“Yeah, while you were busy looking at designs earlier, I told John here that I wanted whatever you picked out, too,” I said, a slow smirk playing on my lips.
“But what… what if I had picked out something like a butterfly or a heart or a moth?”
I chuckled darkly.
“A moth? Seriously? I’d probably skip that one, but a butterfly?” I shrugged. “I’d look pretty sexy, right?”
Her eyes flickered with a mixture of desire and suspicion before she burst into laughter.
“I love you,” she whispered, and my chest tightened with a dark, aching need.
John shook his head.
“You two are super cute,” he said with a sugar-coated layer of cynicism.
I ignored him, but I thought to myself,Yeah, we are pretty cute.
“I want it right here, a little bit bigger,” I stated, pointing to my left shoulder. “The same as hers.”
She watched me like I was made of glass. Like she didn’t want to miss a single second.
Fuck, getting the tattoo hurt. She had made it seem so painless, but I was dying.
Don’t let her see how badly it hurts. Don’t let her see how weak you are,I told myself.
But I was a pussy. I was about to cry.
Her hand drifted to my knee halfway through, like she needed to touch me, and honestly, it made me feel better.
“It hurts, right?” she asked, voice gentle.
“Fuck yeah, it does,” I said with a shaky laugh, exhaling slowly.
“You’ve got this.”
The needle’s whine drilled into my skull. I clamped my hand over Mackenzie’s, her pulse fluttering beneath my fingers.
“Big guys are always the worst,” John observed, wiping blood away with a sterile pad. “Relax.”
“Fuck off,” I said, sweat beading at my hairline.
The needle buzzed again, tearing hot lines down my shoulder. Mackenzie flinched when I flinched.
John glanced up, eyes flicking between us without moving his head. “You two together?”
She swallowed. “What makes you think that?”
John leaned back, stretching his gloves with a snap. “Most couples who come through here either break up or get married. If you two survive each other, come back for more. I’ll discount it.”
My heartbeat tripped. Marriage. The word shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did. The picture formed too fast in my head—her with my name, my ring, my future carved into her skin and her life.
I imagined her wearing my name under her skin, inked where only I would ever see.
The shop’s overhead LEDs buzzed faintly, catching on the stainless steel tray and the neatly laid-out needles. The delusion of marriage in my mind snapped.
What the fuck was I thinking?
I forced a breath out. “Then don’t fuck it up. We might be back.”
