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Camille eyes me cautiously. “You’re oddly talkative. I thought we weren’t friends?”
“And I thought you wanted to be?” I fire back at her, unsure why I am suddenly talkative.
“I do,” she speaks slowly, unsure. “But why the sudden change on your end? Why did you insist on tattooing me?”
I groan at having to explain it. The truth is, I knew there was no stopping her being around me, nor was there any stopping the pull she has on me.
“We’re going to see each other around a lot, and considering I’m about to spend the next hour tattooing you, we may as well get to know each other now.”
Camille nods, then waves her hand for me to go on since I didn’t tell her why I’m insisting on tattooing her.
I roll my eyes at her. “Because I saw how you reacted at the club when that guy touched you. I didn’t want someone else to make you uncomfortable.”
My room goes silent at my confession as her doe eyes stare at me intently.
“I don’t have an aversion to people touching me in general… just unwarranted ones.”
My fingers clench around the Apple pencil I’m using as images pop in my head about what happened to her, but I don’t press her to tell me.
“I still appreciate you doing that for me. That’s actually why I came here. I was kinda hoping you’d be the one to do it. I probably should’ve just called and booked an actual appointment to be safe. Sorry about that,” she rambles, chuckling to herself at the realization.
I hate that I think it’s cute as hell when she does that. I hate that her upbeat personality is pulling me in like a moth to a flame.
“Don’t be sorry. Why me?” I ask, not looking up at her. I keep my eyes on my iPad because I don’t trust myself not to say something stupid.
“Because I somewhat know you. Theo showed me some of your work and I thought it was beautiful. I’d feel weird letting a complete stranger mark my body like that,” she admits.
My lips stay sealed in a scowl as I finish off her design, unable to respond because the image of strangers touching her body is tempting to ignite the protective part of me. She also called my work beautiful. No one has ever done that. Sure, they liked their tattoos, but no one said it with as much awe as she did.
I liked it too much.
“What song is this?” Camille asks, interrupting my thoughts.
“‘Crazy Love’ by Van Morrison.”
“I like it.” Her voice is soft, the admiration in it clear. “Not what I expected you to listen to. It’s so… romantic.”
I shrug my shoulders. “My usual go-to is rock music, but this song has a nice melody.”
“Or a secret meaning?” she counters.
“Not in the slightest,” I murmur.
If she’s hinting that I have some girl I’m crazy about like the artist in the song sings about, she’s wrong. Sure, I’ve had random hookups over the years, but I never had a serious relationship. Not only did I not have time, but I was afraid of the risk that came with it.
To me, the benefits weren’t worth the cost of losing it.
Camille doesn’t respond, letting the silence sit comfortably in the space between us.
Once I’m done, I pass her my iPad, noting the nerves churning in my gut. “Tell me what you think. If you hate it, I’ll make a new one.”
Her eyes widen, her hand slamming over her mouth as she begins to nod enthusiastically. She’s wearing her every thought and emotion over every inch of her face, and it turns me the fuck on. Someone being this transparent with their emotions, so freely and easily like that isn’t easy.
“I love it.” She beams, staring at the screen in admiration. “How’d you know I love lavender?”
I drew a bouquet of lavender mixed in with wildflowers because I had a feeling that’s what she is. Someone who’s trying to bloom on her own.
“Just a feeling. So you’re good with it?” I ask, needing confirmation.
