Page 107 of Business Casual
“I’m sure you would.”
I rub my gloved thumb over his knuckles, cradling his hand in both of mine. He has a scar just beneath his pinky. A smattering of freckles over his wrist. So many details I still haven’t noticed about him. So many things left to discover. I trace both and flip his hand over. I work on unbuttoning his cuff, then roll his sleeve. He’s wearing a chambray shirt tonight, a blue so pale it almost looks gray.
“I was thinking right here,” I say quietly, my index finger tracing a line over the inside of his wrist. His fingers flex up toward mine and then relax. “Something small. So your watch can cover it while you’re at work.”
His eyes drift toward the Rolex on my wrist. “Will I be getting my watch back?”
I twist it and make a show of checking the time. His legs shift beneath the table until both of his knees hug one of mine. “I thought you said you had other watches.”
He laughs, his shoulders relaxing. “Yeah, you’re right. I do.”
I grin at him. “Does this spot work? Or do you want something different? You can be honest. You won’t hurt my feelings.”
I watch him swallow, the strong line of his throat working. He doesn’t bother looking down at his wrist. “That spot is good.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“Tattoos are forever, you know.”
“I’m aware, Nova.” His fingers twitch up again, tracing the matching spot on my wrist right where my glove ends. “Do your worst.”
I reach for the prep pad and tear it open. “My worst is still pretty damn good, Charlie.”
His face melts into something appreciative, the most he’s looked like himself since I saw him standing on the sidewalk outside the studio trying to decide if he wanted to talk to me or not.
“Ah,” he says. “There she is.”
“Who?”
“You,” he says simply. “In full Technicolor. I like seeing you confident, Nova.”
A blush warms my cheeks. “We’re already sleeping together. You don’t need to flirt,” I deflect, trying to hide how proud that simple observation makes me. That I’ve managed to work through my anxieties and stress and confusion and shine just as bright as I’ve always wanted to. That he sees it. That he’s been seeing it this whole time. “But thank you,” I add quietly. “I like it too.”
His smile settles into something softer. His knees hug mine beneath the table, and I wipe carefully at the place I plan to put his ink. His skin is so delicate here, his veins a web of blue beneath paper thin skin. I trace my thumb back and forth over the spot, even after I’m done with the wipe. Will my touch here carry all the way back to his heart? That spot between his shoulder and neck that always makes him sigh when I kiss it? I like to think so.
I clear my throat and try to scrape together my professionalism, but it’s hard when my knee is tucked between his legs and he’s staring at me like that.
“Are you afraid of needles?” I ask.
“No. Just clowns.”
“Guess I’ll have to change your tattoo design, then.”
“Probably.”
I pick up the razor and drag it over his skin. Tiny efficient movements. I toss it in the wastebasket and reach for my favorite cheap plastic ballpoint.
“You’re going to draw?” he asks.
I nod and flick off the cap with my thumb. “I usually do it like this. Is that all right?”
“You don’t have to keep asking me if it’s okay. I trust you, Nova.”
“Even if it’s a poop emoji?”
“Even then. I’d probably deserve it.”
