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I don’t want to be jealous. Hell, I’m the one in the hospital having someone else’s baby. If he has to see my glaring proof of having been with someone else, if he has to see her daily and he has to love her, then I can deal with a mostly hidden tattoo.
It’s nothing a permanent marker can’t fix. No big deal.
As the thought hits me like a lightning strike, I narrow my eyes and glare as though it were a living thing and it just called me a fat whore.
That B better not be for Belle. I’ll rip her damn face off.
But no, I’m not going to be a jealous harpy.
But I will tear her face off.
Fuck.
I force my gaze away from the offending tattoo before I send myself crazy, and instantly, Belle and B’s are torn from my mind. There’s more. So much more. His dick stands at attention, but it’s the glinting metal at the tip that has my stomach rolling.
Good roll? Bad roll?
I have no friggin clue anymore.
He’s pierced?
“I’m sorry… about that.” My brows pull together at his nervous stammering. “It’s kind of out of my control. The ah, how it’s um… up.” I want to do the ‘awww’ thing in response to his adorable stuttering. I’ve never in my life known a stuttering Jimmy Kincaid. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?”
“Yeah, I mean, I know you’re sore. I know it’sreallyinappropriate. It’s just, I’ve always fantasized about seeing you naked. I mean, I’m not trying to… I don’t want… fuck, Bubs.” He scrubs his palms over his face. “I’m not explaining myself well. I won’t touch you – like that – right now, I just want to help. But my dick, well, it does that on its own. I have no control over it.”
“When did you get pierced?”
He steps in front of me and gently pulls me to my feet. I feel like we should have this conversation whennotstaring into each other’s eyes, and his nervous choking implies he agrees.
So I look away as he clears his throat.
“Umm, like a year and a half ago. Something like that.” He shuffles us toward the hot water.
Instantly, I groan as the warmth sluices over my shoulders and back. The hot water beats at my muscles, massaging and soothing in a way I haven’t felt in forever. His penis bobs in response to my relaxation, which has him groaning in an entirely different way.
“I’m so sorry.” He sounds so horrified. So tormented.
“When did you get the tattoo?”
“Which one?”
Stupid bitch Belle.I try to fight it, I try not to focus on the negative, but my mind promptly throws away the kanji and focuses instead on the B.
Probably stands for bitch.
“The heart.”
Again with the nervous throat clearing, he helps me turn in the shower and begins washing my hair. “Ah, I got that just after my first belt win.”
Thank God I’m facing away from him, because now he won’t see my eyes roll. I remember that day. The day he won so dramatically, then disappeared.
Poof.
Gone.
I didn’t see him again until late the next afternoon. Now I know where he was; banging bimbos and getting tattoos.
