Chapter 7 Tucker
SEVEN
TUCKER
“We’re almost done.” I squirted some of the peppermint solution I used to wipe away excess ink onto a fresh paper towel and smoothed it over the section I’d just finished.
As soon as I let his arm go so I could toss the paper towel, he started turning his arm this way and that so he could see his new tattoo from every angle.
“Tucker.” His voice shook and cracked, and he had to clear his throat before he could continue. “It’s more beautiful than I could ever have imagined.”
He lifted his eyes to meet mine, and the shine of happy tears in his eyes made me ache to pull him into my arms and kiss him until he realized he was more beautiful than the art I’d just inked into his skin, more beautiful than any art I’d ever done or ever seen.
Instead, I gave him a half smile. “I said we were almost done. I feel the tiniest bit bad about this, but I left the worst part for last.” I took Misha’s arm and positioned it back on the padded armrest, turning it so the now decorated inside of his wrist was facing up.
I traced my fingers over the last few details of the design.
The tops of several flowers and two bees were still the deep purple of the stencil ink, and they stood out against his pale skin.
“These little bits are probably going to be the most painful. If you’re done for the day, I can wipe off the stencil, and we can call it finished.
I think the design still looks amazing.”
Before I finished speaking, Misha was shaking his head. “Finish it. I want you to.” He sat up a little straighter on the bench. “I can handle it.”
I let a slow, seductive smile spread across my face. “I know you can, love. You’ve been sitting so well for me. You’re doing great.”
Misha’s cheeks went bright pink, and he ducked his head, which gave me a chance to subtly adjust my dick in my pants.
I’d been heaping on the praise, telling Misha how good he was taking the pain, how well he was sitting, how perfect his skin looked bearing my art just to see his cheeks flush.
Despite never really having an affinity for the color, I was beginning to think I’d underestimated the perfection of the color pink.
But eliciting Misha’s blush had become its own kind of torture.
It had started as a way to make him squirm, but every time his cheeks turned rosy, my cock got harder, and now I was more than a little afraid I was addicted.
While I wanted to finish Misha’s tattoo, I also knew if I did our time together would be over.
The only time I’d see him was if I went into the bakery, and somehow I knew that wouldn’t be the same.
My heart turned over in my chest thinking about not being able to see Misha blush under my praise and my touch anymore, and I felt a little sick.
That small voice in my head got louder, no longer a whisper, now almost a scream. Mine. Mate. My omega.
I shook my head, mentally telling the voice to shut up. Once again, Misha misinterpreted my reaction.
“It’s okay if you’re tired, though. We can finish it another day.” He lowered his head, and his disappointment hit me like a punch to the gut.
Without thinking, I reached out and tipped his chin up until his eyes met mine.
For a heartbeat we just stared at each other.
I felt something click into place, like a key sliding into a lock, and it felt like my body, my heart, let out a sigh of relief.
Until that moment, staring into Misha’s glacier blue eyes, I would have sworn fated mates were bullshit.
Staring down at Misha, I was no longer certain, and I was almost positive Misha was meant for me, that like that voice in the back of my head and in the depths of my heart had been trying to tell me—he was mine.
A soft breath puffed past Misha’s lips, his eyes wide with surprise.
He’d felt it too. I wanted to say something, to confess that I wanted him to be mine, but as I opened my mouth to let the words fall from my tongue, I remembered what Misha had told me about his old life in Alaska, the life he’d fled from, the life where he was supposed to be mated to an alpha and breed babies, where his identity was reduced to his secondary gender, and I bit back everything I wanted to say.
Misha might be mine, but I couldn’t tell him and back him into the same corner he’d escaped by running to Key West.
I could however do things the old-fashioned way. I could take him out on dates, get to know him better, fall in love with him in spite of fate already saying he was meant for me. We could become friends, then lovers, then mates. We could take everything at Misha’s pace.
Breathing in deep, I broke away from his gaze, turning back to my prep table and picking up my tattoo gun again. “I’m good. Let’s finish this up.”
Misha barely winced as I tattooed over his sensitive skin, and I couldn’t stop myself from telling him how well he was doing again.
This time when I glanced up to catch my new favorite color painting his cheeks, I found him staring at me, a warm but otherwise unreadable expression in his eyes.
Maybe arctic hare shifters didn’t believe in fated mates, so he didn’t know how to define the connection he’d felt between us.
“You okay? It’s not too much is it?”
Misha shook his head. “It’s not too much.”
“Perfect. One more bee and you’ll be all set.”
I refocused on his skin, but I felt him looking at me while I put the finishing touches on his tattoo. I wiped it down one more time, then sat back.
“That’s it. All done. Go take a look.” Standing from my rolling stool, I gestured toward the mirror.
Misha started to scoot off the bench, but when his feet hit the floor, I saw his legs wobble, and I was right there to catch him as he started to fall.
This time he landed against my chest, and my arms wrapped around him.
My face ended up pressed against his hair, and I drew in a deep breath of his scent, letting it fill me up.
Misha’s body shook against mine, and for a second I worried he was in shock or something.
The tattoo wasn’t that large, and it was super rare, but people had gone into shock after getting a tattoo before, and I tried to recall what I was supposed to do if that happened.
A soft snort pulled me out of panic mode, though, as I realized Misha was laughing.
“Misha? Are you okay?”
He lifted his head but didn’t try to pull out of my embrace.
“I’m fine. My foot is asleep, and the pins and needles feel so funny.
” He lifted his left foot and shook it. When his eyes met mine again, his giggle turned into a gasp, the mood changing in an instant.
My gaze fell to his lips, and I could almost feel the softness of his mouth.
I could almost taste how sweet he’d be, and my tongue slid out to wet my lips.
Misha followed the movement, his eyes going wide, the humor from a moment before replaced with desire.
He was still pressed against my body, my lips only inches from his.
It would take less than half a second to close the distance between us, to take the kiss I knew we both wanted.
I was already leaning toward him. His eyes were already closing as he moved to meet me somewhere in the middle.
His breathing had picked up as we closed the gap between us, and I could feel his shallow puffs of breath against my lips.
So close.
Right there.
And then the ringing of the shop phone cut through the moment, snapping us both back to reality.
Misha took a step away from me, and I felt the loss of his heat against my chest like the sun had gone dark.
Holding him in my arms had been everything, and now it was over.
The phone continued to ring, and I cursed under my breath.
“Do you need to grab that?” Misha was watching me, something akin to hope in his eyes.
I shook my head. “No. The shop’s technically not open. They can leave a message. The phone rang one more time before the voicemail picked up, but the moment was over, and left in the wake of our almost kiss was nothing but awkwardness, both of us staring at the other unsure what to do next.
Misha was standing closer to the mirror now, and I nodded toward it. “Take a look.”
He turned, and held out his arm, turning it over and moving so he could see the full tattoo from every angle. His eyes went glassy again, and his voice was barely above a whisper when he said, “It looks like it belongs there.”
“Because it does. It looks beautiful on you.”
His cheeks turned rosy again, and my heart did a somersault in my chest, landing somewhere around my feet. Misha was beautiful. All of him, not just the part I’d tattooed, and I could easily get obsessed with staring at him.
“Can I take pictures? For my portfolio.”
“Of me?”
“Yes. Of your tattoo.”
“My tattoo.” The words were almost whispered as Misha looked down at his arm again like he couldn’t believe the tattoo was on his skin, then he smiled wide, beaming at me.
“Of course you can take pictures of my tattoo.” He giggled a little and the sound went straight to my dick. “My tattoo. I still can’t believe it.”
I let him stare at his arm, his gaze swinging between his reflection in the mirror and his forearm, for another minute before holding up my phone.
“Oh, sorry. Um, where do you want me to stand?”
“Right there is fine.” I lifted his arm, my fingers tingling with the contact between our bare skin, and positioned it, snapping a few quick pictures.
I turned his arm over and snapped another picture.
Then I had him leave his arm at his side.
This time when I snapped the picture, I made sure his face was in it.
He was looking at me over his shoulder, and I didn’t think he realized that I’d captured his face in the shot. I didn’t mention it.
“Okay, just need to cover it up, and you’ll be all set.
” I grabbed a fresh pair of gloves and the roll of Saniderm, cutting a piece to wrap fully around his arm and gently positioning it over the fresh ink.
“Leave that on for at least three days, up to five if you can. It’s going to look gnarly underneath, but that’s okay.
This will help it heal faster. Be careful when you take it off.
Some people say it’s easier to remove the Saniderm in the shower, but make sure the water isn’t too hot. ”
Misha nodded. “Got it.”
For a minute neither of us moved or said anything.
We both realized this was the end of our time together, but I didn’t want him to go, and Misha didn’t seem to be in a rush to leave.
I opened my mouth to ask him if he wanted to grab dinner at the same time he opened his. I gestured for him to go ahead.
“How much do I owe you?” He pulled his wallet from his back pocket. “We talked about three hundred, right?”
Misha started pulling out bills, but I stopped him, covering his hand with mine. “This one is on me. A present to help you start your new life.”
He shook his head. “No, Tucker. That’s very generous, but I can’t accept. You worked so hard on the design, and what about all your time tonight?”
“Misha, spending time with you and getting to know you, you giving me a second chance even after I was a dick to you at the bakery, that’s all the payment I need.
It’s all the payment I want. Please let me do this for you.
It means the world to me that you have my mar—my art, on your skin.
” It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I’d consider us even if he agreed to have dinner with me, but after what he’d told me while I was working on his tattoo about the alphas he was running from being manipulative bastards, asking him to have dinner with me as payment felt wrong.
Misha blew out a breath, then closed his eyes and shook his head. “I wish you’d let me pay you, but since you’re refusing, I have no choice but to accept your very generous and beautiful gift. So thank you. Thank you so much.”
“You are so welcome.” I stood and stripped off my gloves, letting them land on the top of my worktable. “Let me walk you out.”
Misha nodded and followed me to the door, another tension-filled minute passing between us after I unlocked the door.
“Can I hug you?” Misha’s cheeks were my favorite pink, and although I knew touching him, holding him in my arms would be a bad idea, I smiled and held my arms wide.
Misha pressed himself against me, his arms wrapping around me, and I folded him into my embrace.
He rested his head against my shoulder, and I tipped my head into the space between his neck and shoulder, where his scent was strongest, and breathed him in deep.
I felt his chest lift against mine as he did the same, and I never wanted the moment to end.
The simple hug solidified what that little voice in my head had been telling me all night.
Misha was mine. My mate. My omega.
And it sucked that I couldn’t tell him.
That I wouldn’t.