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“So you’re pretty talented, huh?”
“Why do you sound so shocked?” he asks, but his face is jovial.
“Only because that tattoo was another level of stunning, not because I didn’t think you were talented.” Ezra shrugs, like it’s not a big deal that he can create something like that with just his hands. “Is it just like tracing once the stencil is on there?” That gets a chuckle from him.
“I guess so, in a way. Have you got any tattoos?”
“Not yet.” His eyebrows rise slightly at my vague answer.
“Oh? What have you got planned?” Now it’s my turn to shrug. It’s not that I don’t want to tell him, but I can’t tell if the whole situation will be awkward.
“Nothing major.”
“It won’t be a secret once it’s on your skin.”
“Depends where it is,” I say coyly, taking a sip of my drink.
“I’d enjoy searching for it.” His hand squeezes my thigh. “But you don’t have to tell me. Tattoos can be personal, which needs trust.” He lifts my legs off him before standing and offers me his hand. I take it without hesitation, but have to ask when he leads me back down the hallway.
“Where are we going?”
“To build trust,” he says cryptically. I follow him out and he lifts me to sit on the end of the bench he was working at when I came in. Then he flits around, cleaning and sterilizing the space, and I’m content to watch him as I enjoy my bubbles. After a few minutes, he pulls a wheeled trolley over and sits on the bed facing me, his back against the rest.
“What’s going on?”
He doesn’t answer, just pulls his top off, and my eyes roam eagerly over his torso. He is beautiful. His muscles are defined through his rich skin, and he’s covered in tattoos. The sleeve that I’ve only seen once or twice reaches up and over his shoulder and bleeds onto his chest and stomach. Maybe he should only wear short sleeves from now on? That would’ve made it easier to tell him apart from Eli. My stomach roils at the memories of Eli, but I push them down and focus back on Ezra’s tattoos. They seem like lots of separate tattoos instead of one large piece, but each is a mini masterpiece. He sticks something onto his side, and when he peels it away, my mouth hangs open. Outlined in a bright purple is the famous Barbie-head silhouette. I lift my hand up to touch it, but Ezra gently takes my wrist.
“It won’t be dry yet.”
“You can’t be serious,” I say, dumbfounded, as I lean forward to take a closer look. I don’t know if I expect it to change suddenly and not be some kind of ode to me, but nope, it’s still the same.
“I am serious.”
“You do know this is permanent, right?” My brain finally gets around to the other huge issue here.
“As a tattoo artist, I’m aware of that, thank you.” He huffs a laugh.
“But like,on your skinpermanent.”
“You’re already under my skin. May as well be on it too.”
Wow. Okay, that was smooth.I grin, and he matches me before cupping my cheek and giving me a light kiss. “But—”
“Harlow, stop stressing. Tattoos are like a scrap book for me. This doesn’t mean you have to marry me, it’s fun for me.”
“Okay,” I say disbelievingly, because he’s crazy. But he’s also an adult and can make his own decisions, I guess. At least it’s not my name across his heart or anything. “Can you tattoo yourself?” I ask, tamping down the urge to convince him not to do this.
“I could... but you’re going to do it.” I snap my head up to look at him instead of the tattoo stencil.
“Ah, no I’m not!”
“Of course you are. You’re not scared of needles, are you?”
“I’m not scared, but these are gorgeous. Whoever did these will not be happy I’m messing up their artwork.”
“I don’t mind,” he says smugly.
“You did these?!”
