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"What?"
"Everybody knows."
"Who's everybody?"
He motions to the room.
"Not Em."
"Maybe." He plants his hands on the counter behind us. "But everybody else."
"It's just... I, um..." God, it's hard to talk. Or think. "Don't say anything."
He brings his fingers to his mouth and pulls an invisible zipper. My lips are sealed.
I bury my nose in my drink. The booze only makes my cheeks warmer. It only makes my throat drier.
Everyone knows?
As in everyone talks about it.
As in—
"Hey." Brendon's steady voice flows into my ears. He plants next to me, on the other side. His eyes go to Walker. "You mind?"
The tattoo artists share a look. It says a lot and it's all about me.
Still, Walker takes his leave.
Brendon moves closer. The back of his hand brushes mine. His thigh presses against mine.
He leans in to whisper. "I have something for you."
"What's that?"
"Close your eyes." His breath warms my neck. It sends shivers down my spine. It sends heat to my core.
"Okay." I do.
His fingers skim my shoulder. Then it's a cotton swab. Rubbing alcohol on my skin.
He pats it dry.
Presses something against it.
Wets it.
Oh...
I turn toward him.
He grabs my other shoulder. Stops me. "I didn't say you could open your eyes." His voice is low, demanding. That same tone he used the other night. "One more minute."
My tongues slides over my lips. My knees knock together. My breath hitches.
Slowly, he peels off the paper sticking to my skin. Then it's cool air on my shoulder. And his fingers curling around my wrist. Peeling my hands from my eyes.
He takes my other hand, leads me to his chair, and turns me toward the mirror. "What do you think?"
