Page 832 of End Game

The ink caps lined beside me. The sharp, clean smell of disinfectant. The weight of Dex’s leg beneath my hand. Griffin and Ronan sitting a few feet away. That old piece of paper resting on the counter where I can still see it if I lift my head.

The first line goes in clean.

Dex barely reacts to the needle. He watches for a while before turning his head toward Griffin.

“So, when Cami sees mine, do we think she’ll appreciate the placement artistically or just sexually?”

“Neither,” Griffin says.

“That’s pessimistic.”

“She’ll call you an idiot.”

“Affectionately.”

“Probably.”

I smile despite myself and keep working.

The tattoo isn’t complicated, and Dex sits better than he talks, so it doesn’t take long. When I wipe the excess ink away, the nineteen looks back at me from inside the die.

Same lines.

Same angle.

Same imperfect roll.

Different skin.

Dex’s joking expression disappears for half a second.

Just half.

His fingers drift toward the edge before he remembers not to touch it.

“Huh.”

I know that sound.

“You good?”

“Yeah.” His mouth curves again, but smaller now. “Just feels different than I thought it would.”

Yeah.

It does.

I cover it with second skin, and Dex pulls his pants back up, patting my shoulder when he stands.

“One complete.”

The artist working two stations down finally looks over.

Jules has been pretending not to listen for at least twenty minutes, and they are terrible at pretending.

“Wait.” They pull off one glove and point it at us. “Are you actually all getting the same tattoo?”

“Yes,” Griffin answers.