Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 130380 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130380 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
“Oh, I don’t know. I guess you can start with tattooing my name on your chest,” I joked.
But when I looked at Leo again, his face was dead serious.
“Okay.”
I barked out a laugh, shoving him away playfully. “I was kidding.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re not getting a tattoo of my name.”
“I don’t care what it is. Ink me with whatever you want.”
I licked my bottom lip in amusement, folding my arms over my chest. “Do you have any tattoos?”
“Not one.”
“You realize they’re permanent?”
“Yep.”
“And that they hurt?”
He sucked his teeth at that. “Come on, now — I get thrown to the ground and pummeled by three-hundred-pound defensive linemen on a regular basis.”
I chewed the inside of my cheek, watching him for a sign that he was bluffing — but found nothing.
“You’re really serious.”
“I really am. Come on,” he said, standing and holding his hand out for mine. “Let’s do it.”
“Now?”
“Right now.”
I barely got another laugh out before he was hauling me up out of bed.
Leo
Every ounce of cockiness I had drained out of me the second the needle buzzed across my sternum.
Mary had started whatever she was inking into my flesh on my upper chest, and while it had stung, it was manageable — an almost pleasant, little bite of pain that had me feeling like I could sit in this chair all day without so much as a little squirm.
Now, it felt like she had a vibrating knife in her hands and was dragging it through the skin and bone, gutting me like a fish.
I hissed in another breath that I held until she took a little break to drag the folded paper towel in her hands over my skin, and I swore that hurt almost as badly as the tattoo itself. My flesh felt raw, almost like I had a fresh sunburn and she was rubbing sandpaper over it.
“You’re such a baby,” she said on a laugh, and the easy way her lips curled told me she was enjoying seeing me in pain.
Not that I blamed her.
“It feels like you’re scraping the bone.”
She laughed again, but I was too busy holding my breath to join her as she started in again. “Just don’t focus on it. Talk to me, tell me a story or something.”
“You expect me to form sentences right now?”
I gritted my teeth, and then let all the tension go when she removed the needle for a break again.
When I wasn’t writhing in pain, I was memorizing everything about the way Mary looked in this moment. Her hair was piled in a messy bun on top of her head, eyes still a little red and underlined in dark circles from our night together. I liked seeing proof that it happened on her face, that it wasn’t a dream. I liked even more that she was marking me permanently, that she was real and I was about to have proof of her existence forever.
Her hands were covered by black gloves, and I’d watched with fascination as she got everything set up for us — from the stencil I told her I didn’t want to see as she transferred it from the paper to my skin, to sanitizing the needles and setting up her station before she powered up her gun and got to work.
She was in her element, and it was a completely new side of her.
I’d seen her sarcastic shield she wore so effortlessly, heard her sling teasing insults with ease. But in this shop, she held herself differently — chin high, shoulders relaxed — calm and confident in a way only someone truly comfortable with themselves and what they do can be.
Inside, she might have been a nervous fucking wreck for all I knew.
But from my perspective, she was a pro.
There’d been a little tension when we first walked into the shop — especially when Nero had seen me step into his space. But I didn’t give a shit about him or whatever had transpired between us the night before. Now that I had my chance to fight for Mary, I was willing to put everything on the line — including my pride.
On our way over, she’d explained to me how much that upset her — the way I acted toward Nero at the bar. In her eyes, it wasn’t me standing up to a creep for her. It was her career in jeopardy, her reputation on the line.
That, I understood.
So, I’d walked right over to him and apologized, shaking his hand and explaining that I was out of line. It didn’t matter that I still wanted to ram my fist right into his fucking nose, or that I still felt like the position he put Mary in was fucked. This place, and therefore these people, were important to her. So I’d respect him and keep my mouth shut.
For now, at least.