Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Lukas
In the week since Waverly last laid on my table, I've been recruited to be a groomsman, developed an addiction to her damn cookies, and rekindled my hatred for my brother. I also filmed two interviews for the YouTube channel I collaborate on, booked a tattoo convention, plus I’m able to squeeze in a session with one of my favorite clients, Grae world famous music producer to Amanda Chase.
I am a consummate professional, at the top of my game, and one of the industry's leading artists, but right now, my hand is on Waverly's ass, and I can't stand up.
Her tattoo is healing perfectly. Objectively, it's my best work. I kind of wish I could post the before and after to my social media, but I also don't want anyone else to see that “before” catastrophe.
I still can’t place where I’ve seen the line work before. And there are all sorts of hidden images buried under the surface. If I hadn’t spent hours staring at it, I would’ve missed it. I keep coming back to the letter D hidden in the picture. I’ll worry about it later.
Her skin is the perfect medium, and she's being so still, keeping her breaths steady. The tattoo machine buzzes and I know she can't hear me say, “Good girl,” but I say it anyway. Because she is.
Such a good girl.
Fuck. Focus on the ink, the art.
I never sign my work- it’s gross and unprofessional. With Waverly, I wouldn't be signing my art, I’d be branding her. I have no right to claimher.
I do it anyway.
The L and the S are hidden in the petals of the hydrangea. She’ll never even know they’re there.Pangs of guilt hit me the instant I finish. It's wrong and I should fix it. Instead, I move on to the next color to work on the highlights.
I roll my stool toward her shoulder, bracing and lifting her gently. “Do you need a break?” I ask in a low voice.
“Yes,” she says, her tone matching my own.
My hand is on her shoulder, keeping her steady. Her body heat warms my palm and I get a whiff of her shampoo. “Move slowly.” It sounds more like an order than a suggestion, so I add, “I don't want you to pass out again.”
When her feet gently touch the floor, she scoots to the edge of the table and stands. She’s like a ballerina dancing on stage, graceful and delicate .
“Good girl,” I mutter as I turn my attention to my work station. “We've got about an hour left. Go get some water and a snack.”
Once she's out of ear shot, Jade squeaks, “Oh, my god.”
My receptionist is sporting a shit-eating grin.
“What?”
“You 'good girl'ed her.” Jade bounces on her toes.
Shit.
My cheeks burn and my back breaks out in a sweat. “It's no big deal.” I focus on cleaning my station and not on Jade’s smug little smirk.
“Oh, it’s a very big deal.” She’s humming and dancing around me.
“Do you like working here? Because if you do, you should drop it and go back to the counter.”
She sticks her tongue out at me. “Fine, but I’m picking the playlist.”
“Whatever. Go away.”
By the time Waverly comes back, Amanda Chase’s pop music pumps through the speakers. Waverly lies on the table, resuming her last position. I try to focus on the work, not on her. Do the highlights, make it perfect. Forget about her magnificent ass inches away, or how perfect she feels in my hands, or how she felt years ago. Ignore her blind trust in my artistic ability. Her trust to leave her body in my hands. Fixate on getting the shading and highlights right. Get your act together man. Be a professional.
She lets out a tiny moan. Fuuuck, my plan to be professional goes up in the air just like my… I clear my throat.
“You okay?”
“Yeah. It's the good kind of pain,” she says in her sleepy voice.
Jesus Christ almighty, all my blood rushes south.
No.
Stop.
She's not yours.Ok, think about something else. Anything else. I’m running low on black ink. She had a black bathing suit I took off with my teeth once.
Shit. Think about something else. Like, um, that episode of Futurama about Fry’s dog waiting for him every day for the rest of its little cartoon dog life. But Fry would never come home because he was in the future and the dog was living in the past. The dog wasted his life on a love that could never be returned.
Oh god, now I’m sad and horny. And somehow a show with a talking lobster just became a cautionary tale for my life.
I finish up, wiping the last of the ink away. It might be my best work. They're definitely my best flowers. “Care for a look?”
She lifts her head and twists on the table. “You, sir, are wearing your silly pants today. Of course I want to see it.”
There's a mirror on the wall to make the room seem bigger. I help her to her feet, and when Waverly braces herself on my shoulder, I savor her touch.
God, what if it didn’t come out how she imagined? What if she hates it? I swallow and try to fight against my imposter syndrome. “It’s going to take a few days to heal. Right now it’s red and puffy.” I prep her, manage her expectations.
I hand her a second mirror so she can see it, then I grab my phone and snap a picture. I need to make this moment perfect for her. The pinks and purples pop against the soft white skin on her back that she rarely exposes to the sun.
Her eyes turn glassy as she covers her mouth. Oh, no, this is her crying face.
“Shit, you don't like it,” I whisper. This is my worst fucking nightmare. I can handle an unhappy client, but I can’t have an unhappy Waverly because my work wasn’t what she expected. “I can fix it.”
She shakes her head before dropping her hands from her face and wrapping her arms around me. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she sobs into my neck, hugging me tighter. “I feel lighter, freer somehow. It’s beautiful.”
My fingers brush against her exposed back, pulling her in closer. She’s small in my arms, and I love it. I want to keep her there, her chest pressed against mine, the smell of her shampoo wrapping around me. She’s resurrected a thousand dead memories, all of a life long gone. Can I have that life with her again? Do I even deserve it? Other darker thoughts try to push their way into the back of my head, but I push back.
“I'm glad you like it.” I open my eyes and brush my thumb against her cheek. “Please stop crying.” My voice drops. “Your tears are like bullets to me.”
She sniffs and wipes her tears with the palm of her hands, then she straightens her back and she’s all smiles again, warmth and light.
And damn. She’s a good listener, and everything I like in a partner.
I swallow hard.
She blinks rapidly as she tries to sound chipper. “How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing,” I say way too fast.
“No, I have to pay you.”
She tilts her head to the side confused. Her hypnotic, pink lips hover open. Her mouth is so warm and inviting. Does she still taste the same? There's a thousand different ways I could tell her to pay me, and not a single one involves money.
“More cookies,” I say. “They’re my favorite.”
“Done.”
She reacts like I’ve given her the greatest gift of all time. Which I very well might have, because my bills won’t be paid in cookies. I smile, trying to come up with something cool to say to her, but my thoughts run into a brick wall.
She walks over to the table to grab her purse, and for a flicker, I see the thin line of her stomach. I watch her pull her shirt down, and all my fingers want to do is graze that sliver of skin and slide gently under her shirt. I'm still on the stool, looking at her, wondering if my thoughts are written on my face, or my pants. This girl will be the death of me.
Waverly wraps her arms around her purse, clinging to it like it’s her only source of protection. Who is she protecting herself from? Me?
“It was good to have you back in my life, even if it was only for a few days.” She dips her head, her eyes trained on the ground.
“Yeah.” It's all I can say.
As she walks towards the door, she turns back and gives me a tiny wave goodbye.
“No.” Absolutely not. She’s not blowing up my life and walking out again, and I am not going to be a sad, old cartoon dog. “I don’t want you in my life for a little while.”
She flinches and her shoulders sink. “I’m sorry I wasted your time.”
She’s not getting it, and it’s my fault. We’ve been out of sync this whole time, and if it doesn’t get fixed right now, it never will.
“I want you here..for the foreseeable future. Before, during, and after the wedding. I’m not going to let another five years go by without you in my life, one way or another.”
Waverly tilts her head to the side. “Like friends?”
No. Fucking communicate and don’t let history repeat itself. “We can start out like that. You’ve got a lot on your plate, and if you need time to heal and process, I get it. But you’re back, and I’m not letting you leave again.”
Her whole body does a little shimmy shake, and I’m sure it’s completely involuntary. She lights up like a football stadium flood light. And God, her smile. It’s the greatest sight I’ve ever seen. “Come over tonight,” I say.
She bites her lower lip and nods. “Sure.”