Chapter 4

"I'm fine," Livvy says, even though her breathing is ragged, and her entire chest, neck, and cheeks are flushed.

I'm done outlining so I cover her with the sheet and insist we take a little break. We share a snack and drink some water and she tells me about how she started working at the bar but she's afraid she's terrible at it. I kind of want to just keep talking, but it's getting late.

"Ready?" I ask.

She nods, taking a deep breath and lies back down.

I adjust the fabric to expose her skin, trying not to graze her hip or thigh any more than necessary, hating that the thought of doing so makes my dick twitch.

Her breath catches when I pick up the tattoo gun and I have the overwhelming desire to comfort her. I want to hold her hand, rub her side. It's odd, especially since she's been sitting so well and not acting overly stressed.

Something about her is getting to me. I can usually zone out a bit when I tattoo, get in a rhythm, block everything else out and just concentrate on the tattoo, but I'm distracted.

I've tattooed women in more intimate spots than this, so it's not that.

There's something about the way she breathes and her little whimpers every time the needle touches her. The way tiny goosebumps form on her skin. Even the way she smells—like fresh strawberries, dripping with sweetness—it's all getting to me.

I can't keep my eyes off her face.

That sweet, angelic face.

Angel wings are fitting for her. The feathers are pretty and delicate. They're sweet. Innocent.

I'm attracted to her—can't deny that. But it's more than that.

I want to protect her. The thought of hurting her is stressing me out. Everything inside me is screaming to be gentle with her. Be careful. Give her extra assurance and praise.

I take longer with the shading than normal. I want the tattoos to be perfect. And she's sitting like a champ. An hour goes by. Then two. Everything about her laying here on my table, getting her virgin skin marked by me, is perfect.

I wipe away some ink then gently squeeze her calf. "Almost done. You're doing so good, sitting so perfectly for me. Such a good girl."

A sharp little gasp of air whistles through her lips when I say it.

The sound makes my cock immediately react. Fuck, I didn't mean to say that out loud. But I did. And she liked it. That fact isn't encouraging my dick to soften.

Ignoring it, I finish up the shading and add a few white highlights.

"All done," I say, giving a final wipe to make sure the skin is clean and all the lines are crisp and beautiful before I show her.

She squeals, "Oh my god!" when I hold up the mirror for her. "They are exactly what I wanted. I love them. Thank you."

Her smile lights up her face.

That face. Big, green eyes and pouty lips, her delicate chin, with the faintest spattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her refined nose—she really is stunning.

The exuberance in her smile is infectious and I smile back.

I never smile. I sometimes smirk or grin in amusement, but she has me full-on, face-splitting, cheek-hurting smiling.

Fuck is wrong with me?

I apply ointment over her freshly inked skin, cover the tattoos with Tegaderm, and go over aftercare instructions with her. Then I wait outside the room so she can get dressed and I can walk her out since everyone has already left for the night.

"How much do I owe you?" she asks when she comes out.

Her cheeks are still a pretty rose color and I will not let my mind wander to the fact that now I know what shade of pink she turns when her whole body is flushed.

"This one's on me."

"Oh! No. I mean, I didn't come here expecting… I can pay."

"I know. Consider it a graduation present. Plus, you're going to design my next tattoo for me, so I'm the one getting the better deal here."

"But—"

"It's already done. I'm not taking your money."

"Noah." Her eyes are narrowed at me and I'm sure she would be infuriated to learn that instead of being intimidating, she looks even cuter.

I like how she says my name. I like how her voice drops a little lower on the ‘o' part. And, no, I am not thinking about her little breathy moans combined with ‘ohs' now. I'm not.

"Let me give you this gift. Please."

Livvy looks up at me with those big, beautiful eyes. "Okay. I—" She blinks rapidly. "Thank you."

She lifts up onto her tiptoes and before I register what's happening, her arms are around my shoulders. Instinctively, my hands go to her waist. Then she presses against my chest, hooking her elbows around my neck at the same time I wrap my arms around her, ratcheting her closer.

Her body melts against mine as I exhale.

I can't remember that last time I was hugged. Genuinely hugged. Years. Probably at the funeral.

It's a peace, a comfort, a softness I miss. So I let myself enjoy this feeling and the scent of strawberries in her hair a few moments longer than I ought to.

ANG3L:

Can I ask you for some advice? I need a guy's perspective

2Horned:

Of course

ANG3L:

And don't bullshit me, be brutally honest

2Horned:

That's a lot of pressure for 9am on a Saturday morning, but shoot

I like that she's coming to me for this, whatever it is. It feels like I'm her person. Or, at least, one of them. I want to be her person.

ANG3L:

There's this guy I like and I want to get his attention without being obvious I'm trying to get his attention. If you know what I mean

I take it back. I don't like that she's coming to me for this. I don't like it at all. And I don't know who "this guy" is but I already hate him. Irrational? Sure. It's not like she and I are dating. She's not mine. But in some ways, she's more mine than anyone else in my life is. And I'm hers.

I'm, pathetically, all hers.

2Horned:

You want my real advice?

ANG3L:

Duh

2Horned:

The best way to get his attention is to stop trying to get his attention. Forget about him. Move on. Be yourself. Be happy. Hang out with friends. Go out with guys who do give you attention.

ANG3L:

Forget about him? That's easier said than done. It's been years and I can't shake this crush

2Horned:

It's not your job to make someone want you. He'll either take notice or he won't. And if he doesn"t, he's not the right guy.

And, I hate to be this guy, but you said you wanted brutal honesty. Guys are generally straightforward. If it's been years and he hasn't shown interest, it's probably because he's not interested

ANG3L:

Oh

2Horned:

I'm sorry

ANG3L:

It's okay. That's what I needed. Thank you

Was telling her to move on from the guy she likes a little self-serving? Maybe. But it was still good advice. It's advice I should probably take myself. Move on.

I've been focused on my career and growing my shop the last five years. I haven't had a girlfriend in about that amount of time, too—fuck, I haven't even had sex in over a year. And being enamored with a conveniently unavailable stranger on the internet definitely hasn't helped motivate me to want to go out and meet someone.

I want to meet someone. In theory.

I also don't want to at all.

And yet, when I close up the shop a little after eleven—a bit early for a Saturday night—I find myself wandering over to the bar next door. Wood would be proud. I'm putting myself out there.

I stand back against the wall, away from all the people.

Baby steps.

It's better in the shadows—away from the strobe lights on the dance floor, not that I dance, and away from the speakers blasting remix after remix until the beat echoes in your eardrums. It really is a terrible place to meet and talk to anyone.

Almost everyone here looks coupled up already, minus a few groups and a couple guys standing by themselves around the bar. A large group of women with pink sashes and tiaras are taking shots, all huddled around one in a white sash, signaling the bride-to-be.

This was a bad idea.

I should go upstairs to my apartment. I can have a drink there for free without the headache or having to navigate a crowd of drunk idiots.

But then I spot Livvy behind the bar. A little beacon of sunshine, bright-eyed and flashing a big, toothy smile at everyone she talks to. It's not the same smile she gave me last night after getting her tattoo. It's tinged with something else I can't quite put my finger on.

Whatever it is, I don't like it. The muscles in my neck tighten.

And even though she's surrounded by customers, and I know she's busy working, I start walking toward her. Just to say hi. Order a drink. I can ask her how her tattoos are feeling so far.

But when I make it to the bar, I can't even get close to the end she's tending. It's backed up three rows deep. I wedge myself into a seat at the other end.

"Hi, stranger." Riley sidles across from me, already getting a highball glass down from the rack. "Gin and tonic?"

"And that's why you're my favorite bartender."

"Mm hm." He rolls his eyes as he loudly plunks ice into my glass. "That's why you've been eyeing Livvy this whole time."

I'd like to deny that, but I can't. So I grunt noncommittally instead. "How's she doing?"

"Hunny, it's her first weekend shift. She's overwhelmed. But she's handling it well."

I sip my gin, that feeling in my neck and shoulders gnawing away at me again. It's Livvy's smile. It's forced. And around the corners, it's starting to slip.

Even though Bex is with her at that end of the bar, the crowd of people waiting for drinks keeps growing. She pours one drink for every three Bex does, and there's way too much head on her beer pours.

On top of that, several of the men seem to be trying to get her to chat with them. She's got a great figure and a cute face—beautiful, actually. It's no wonder she's getting a lot of attention, but my brothers in Christ, she's working. She's being nice because it's her job, not because she's interested in you.

One of the guys, camping out on a stool in front of her, hands her some cash. She takes it, smiling and mouths "thank you" and he reaches out with his other hand and touches her elbow.

My stomach lurches.

Something inside me wants to growl don't touch her. But on the outside, I remain still and stoic. Watching.

He pulls his hand away after a second. My jaw hurts and I realize I've been clenching it.

It's not my style to butt into situations or play the white knight. I know women can handle themselves for the most part. Hell, Bex is more likely to punch someone for touching her sister than I am. But I wouldn't hesitate to lay a fucker out if I need to.

Maybe I'll go tell one of the bouncers to keep an eye on that guy, just in case he gets any more handsy or decides to wait around outside after the girls get off their shift.

I scan around the place for the younger, real muscle-y one. Mark, I think is his name.

Riley slides another gin and tonic in front of me. I hadn't realized I'd emptied my first one.

"Thanks," I say as I stand, taking my drink with me.

I slink back into the shadows to finish my drink in the corner where it's a little quieter.

My eyes keep going back to her. Livvy. That same guy is still sitting at the bar, nursing the same beer. I obviously can't leave until he does.

Does that mean I might be standing here watching them all night? I will if I need to.

It's called brooding.

I'm just being protective. She brings out the primal need in me for whatever reason. It's probably those round eyes and pouty lips. She's too pure. Too pretty. Too precious and trusting.

I push thoughts of my younger brother out of my head. I couldn't protect him, but I will protect her.

So I sip my drink and keep watching.