Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Every now and again, I look up at her. Never tattooed a girlfriend before. Never had a girlfriend until now, and it’s different than when I tattooed Luna as a friend. It’s more intimate in a way—even though it’s about the least intimate spot I’ve inked on her.
“That hurt?” I ask.
“Nope.” She tries to peer at the ink on her calf, her excitement overflowing. We’d been playing strip pool together (every shot missed, you gotta take off an article of clothing). I’m down to only black drawstring pants, and Luna’s just wearing a lime-green thong and my baggy AC/DC tee. We didn’t even finish playing.
‘Cause in the spur of the moment, she asked if I could tattoo her.
Got my equipment out of my bedroom, and here we are. It didn’t take long for her to decide what she wanted. She’s cashing in on her Christmas present: a matching tattoo. I inked the same design on the top of my thigh a few days ago. Just to make sure it’s something she wanted to commit to.
I could tell she loved it, so I wasn’t shocked she requested it tonight.
Above us, the stained-glass chandelier casts warm light on Luna’s fair skin. Been working on this one for the past three hours, and I’m just about done. It’s not a hundred-percent American traditional style, my main forte. The lines aren’t as bold, but there is a pop of color.
She squirms just a little, and I lift the machine away from her skin. “You sure you’re alright?”
Luna can’t remember sitting for her leg tat that took multiple sessions. Then again, she can’t remember ever getting a tattoo. This must feel like the first one.
“Mmm-hmm,” she nods. “Sorry if I’m fidgety. My butt is going to sleep.”
I grin. “Tell your butt to stop counting sheep.”
“It wouldn’t help. My butt is a true rebel. But I’ll survive. Carry on.” She gives me a thumbs-up.
I set her leg on the table, then snap off my gloves and push my glasses up to my head. “Give me a sec.” Standing, I step off the pool table like it’s not a far drop—I’ve jumped off much higher. I land on two feet, and in an easy stride to a wet bar, I collect a velvet green pillow off a leather couch.
Her smile expands when I climb back on the pool table.
“Lift your sleepy butt,” I tell her.
She arches her hips, and I prop the pillow under her ass.
“Better?” I ask.
“Yes. My butt thanks you.”
I give her a rock on hand gesture before snapping on new gloves and reclaiming her leg on my lap. Luna touches her cheeks with her hands like she’s trying to feel her smile. It’s really fucking cute.
Reading glasses back on the bridge of my nose, I return where I left off. Before the needle touches her skin, I check on my girlfriend one more time.
Been doing that a lot. Assessing. Rechecking. My hypervigilance switched to “on” mode and hasn’t shut off since she remembered the night of the attack.
That was a week ago.
We’re in a good place—me and Luna. But the return of that bad memory from that traumatic night—before she’s recalled any good ones—it’s put me on edge. I feel like I’m standing right outside a tripwire. If I take one more step, everything around me will explode. I keep thinking what would’ve happened if she were alone when she relived that memory. If she went into a state of panic with no one around.
Not to mention, I’m pretty fucking positive I triggered that bad memory.
I confessed this to Oscar. It’s not like he wrangled it out of me either. He called me while I was on my way to pick up Xander for school.
“We’re going to Salt tomorrow,” Oscar told me. “I’m not taking no for an answer, bro.”
“Reverse yes,” I countered.
“I don’t even know what that is. You’re not getting out of this.”
“Never met a restaurant I liked that’s named after seasonings. Salt. Pepper. Oregano. Sage. No thank you.”
“That’s because your ass hasn’t lived in New York in forever,” he said. “You’ve forgotten how good Salt is—and besides, they have a new location in Philly now. You have zero excuses. Especially since I’m paying for you and Luna as a thank you for watching over my baby sis on that ridiculous triple date with Limp Dicky.”
I laughed. “That limp dicky had a stiffy for your sister, man.”
He choked on a noise like he short-circuited. “You’re really trying your hardest to get out of a free meal.”
“Nah, just busting your balls.” I stopped at a red light. “I don’t need repaid for watching out for your sister. And Jo’s tough, you know. She doesn’t take shit from anyone.”
“Still,” Oscar said. “It’s been a while.” In so few words, I could tell he missed me, and I’d missed hanging out with him. He was right that I did like Salt when I lived in Hell’s Kitchen. Maybe I had forgotten.