Chapter Thirty-Three
J ocelyn peered over Grey’s shoulder to see his progress, her eyes tracing the delicate lines of Birch’s new tattoo while his brother finished up the shading. “I can’t believe how perfect it looks.”
“Doubting my skill to plagiarize Birch’s art?” Grey asked as he licked his lips and leaned in to work on the final details. After a few seconds, he sat back and set the tattoo gun down. “Done. Want to check it out before you wrap it?”
Birch straightened up and swung his legs over the chair, walking to the full-length mirror. “Of course I do. I need to know how long it’ll take to touch it up when you go home.”
She joined him, giving a wide berth when Grey gave him the slug to his arm he definitely deserved. Standing at his back while he examined his new ink, she kissed the nape of his neck. “I love it.”
“Yeah?” he murmured, a grin spreading across his face. “Me too.”
When he mentioned his idea for a new tattoo on the drive back from visiting Winter, she was less than enthused. The thought of seeing the image of that damned cassette on his chest every day turned her stomach. Nothing he said to rationalize it hit home with her, her mind wholly focused on what the tape represented, the poison it had contained.
But this was beautiful.
“Birch,” she whispered, rising on her tiptoes to nuzzle his earlobe. “You were right. It’s perfect.”
The cassette itself was inked just under his collarbone on the left side, shaded in blacks and grays. From it, the ribbon arched and twisted down his chest, looping around his heart with an elegant J and C hidden among the swirls.
Grey had done an incredible job with the finer details, the slight shreds of the tape, the scuffs on the cassette’s plastic casing. Even the faint discoloration of the ribbon made it appear real enough to touch.
“Since this is about to get gross and awkward, I’m out of here,” Grey called out behind them. “Remember I have class in the morning, so keep the moaning and sex noises down when you two get home.”
Birch met his brother’s eyes in the mirror. “You do killer work. When I get this place open again next week, consider coming on board before fall semester begins.”
As the chimes clanged and the door creaked closed, Birch walked over to the counter where he kept his supplies, rubbing a cream over his new ink and taping a strip of gauze over it. Turning to her, he tugged on a pair of latex gloves. “You sure about this?”
Sauntering over to the door, she clicked the lock and pulled her shirt over her head, taking her time to fold it and place it on his desk.
She could feel his eyes on her, knowing the hazel had darkened to a deep green without looking. Unhooking her bra, she slung it over his shoulder as she passed him and lay down on her stomach, tucking her hands under her head.
“Mark me, Birch Baker. And remember to be professional.”
*
Birch’s hands were shaking as he stood up and exhaled, grateful his nerves hadn’t made themselves known until he was done inking Jocelyn’s pristine skin.
“All done,” he stated, snapping his gloves off. “Ready to see it?”
She stretched like a satisfied cat, as though she hadn’t spent the last three hours under his gun. “Yes, I am.”
Doing a final scan of his latest piece while she pushed herself off the chair and walked over to the three-way mirror, he followed her, his heart pounding in his chest as he began running through the ways he could cover it if she hated it.
He couldn’t watch while she angled the glass, the coward in him not wanting to see disappointment in her eyes as she took her first look.
“Oh,” she breathed, sending his stomach straight to the floor. “Oh, wow.”
“It’s an easy fix,” he rushed out. “We can play around with the design as much as you want. Maybe change it to a wisteria or lilac tree. Or work it into an entirely new piece—”
She pressed her finger to his lips. “You’re babbling again.” Turning back to the mirror, she continued to study it. “You have such a beautiful mind.”
Her eyes fell on the sun-tinged blue shades of the hydrangeas creeping up the sides of the rust-colored brick wall. The middle bricks were cracked and broken, their remnants swallowed by the flowers and emerald green foliage. In the darkness on the other side stood a solitary birch tree, its bark illuminated by the light on the other side.
It was painfully personal for him.
But it was her body bearing it, not his.
The longer she remained silent, the more anxious he became, his tension spiking when he saw her eyes welling up.
“Ah, hell.” He wrapped his arms around her to avoid touching her fresh ink. “We’ll fix it, okay?”
She shook her head against his chest almost violently. “No, it’s perfect. So perfect, it’s turning me into a sap.” She took a deep breath and looked up at him, kissing him softly. “I love it. I love you. I love knowing you created it.” Bumping her forehead lightly against his, she glared. “But you seriously overestimated my pain tolerance when you told me it would hurt a bit . Take me home.”
*
Birch handed Jocelyn a glass of water and hopped over the armrest of the sofa, bouncing her in place and wincing when he remembered her day-old ink. “Sorry. I forgot you’re kind of a delicate flower when it comes to pain.”
“Surface pain,” she corrected, snuggling up under his arm and pulling a blanket over them. “You’re the delicate flower when it comes to muscle pain.”
He grinned and pressed play on the movie. “You aren’t wrong.” Her hand slipped up his shirt and came to rest on his skin just below his new tat. “Fogerty said I should be good to reopen Monday and let me know the judge didn’t grant bail, so Ryder’s being moved south until he goes to trial. He also said my laptop will be returned tomorrow, since his tech guy took one look at it and realized the only program I used on it was an accounting one. I guess it was a quick data transfer for him.”
“I’ll email Puller and let him know.” She skimmed her fingers along his ribs as she lay her head on his lap. “If you’re opening on Monday, will Sunday be good for dinner at my parents’ house? They want Grey to come too so he, and I’m quoting my mom here, ‘doesn’t sit alone in that big house and starve.’ So don’t let me forget to ask him when he gets home.”
Smiling, he played with her hair, running his hand through it and twisting it between his fingers.
Home.
There was no hesitation in her voice when she said it, as though they’d been living under the same roof for years instead of hours.
Brushing a strand of hair off her forehead, he settled back in the sofa.
He wasn’t anywhere near out of the woods with the fallout of Ryder’s dealings, and he wasn’t under the illusion the next few months would be all rainbows and sunshine. But for the first time in his life, he wasn’t dreading whatever lay around the next corner so long as the woman stretched out on top of him was there to tell him everything would be okay.
The End