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But he doesn’t.
Instead, he brushes a kiss against my forehead and steps away, putting too much space between us.
I almost reach for him, almost demand that he hold me, demand that he kiss me. But I don’t. I twist my hands together, forcing myself to stay where I am, even though all I really want is to throw myself at him.
“What do you want?” His voice is low, his face flushed, his eyes hooded. I lick my lips again, nerves tightening my stomach.
“A flower and words on my arm,” I say quietly, running my hand along the spot on my upper wrist. “Roman numerals on my ribs.” His eyes dip to my waist, his jaw tensing like he can see through my shirt to the bare skin beneath. “I have photos.”
Pulling my phone from my pocket with shaky hands, I scroll through my photos until I find what I’m looking for. I turn it toward him and his brows lower as he scans the image, then nods.
“I need to draw something, but this is simple. Should only take a few minutes. Are you hungry? Thirsty? I can order some food. Or I have some water in the fridge—” He lightly kicks a black minifridge by his desk covered in stickers, and my lips twitch. “Think there’s ice cream in the back—” He takes off toward the doorway like he’s about to hunt down the ice cream.
I catch his arm at the last second, stopping him. “I’m fine.” His eyes search mine. His chest rises as he takes a deep breath, then nods.
“Sit, get comfortable. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
I sink into the chair, resting my arm on the long, flat armrest, and watch as he sits at his desk, hunching slightly over it while he draws. After telling him the numbers and what I want the stem of the sunflower to say, he goes back to drawing.
And he was right. It only takes him a few minutes before he’s turning toward me, showing me his designs. I stare at them, my eyes burning when I take in the words that should be silly, the words that shouldn’t have as much meaning as they do. But it’s the numbers that stare back at me that make my throat tighten, make tears line my eyes.
Eight-seventeen-eighteen.
The day my life changed forever.
Nodding, I wipe my eyes before he can see the tears and give him a weak smile. “You’re really talented,” I tell him, watching as he copies the designs to transfer paper.
He huffs out a laugh. “Thanks.”
Roman doesn’t look at me as he traces it, all his concentration on the little pieces of art he’s about to ink into my skin.
Finally, he turns toward me, his face serious. “Ready?” He scans my face like he’s trying to find something that’ll tell him I’m not ready, that I don’t really want a tattoo—two tattoos. But whatever he sees has him straightening his shoulders.
“Okay,” he breathes, rolling his chair toward me. “This arm?” He uses his chin to point to the one resting on the armrest, and I nod as he slides black gloves on before getting his machine and ink ready.
“How badly does it hurt?” I quickly ask, my heart rate kicking up a notch.
His lips twitch. “It’s a needle repeatedly stabbing into your skin with ink on it.” He slides his eyes to me, his white teeth showing as he smiles broader. “It doesn’t tickle.”
I roll my eyes. Obviously. But he has a million of them. It can’t be that bad, right?
After cleaning the area and shaving away any little blonde hairs, Roman covers my wrist in oil. I watch as he methodically works, his brows pinched tightly.
When he’s done transferring the sunflower to my wrist and we’re both happy with the placement, he scoots closer to me. His eyes meet mine for a brief second before he turns the machine on. It lightly buzzes and nerves fill my belly.
“You sure?” he murmurs. “You can come back another time.” I shake my head, swallowing thickly.
“Now or never.”
“That’s my girl.”
My heart skips a beat. That sentence, those three little words, shouldn’t have as much power over me as they do.
Heat overrides the anxiety, and I smile at him. It might be the first real smile I’ve smiled in weeks. That realization has it falling slightly, and he notices.
Instead of saying anything, he grabs my wrist and slowly brings it to his lips. I choke on the air in my lungs, my eyes transfixed, as he presses the softest, sweetest kiss to the sensitive skin there.
My mouth goes dry as I watch him gently settle my arm back on the rest and dip the needle into the ink before bringing it to my skin.
