19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

LEWIS

I balance a heavy box on my hip and knock on the back door to Ink Slingers. The only motorcycle still in the alley is Arrow's, so I don't have to wonder if the heavy clomp of approaching footsteps are his. The door swings open with a groan and my heart flutters at the huge grin on his face.

"Hey, neighbor." He drags his gaze over me with a lascivious glint in his eyes. "Not here to tell me to turn down my music, I hope."

"Not this time." I hold up the box. "This got delivered to my shop by mistake."

Arrow takes it and then shoulders the door open so I can step inside. I've spent some more time with his friends since the day trip to Iowa a few weeks ago, and as much as I hate to admit it, when he's not torturing you, Jag is actually pretty fucking funny. They all are, if I'm being honest, but even though the feud is officially dead and buried, I haven't been by to get a proper tour of Ink Slingers.

The door slams closed behind us, and Arrow carries the box over to set it on a small desk in the corner of the storage room. He pulls open the top drawer and rummages around until he finds a box cutter, then slices through the tape to open it up. I'm assuming it's just tattoo supplies, whatever those would be, but I crane my neck to see inside anyway out of curiosity.

He frowns, and I bark out a surprised laugh as soon as he lifts the flaps.

"Why the hell did you order rainbow-colored dicks for your tattoo shop?" I reach into the box and pick one up. It's small, maybe two inches tall, with a cute little pair of balls attached. I squeeze it and it squishes in a hilariously satisfying way.

"Jag," he mutters.

"Yeah, that checks out." I nod.

"He said he ordered dicks, but those rubber duckies came instead. The company must have realized their mistake and shipped the right order." He picks up a handful and chuckles. "What the hell are we supposed to do with a hundred little rainbow dicks?" He drops them back into the box and his eyes glint with mischief. "Actually, you know what? I think Jag deserves a taste of his own medicine."

I gasp and smile. "Are you suggesting we join forces to prank him?" I whisper conspiratorially.

"All in good fun, of course," Arrow says solemnly.

"Of course," I agree, dragging him in for a kiss that quickly turns playful, with Arrow groping my ass and both of us laughing against each other's lips.

"Help me find a place to stash the box, and we can hide them in his supply cart one at a time until he loses his mind."

I cackle, and then we work together to move some inventory around so we can hide the box on the back of a shelf. Once we're done and a single dick has been placed in the top drawer of Jag's supply cart, I saunter over to the railing that surrounds the elevated portion of the shop and look out at the place.

"It's not as fancy as some places, but we busted our asses to make it what it is," Arrow says, sidling up next to me and leaning his elbows on the railing. "I hardly ever just look around Ink Slingers anymore or take the time to stop and think about how far we've come. This was nothing but a rental space in a run-down little strip mall a decade ago, and now we have customers who come from all over the Midwest to book with us."

"That's so fucking badass." I lean my head on his shoulder. "I looked up your Instagram and saw photos of your work, it's incredible."

"I don't have an Instagram." He frowns.

"No, but the shop does, and they always credit you on the tattoos you've done."

I almost laugh. I'm not sure if he's being humble or if he really doesn't have a big head about how talented he is.

"Huh. Tattooing has been my passion almost as long as I can remember. I bought this old tattoo machine from a pawn shop when I was sixteen and started giving myself some very questionable tattoos. I was lucky I never got an infection." He laughs. "Piston and I would be down in my parents' basement, smoking weed and giving each other the shittiest tattoos you've ever seen."

"Really?" I look him up and down, thinking about every inch of his skin I've spent weeks exploring at this point. "I haven't seen any shitty tattoos."

"They're all covered up now." He holds his arm up closer to my face, pointing to a spot on his forearm. "If you look hard enough, there's still the ghost of those shitty line tattoos."

I squint, but I can't see anything other than the gorgeous ink that's there now. I'll have to take his word for it. I shudder at the thought of the two of them fucking around with a tattoo machine like that as teenagers.

"I can't imagine being that brave."

"Brave or stupid?" he says with a chuckle.

"Good point." I snort. "I've wandered into a few tattoo shops over the years and almost got a little flower done, but I always ended up chickening out. It felt so permanent, you know?"

"Yeah, permanent is kind of the idea." He smirks. "What kind of flower?"

"I'm not sure. I always just looked at the poster things that were hanging on the wall, which just have roses on them usually." I gesture at the boards hanging on the far wall, filled with the same standard designs that seem to hang in every tattoo shop in the world—at least, the few I've been in.

"Nah, you don't want flash." Arrow shakes his head.

"Flash?"

"Flash, like premade," he explains. "It's fine for eighteen-year-olds who just want something to piss off their parents, but it's quick and dirty, you know? It's impersonal. It doesn't mean anything."

I look over at him, studying his expression with a warm feeling spreading through my gut. Why does it feel like we're talking about more than tattoos all of a sudden?

"Okay, so if you don't think quick, dirty, and impersonal are for me, then what is?" I take the bait.

Arrow straightens up, putting one hand on the railing and angling his body towards me. He puts his free hand on the side of my neck and drags his thumb absently along the edge of my jaw, looking into my eyes with a soft expression.

"Something special." His words are husky, sending a happy shiver through me. "Something meaningful that you'll be happy with for the rest of your life."

My mouth goes dry, but I can feel my smile getting even bigger. I lean into him, putting my hand on his chest so I can feel the rapid thunder of his heart and the warmth of his skin.

"See, that's what's always held me back, I think. It didn't feel like something like that existed…" I lick my lips. "Until recently."

He dips his face closer to mine, brushing our noses together.

"Lewis," he murmurs my name gruffly.

"Yes?" I whisper.

"Will you let me give you a tattoo?"

It's not a proposal, obviously, but I swear to god my body reacts like it is. My fingers go numb and a giddy feeling bubbles up in my chest.

"Yes," I answer with a laugh.

ARROW

I started running through design ideas the second he mentioned wanting a flower tattoo. I've done more than a few in the past, so I mentally flip through a variety of tiny flowers, from simple line work to watercolor daisies. I have the piece I just finished today too, a whole vibrant sleeve of wildflowers. It would be easy enough to isolate just one of those flowers and do a smaller version of it.

"Can I show you some drawings I have?"

Lewis nods and I let him go so I can pull him over to my chair, where I have my digital sketch pad. He hops into my tattoo chair, and I pull up a few different designs. I turn the screen towards him so he can take a look.

He gasps and takes the sketch pad out of my hands to get a closer look.

"This is amazing." He flips through the sketches one at a time. "I have an idea," he says after a minute. "Could you combine a few of these into a wildflower bouquet that would take up the inside of my forearm? With a ribbon around the stems tying them together, and maybe a little bumblebee buzzing around them?"

His growing excitement as he describes his idea is the same beautifully infectious energy that got me addicted to putting my art on other people's bodies to begin with.

"I can definitely do that. Give me a few days to do some mockups and then I'll get you right back in this chair to mark you up for good," I growl, hitching a hand behind his neck and leaning down to pull him into another kiss.

"A few days?" He pouts. "You can't do it today?"

I chuckle and nuzzle my nose against his. "You can't rush something permanent, sweetness. It needs to be right."

He smiles and slips his hands under my shirt, skating his fingers along my belly and stealing a few more brief but lingering kisses.

"I suppose it'll be worth the wait," he says, scooting forward in the chair to hitch his legs around mine with a playful grin. "Have you ever fucked anyone in your tattoo chair before?"

I groan and buck my hips.

"You're asking for trouble with that dirty mouth, Tater Tot." I kiss him more deeply this time, stroking my tongue over his and swallowing down the breathless sounds he feeds me.

Lewis breaks the kiss after a second, his chest heaving and his lips that pretty shade of deep pink I love so much, glistening and damp from my mouth. His fingers twitch against my skin and his breath stills like he's holding it. The air around us feels like it freezes for a second too, like time is grinding to a halt while we stare at each other.

"This isn't a generic flash tattoo, Jay, it never was."

Words catch in my throat, but I shake my head in agreement. We might have pretended this was casual from the beginning, but I think we both know now that this was always something special.

"I love you."

I stare at the shape of the words on his lips, unable to believe they're real.

I suck in a trembling breath and then crash my mouth into his again. A desperate feeling swells in my chest as our lips find a frantic rhythm, our hands all over each other, tugging at clothes and pawing at the bare skin we manage to reach. Our tongues knot and our breathing syncs in fast, heavy pants into each other's mouths.

A lifetime of chasing the wrong men, working too hard for people who didn't want it, giving away my heart just to have it tossed back in my face again and again… it was all worth it. Every single stupid thing led me right here to this moment with Lewis. All my past mistakes are the unpracticed, shaky line tattoos etched into my past, but Lewis is the cover-up. He doesn't erase what was there, but the scars underneath don't matter so much anymore.

"I love you, Lewis. I love you. I love you."