over my back. Then, instructing me to take a breath, he gets started.
The pain is ridiculous, so I guess I’m nothing but a wretched liar. My pain tolerance is about as low as it can get, but I breathe through it, knowing he’s going as fast as he can to get it done. He tries to talk to me, but I don’t listen to a damn word until he’s finally pulling away and wiping the excess ink off my skin.
“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he mutters, looking over his handiwork.
“You might as well have been using a chainsaw. Do I even have any skin left?”
He rolls his eyes. “Quit being such a princess. You have ink now. You’re a badass.”
Meeting his stare, I grin wide as a wave of pride shoots through me. “Hell yeah, I am,” I agree, knowing that Ezra is going to love it.
He gets me all cleaned up, and after allowing me just a moment to check it out in the mirror, he puts some kind of fancy cling wrap over the rose before giving me a whole rundown of instructions for how to keep it clean and avoid infection.
After handing over my whole life savings, I turn and walk out of the shop but stop when my phone rings. When I pull it out of my back pocket, Ezra’s name and a photo of us fills the screen, and a smile pulls at my lips. I can’t help but whip back around and hold out my phone for the big burly guy to see. “Ha. Told ya,” I say, sounding like a whiny child. “I’m not a groupie. He’s my boyfriend.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, taking a quick glance at the phone. “Whatever you say.”
I groan, and realizing that not even screwing Ezra on his tattoo table is going to change this guy’s mind, I roll my eyes and make my way out of the shop. “Hey,” I say, quickly answering the call before I miss it.
“Where are you?” Ezra asks. “I’m at your place. I thought you’d be here.”
“I had to duck out for a minute, but I’ll be home in . . . maybe twenty,” I say, trying to get a good idea of how long it’ll take me to walk my ass all the way back home. “You need something?”
“Nah, not really,” he says. “But I’m hungry, so I figured we could head out a bit earlier instead of waiting for tonight. If that’s cool with you, of course. Just didn’t wanna have something now and then spoil my appetite later.”
Oooh. I’m not going to say no to spending extra hours with Ezra. He’s been at some big meeting today with the whole band and the label, so I’m sure he’s dying to unload everything that went down. “You know I’m always good to eat,” I tell him, having a healthier appetite than Axel does. “I’m close to that diner that has the really good burgers and cheese fries if you want to meet me there. Save me having to walk all the way back.”
“Consider it done,” he says, his voice softening in a way that sends shivers through my whole body. He only ever talks like that with me, and I love it more than anything else in the whole world.
Ezra ends the call, and I turn on my heel to head in the other direction. The diner isn’t anything special, and while I was hoping to go home and get my hair and makeup done and maybe pick out something a little risqué to wear for a special night together, this is just as good. Having extra hours alone trumps a good outfit any day.
I make it to the diner in record time and find a booth as I wait for his car to pull into the lot. It doesn’t take long, and the moment I see the familiar car, a stupid grin stretches across my face.
He disappears out of sight, and I wait impatiently for him to walk through the door, only when it opens a moment later, it’s Axel who strides into the diner. My brows furrow as a wave of disappointment floods me. Don’t get me wrong, I love my brother, but having him crash my date with Ezra isn’t exactly ideal.
