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“It’s okay,” he assured her. “It’s what people do. But I wouldn’t have them if I was worried about what people would think, ya know.”
Nodding, Victorjia reached out and touched the rose, curiosity getting the better of her. “Is it true that tattoos have a story behind them?”
“Depends who you’re talking to. For me, yeah. Each one carries a special meaning.”
“So this one is for your sister. What does it mean?”
His expression wilted. “It’s a reminder. She was born with a rare genetic disorder. Didn’t live past the age of two.”
“Oh,” she gasped quietly, feeling like she’d overstepped in a major way. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“No, it was a long time ago. Our family was glad to have the time with her that we did.”
Victorjia admired the way he carried himself. She could tell it pained him to talk about, even after so much time had passed, but he was choosing to see the good over the bad. She’d always tried to live that way too. It was nice to have something in common.
“How many others do you have?”
He gave her awhat do you think?look. “Lots, beautiful.”
Victorjia wasn’t the typical blusher, but blush she did. Of course, she was used to hearing the word directed at her, and she wasn’t blind to the fact that she was pretty, but she’d never heard the word spoken by someone who she was genuinely interested in and who was genuinely interested in her beyond the physical.
“Any I can see?” she asked with a flirtatious smile. She already knew the answer before he said it.
“Not any I should show you here.”
“Hmm, I had a feeling you would say that.”
“How about you?” he asked, openly scanning all the visible parts of her. “Got any ink to share?”
She shifted, her body heating. She could swear she felt his eyes on her like a physical touch. “No, I don’t have any.” It was against her religion. Or her abuela’s, depending on how you looked at it. Victorjia had always appreciated the beauty of tattoos, the art of it, but the idea of going up against her family’s core beliefs was enough to put her off the idea. Keeping the peace was much more important than marking her body and causing a rift.
A look came over Heath that she couldn’t put a name to, and he locked eyes with her while taking a drink from his stein glass.
“What’s that look for?” she finally asked, curious and uncomfortable under the scrutiny.
“Just thinking.”
“About…?”
“Don’t meet many virgins around here.”
Victorjia nearly choked on her own saliva. “Excuse me?” How did he know? Was it that obvious?
“It’s just what we call people without tattoos. Around here, if you’re below fifty, you most likely have at least one.”
Relieved that he hadn’t seen some invisible label in the middle of her forehead, Victorjia said, “Oh, well, it just never occurred to me. It wasn’t something that was allowed in my family.”
“Religious?” he asked with a pinched brow, which worried her somewhat.
“Yeah. My grandma raised me to believe that you’re not supposed to mark your body.”
Heath sat back, regarding her seriously. “What you must think of me…” he mused.
“Oh no, no,” she rushed out. “I may not do it, but I don’t judge those who do. I actually like your tattoos. They suit you.” That was the truth. What she didn’t say was how much hotter she found him with them. She’d never considered herself a tattoo girl, for obvious reasons, but sitting across from him, she found Heath absolutely edible. Licking each and every tattoo on his body would be a pleasure, and one she hoped she’d get to explore more fully in the near future.
“I’m glad you think so. A lot of time and thought went into them. I consider my body kind of like a canvas and the tattoos are the medium in which I paint it.”
Victorjia tilted her head and smiled. “That was very poetic.”
