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Very interested.
Like he likes seeing my helpless attraction to him.
“My chest,” he says. “My back.”
His eyes hold mine.
“My stomach.”
I swallow.
“And lower. I also have one on my left thigh.”
Lord have mercy.
“I always wanted a tattoo,” I confess, mostly because if I don't say something, I'm liable to forget how words work altogether.
“Yeah?”
His smile grows just a fraction.
“I can help you with that.”
“You can?”
“You want one?”
“Well, I've always thought about it.”
“What would you get?”
I shrug.
“I don't know.”
“Something meaningful.”
He nods slowly.
“That's usually the best kind.”
“So, you have a tattoo connection?”
A tiny huff of laughter escapes him.
“Something like that.”
He rubs the back of his neck.
“Just got some new ink in, actually.”
I stare.
“You tattoo?”
He shrugs like that's a perfectly ordinary thing to casually mention.
Good grief.
