Page 151 of Smoke and Glitter

His hand rests against my bare back. "Yeah."

"When did you get this?"

"A while ago."

"A while ago."

He has the decency to look slightly uncomfortable. I trace one of the leaves with my fingertip. The skin is completely healed, but the ink is newer than everything around it.

"You flew all the way here with this on your chest and didn't mention it."

"I wasn't going to use it to convince you."

My hand stops. Sam watches my face but doesn't elaborate.

"You could have."

"I wasn't going to."

"Why?"

"Because you would've had to do something with it." His hand slides slowly down my back. "Yesterday wasn't supposed to be me showing up with evidence until you gave me the answer I wanted."

I look down at the tattoo again. "Is it me?"

"Yes."

He doesn't hesitate, and that hits harder.

"The leaves I understand."

"I assumed you would."

"And the glitter?"

Sam looks down at where my fingers rest against him. "The leaves alone didn't look right."

I wait. He exhales through his nose, and I can almost see the instinct to stop there. He doesn't.

"You leave traces. In my apartment. At Vibes. In people." His eyes come back to mine. "You go home and the room still feels like you were in it. The glitter made sense."

My vision immediately threatens mutiny. I stare at his chest because looking at him is no longer a viable option, while his thumb moves once against my back.

"Why here?" I ask.

Sam doesn't pretend he misunderstood. "Where else would I put you?"

My eyes burn. "That was rude."

"What?"

"You know exactly what."

His laugh vibrates underneath my hand. I lean down and kiss the tattoo before he can say anything else, and Sam goes still beneath me. I kiss it again, slower this time, then settle my palm over the leaves and scattered flecks. His hand covers mine.

We stay that way until the room settles around us again, my palm still over the piece of him he chose to carry without ever knowing whether I'd see it.

Room service eventually appears, and by then the moment has softened enough that I can breathe around it. Somewhere in the process I acquire Sam's shirt and lose interest in finding my own clothes. We eat on the bed with the tray between us until Sam moves it to the floor. When I stretch my legs across his lap afterward, he hooks one arm loosely over my shins and rests his hand on my calf.