Page 34 of Love What's Left
We followed him into a pristine workroom and Zack slid a padded stool over for me next to the adjustable table . . . er . . . chair . . . thing he used for his clients.
Zack passed me a binder with sketches in it. “That’s a lot of trust my boy’s got in you.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Not too many people ready to let another person choose ink for them,” he said.
“She has better taste than I do,” my too-gorgeous surprise tattoo date said.
For a moment, all I could do was stare. “You can’t let me choose ink you’ll have for the rest of your life. What if you hate them?”
“I won’t. I had Zack come up with some sketches for you to choose from, but if you have any other ideas, tell him.”
I flipped through the binder. There were a lot of different options, but I stopped when I got to the flowers.
Zack snorted. “You got her number, all right.” He looked at me. “He told me you were gonna stop looking right there when you hit the daisies.”
“I like some of the others too. Would it be weird to do a bunch of different flowers? The dahlia is pretty, and the primroses and the daffodils . . .” I trailed off and gave him an apologetic grimace. “Sorry. You came here for a single tattoo, and I’m trying to sign you up for a sleeve.”
He leaned against the backrest of the chair and shook his head. “This is why I needed you. You know what you like. Don’t worry if they won’t all fit on one arm. We’ll come back as many times as it takes Zack to finish them.”
I chewed on my thumbnail. “Are you sure you want me to do this?”
“If you take too long to choose, we’re going to have to spend the night in one of these cute little bed and breakfasts in this cute little town,” he warned.
Zack settled himself on his stool, put on his black gloves, and busied himself with arranging his client’s arm into readiness. “A sleeve’s gonna take a while. You’re not getting out of here in time to fly home tonight. That’s for sure.”
“Oh, but Rufus—”
“I’ll have one of the staff feed him and keep him company. He’s used to staying at my place when we travel. He’ll be all right,” my companion said.
In the end, I chose two arms’worth of designs. We’d have to make multiple trips to complete them. I refused to analyze why choosing them felt so good. It wasn’t as though I wrotemy namein his skin—just my favorite flowers.
“It’s gonna get painful. He’ll need someone to hold his other hand through it,” Zack said. “You picked the art. You provide the comfort.”
I rolled my eyes. “McRae isn’t afraid of pain. I’ve seen him handle a compound fracture like it was a splinter. He was still cracking dirty jokes while he was barely conscious. If you’re worried about him, give him a lollipop or something.”
Zack blew out a short breath, gave a small shake of his head, settled in, and brought the buzzing tattoo gun to his client’s forearm.
The man in the chair looked back at me, the picture of innocence, andbatted his eyelashes.
I narrowed my eyes. “What are you doing?”
He hesitated, then raised his brows in the center. “Ow?”
He was fine, right? He didn’t even look tense. “Do youwantme to hold your hand?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
I scooted closer and threaded our fingers together for moral support I wasn’t convinced he needed.Just one more time, like when he needed surgery.Thetruth was that he and I had become far too comfortable touching each other and had been for a long time.
He squeezed back gently. The feel of his lightly calloused palm against mine made unwanted emotion prickle behind my eyes. I wasn’t sad. I was yearning. Deflecting with sarcasm seemed like a good idea. “Do you need me to mop your brow and feed you ice chips too?”
His lipstwitched in a repressed smile. “Could you?”
“No.”
His chuckle was that of a man too sexy for either of our good. “Zack, do you or Zoe have any recommendations for where we should stay tonight?”
