Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
“Wow,” I gasp, out of breath. “It’s hot out here.” My hair is sticking to my neck, and I can feel droplets of perspiration dripping down my skin.
“I think I can fix that for you,” Braxton says, settling his hands under my ass and standing. I assume he’s going to carry me back inside, so I’m stunned in shock when he heads straight for the damn pool instead.
“Brax—” I start, but before I can finish my warning, he’s jumping into the pool with me clinging to him. The water is cold as fuck, but with it being a hundred damn degrees out, it feels good.
“Now, we can go skinny-dipping,” he says with the sexiest boyish grin on his face.
“I want to get a tattoo.”
“What?” Braxton asks, setting his writing journal down and laughing.
For the past hour, we’ve been lying on the oversized couch, our legs entwined while Braxton writes, and I read. But at some point, I got distracted and have been eyeing his ink instead. He’s explained what each one means, and I love that he’s gotten one to symbolize or represent milestones in his life over the years. When the band recorded their first album, when they went platinum, when they went on their first world tour... For every occasion, he’s gotten inked, like a photo book of memories that people can see but only he understands.
“A tattoo. I want to get another one... with you.”
“What do you want to get?”
“I was thinking a daffodil. I read that they represent new beginnings, a fresh start. And I feel like with this job and getting a second chance with you, it’s sort of like that. You don’t have to get the same thing. You can get whatever you want.”
“I like it,” he says, pulling me into his arms. “And I love that we’re getting a fresh start.”
“So you’ll get one with me?” I perk up in excitement.
“Of course. I’ll have to think about what I want to get—”
“Yay! Let’s go.”
“Wait, now?” He laughs, and I pout playfully, nodding. “Some things never change,” he adds with a chuckle, standing and pulling me up with him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re still as crazy as ever.” He shakes his head and pulls his shirt over his head, covering his sexy body. “And I’m still just as pussy-whipped.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Nah.” He grips the curves of my hips and tugs me toward him, so our bodies are flush against each other. “It’s not a bad thing at all.” He drops a kiss to my lips and then to my nose before he backs up and smirks. “Let’s go get some ink.”
I thought we’d have to find a place, but it turns out Braxton already knows someone and when he calls and asks if we can come by, of course the guy says he’s available. You’d be stupid not to be when someone as famous as Braxton says he wants to come in.
When we get there, we’re taken back to a private room, and Braxton and Guy bullshit for a few minutes catching up—apparently, he’s done a few pieces for Braxton in the past—before he asks what brings us in today.
Braxton explains I want to get a daffodil inked, and I show him what I’d like. Since he specializes in freehand ink, I agree to let him do his thing. I get it on my hip, and when he’s done and shows it to me, I’m in awe of how beautiful it is. Instead of one, he inked three and explained they reminded him of the past, present, and future when I told him daffodils represent a fresh start. They couldn’t be more perfect. And Braxton agrees when I show them to him.
“What are you getting?” I ask when Braxton has a seat and lifts his shirt.
“You’ll see.” He winks and lies back while Guy gets the station cleaned up from my tattoo and ready to do Braxton’s.
While he gets tattooed, Guy gives me free rein to his music, so I play deejay, going from song to song while Braxton bitches about my taste in music.
“We used to have similar taste in music,” he points out.
“I’ve evolved. You should try it.”
Guy shakes his head, and Braxton laughs.
When Guy announces he’s done, I pause the music so I can see the ink. Braxton gets up and steps in front of the mirror to check it out, and I join him so I can see too. My eyes go straight to his rib cage where the fresh ink lies. There are several roses, shaded in black and gray, with the stems and thorns inked as if they’re being woven under and over his skin. It’s so lifelike, it almost hurts to look at them. I can practically feel the irony in the beauty and pain between the roses and thorns. My eyes sting, remembering that he would constantly tell me that he loved the way I smelled like roses, my signature lotion scent.