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I transfer the design and cut where I need to.
There.
It's ready.
But where the hell do I want this? I stare at the thick plastic like it has the answers.
Of course, it doesn't.
"Did mine on my ankle. It's tricky to get into position, but it's a good spot. Easy to hide if you fuck it up. Especially if you live in combat boots."
"What if I decide I love sandals?"
He shakes his head with mock disgust. "I'll have to look outside to check if pigs are flying."
"See if hell has frozen over."
"Exactly, yeah. But I'm pretty sure it did last night."
"Huh?"
"Nothing." His voice drops to that soft, sweet tone. "Come on, sunshine. Sit down and ditch the pants."
"I could just roll them up."
"Where's the fun in that?"
I can't help but laugh. He's just so… Dean.
He makes me feel so warm and fuzzy. Like a birthday card, a tea on a cold morning, a sweater, a puppy.
Like every cheesy simile in the world.
God, the things he makes me feel.
They go beyond like.
But then…
If everything isn't okay…
I can't…
I can't think about that right now. I have to do this.
My first tattoo.
On my skin.
No pressure.
I set the stencil on the desk while I set up in the office chair. My inner left ankle will be easiest—I'm right handed.
I unlace my boot, kick it off, peel off my socks, roll my jeans to mid-calf.
There. Cotton swab. Rubbing alcohol. Stencil. Tape.
That's it.
