Chapter 16
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
King
After I drop Willow off at Demi’s, who seems happy to have the company, I rush back to work, barely making it in time for my next appointment because of the traffic.
I have a few minutes here and there throughout the rest of the day where I could go talk to Sawyer, but the conversation we need to have isn’t one that should be rushed. Plus, she doesn’t seem in any hurry to talk to me either, barely getting up from behind her desk.
It’s like the two of us are teetering at the edge of a cliff, staring at each other, wondering who’s going to jump first. And if the other will follow. By the time I finish my last appointment, clean up, and gather my things, it’s around nine fifteen p.m.
I walk up front to see Sawyer sitting on the lobby couch on her phone, and the rest of the shop is seemingly quiet, not surprising since we were supposed to close at nine tonight.
“Hey,” she says as I walk into the lobby.
“Hey, are you the last one here?” I ask, setting my phone and sketchbook I was carrying down on top of the desk and leaning against it.
“Yup.” She sets her phone down, standing up from the couch. “Asher left about ten minutes ago. He told me to tell you that he and Demi would bring Willow back to the house and hang with her until whenever you get home.”
“Yeah, he texted me too.” I nod.
“Okay, good.” She walks over to the desk, reaching over the top of it to grab her bag that’s sitting below the counter.
She pulls her purse over it, knocking over my sketchbook in the process.
“Shit, sorry,” she says.
“Don’t worry about it.” I go to reach down to pick it up, but she beats me to it, grabbing it off the floor.
She flips it over to the already-opened page, staring at it curiously. The sketch is of a bundle of bright yellow, blossoming flowers that I’ve been working on in my free time.
“Is this a tattoo that you did?” she asks, running her fingers over the art on the page.
“No, that was just something I was messing around with for myself,” I say, and she looks up at me, confused.
“For you?” she asks. “Yellow flowers don’t seem like they match your vibe.” She nods toward the ink visible on my arms, which is all black ink design work.
“I guess it’s not my usual style. It was just an idea.” I shrug.
“Well, where’d the idea come from?” She pushes.
“Willow had an obsession with any and every yellow flower a couple months ago, so I started looking some up to draw for her, maybe eventually paint them on her wall or something.” I pause. “One night I was Googling some and found this variation of yellow Butterfly Kisses flowers.”
“Butterfly Kisses?” Sawyer asks, her eyes wide, a serious expression on her face.
“Yeah.” I nod. “You know when you flutter your eyelashes against someone? Willow used to do it to me all the time when she was a toddler. It was kind of our thing.” I chuckle under my breath.
I look down to see Sawyer looking frozen. Her skin pale, and her eyes glazed over like she’s in a faraway place as she stares down at the sketchbook.
“Yeah, I know what Butterfly Kisses are,” she says, her voice softer than normal.
She reaches up gently, playing with the gold butterfly necklace around her neck. One I’d never actually noticed until now.
It’s a thin gold chain with the outline of a butterfly hanging from it. Its outline is dainty, with small diamonds covering it. She fists her hand around the butterfly for a second, gripping it like it’s her lifeline before letting go.
I’m about to ask her if everything’s okay when she speaks.
“I want it.” Her eyes snap up to mine.
“Want what?” I ask, my eyes crinkling in confusion.
“The Butterfly Kisses,” she says, sounding more confident. “I want you to tattoo it on me.”
“It was just a sketch that I was drawing for myself.” I raise a brow at her. “You want to get matching tattoos?”
“I don’t really care if you get it or not, I just know that I want it.” She shrugs. “Plus, millions of people have matching tattoos and don’t even know it. I just…” She pauses, taking a deep breath. “I need that tattoo.” She looks up at me, no hint of a joke in her eyes.
“Okay, yeah.” I nod, giving in. “I can tattoo it for you whenever you want,” I say.
“Now?” she asks.
“You want it right now?” I ask, thinking she has to be joking, but she just nods, looking dead serious. “Um, alright, well, I have to call Asher and make sure they can stay late with Willow.”
“Okay, call him,” she says. “I’ll wait in your room.” She brushes past me, still clutching my sketchbook as she walks toward my room.
I stare at her as she goes. This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go, but I guess I can’t complain about the turn of events. I wanted to talk to Sawyer, and seeing how I’m about to have her trapped under my tattoo gun for at least a couple hours, it could be the perfect time.
But I can’t figure out her sudden, immediate need to get this tattoo. Especially since it wasn’t even meant for her, or anyone besides maybe me eventually.
Something switched in her demeanor as soon as I said the flowers were Butterfly Kisses. I don’t know what it was about them that triggered her, but clearly, she feels a connection to them somehow. It’s the only rational explanation for why she’s so adamant about getting them tattooed on her right this second.
I quickly call Asher, who assures me that Willow is fine and Demi is already fast asleep on my couch, so he’s happy to stay as long as I need. After hanging up with him, I make my way into my room, where Sawyer is sitting on the chair, still staring at the sketchbook.
“You know where you want it? Or how big?” I ask her.
“Fuck.” She jumps, not having noticed me walk into the room.
“Sorry.” I chuckle under my breath.
“It’s fine.” She shakes her head. “Yeah.” She pauses. “Back of my neck,” she whispers, as if it’s almost just for herself. She eventually snaps out of whatever trance she was in, speaking normally, “The size you sketched it is good.”
“Alright, let me get the stencil printed and everything. You can hang out, get comfortable.” I nod toward the chair she’s already sitting on.
Everything is freshly cleaned and sterilized since I did it after I finished my last appointment, planning to leave before Sawyer decided that she needed a tattoo.
I set up my tray with everything and got the stencil ready, gloving up before turning to see her watching me, an unreadable expression on her face.
“Ready?” I ask her.
“Yup.” She nods, reaching down and pulling her shirt over her head so it doesn’t get in the way. She stands there in some sort of black bralette.
With anyone else, I wouldn’t bat an eye. I’m a professional. But this is Sawyer. And I can’t help the way my eyes fall to her chest.
The thin material does little to conceal her nipples that harden at my stare, and I gulp, forcing my eyes back up to hers. Her face is slightly flushed, but she’s smirking, and I know I’ve been caught, but she doesn’t call me out on it.
She reaches behind her, pulling her long, copper hair into a messy bun on top of her head before turning away from me so her back is toward me.
“Okay, I’m just gonna clean and shave the area first, then I’ll put the stencil on, and you can check it,” I tell her.
“I know the drill.” She nods.
I get to work, doing as I said. Once I have the stencil placed where I think it looks like the perfect spot on her neck, I take a picture of it so she can see it.
“Looks good,” she says. “Okay if I connect my phone to your speaker?” she asks.
“Yeah, sure. Let me get you set up while your stencil dries,” I say, laying the chair flat for her.
She connects her phone to my speaker, and a few seconds later, music filters softly through the room. She then moves back to the chair, laying down flat on her stomach, her head down through the hole in the chair so that her neck is straight.
“I’ll do a little piece so you can see how it feels in this area first, okay?” I ask her once she’s set up and ready to go.
“Okay,” she says.
I get my machine ready to go and do a small piece on the uppermost part of her neck to start. Once she tells me that it’s good, I keep going. About half an hour of silence goes by, only music filling it as I try to let her get used to the feeling of the tattoo gun before I decide to break it. If there was ever a time to talk, it might as well be now.
“So, we were supposed to talk,” I finally say.
“Yeah, we were,” she says. “I guess we can do that now, but it does feel kind of weird not being able to look at you while we talk.”
“Well, I’m looking at you,” I joke.
“I’d hope so, considering you’re permanently marking me,” she teases back, and I laugh under my breath.
I find myself doing that more often lately. Laughing. Smiling.
It’s like I can’t help it with her around.
“So, you want to talk about what almost happened?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Look, maybe you’re right and nothing should happen between us, but we keep having these moments. And I don’t think it’s just me.”
“It’s not just you.” She sighs. “I like you, Damien. But there are so many reasons why we shouldn’t do this. What if we end badly and you turn into a dick?”
“I’d never be a dick to you, Sawyer. No matter what,” I say.
“Well, you were pretty dick-like the first night I met you, so it could happen,” she jokes.
“You spilled your drink on me and then yelled at me.” I laugh. “But sure, I was the shitty one.”
“There you go, trying to blame me again,” she says, her voice teasing. “See, this could never work out. Our first meeting was a mess, and you still can’t take accountability for it.”
“Alright, fine. I walked into your drink. It was my fault. I was definitely a, what was it you called me?” I ask.
“A fucking asshole.” She doesn’t miss a beat.
“Right.” I nod. “Then I was a fucking asshole.”
“Much better. You’re learning.” She laughs lightly.
“So, that’s one problem solved,” I say. “What’s the next one?”
She’s silent for a minute before she speaks, sounding more serious. “Maybe we can talk about it after you finish the tattoo?”
“Yeah, okay, we can do that,” I say, hearing the need for it in her voice.
“Thanks,” she whispers.
I get back to focusing on the tattoo, and a comfortable silence falls between us as I work. I take breaks every now and then, but Sawyer doesn’t ever flinch, seeming fine to keep going. I’m not sure how much time passes, but before I know it, the tattoo is nearly done. It looked nice when I drew it, but seeing it against her skin is something else.
In the middle is one long green stem with two large leaves coming off of it. The stem breaks off into different small branches where yellow flowers bloom, some fully blossomed, while others are just beginning to. I used a little orange and red shading in the center of the flowers to give them some dimension.
Overall, it looks pretty damn good.
Especially on her.
It’s like it was made for her, and I didn’t even realize it. But she knew, and I’m still curious why.
“All done,” I tell her.
She slowly sits up on the chair, and I hand her a handheld mirror for her to use so she can see her reflection in the standing mirror.
She stares at the fresh ink, an unreadable expression on her face, and then she smiles.
A barely there, soft smile.
“You want to tell me why you wanted it so bad now?” I ask her.
She’s quiet for a minute, not acknowledging that I spoke at all, and I don’t think she’s going to answer. Until she does.
“Butterfly Kisses were me and my mom’s thing too,” she says, her voice barely a whisper.
“Is that what your necklace is for too?” I ask.
“Yeah.” She nods. “My mom has one too. My dad got them for us.” She pauses. “But that was when I was really young, before…” Her voice trails off.
“Before what?” I ask.
“Before my dad died. Life changed after that.” She pauses, turning to face me. “She became addicted to alcohol, and then drugs. She just stopped being my mom.”
“That’s why you said sometimes it’s better to have a mom who leaves if she’s not fit to parent than stay.” I nod, understanding now.
“Yeah.” She sighs. “My mom’s not a bad person. She loves me, she just ended up loving alcohol and drugs more.”
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head, at a loss for any words to make it better.
I hate that she went through that. I hate that any child has to go through something like that. I’ve never felt like my girls were lucky to have Jillian walk away and to only have me.
But maybe they are. I’d rather my kids have a parent stay because they wanted to than resent them otherwise.
“It’s okay,” she says, holding up the mirror to look at the flowers again. “I still have good memories with her, and those will always outweigh the bad ones for me. That’s why I wanted the tattoo. It reminds me of a good memory.” She chews her lip beneath her teeth as a single tear falls down her cheek.
“Hey,” I say, gently pushing the mirror down. I reach out, using my thumb to swipe the tear away.
She tilts her head into my hand instinctively, letting out a sigh.
I think it’s the most vulnerable I’ve ever seen Sawyer. She always acts so confident, so tough. Like nothing can pierce her thick skin.
This is a different side of her. One that I don’t feel like she lets many people see. And here she is, letting me see it. That has to mean something.
Her eyes flutter up to mine, still shining from the tears, yet full of so much more than sadness.
“Let me wrap the tattoo, okay?” I ask her, and she nods.
I quickly care for the fresh ink and tape some Saran Wrap over it so that it’s covered. She turns back to me when I finish.
“Thank you,” she says, still not pulling away from my touch.
“For what?” I ask.
“The tattoo, listening to me, I don’t know, just being here.” She pauses.
“I like being here for you,” I say. “A lot.”
“I like it too.” She takes a step toward me so we’re just inches apart. She presses her body against mine, her chest brushing my own with every breath she takes.
“Sawyer.” I tilt my head down, my lips ever so slightly brushing against hers.
“Damien.” She presses her lips to mine softly.
It’s barely a kiss, yet it feels like the most electric thing I’ve ever felt in my life.
Fuck it, I can’t fight it any longer.
I wrap my hand around her lower back, pulling her tightly against me as I slam my lips against hers. She doesn’t hesitate to kiss me back. Her body molding against my own, her hands finding the back of my neck as if she’s trying to pull me closer.
Kissing a woman has never felt like this before. It’s unlike anything I’ve experienced before. It’s time stopping.
I swipe my tongue against the seam of her lips, and she instantly opens for me. I devour her mouth, exploring every inch, and she gives as good as she gets. Her lips are soft yet demanding against mine.
We kiss each other recklessly. Like the world could be collapsing around us and neither of us would bother to notice. It’s so unlike me. To let go of control and just be in the moment. But with her, how could I not?
She makes me want to forget everything except her. She’s intoxicating.
Eventually, I force myself to pull away, resting my forehead against hers, both our breaths heavy. Her lips are swollen and red, and she chews her bottom lip beneath her teeth. Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes look up to mine, full of desire.
“We should really talk.” It takes everything in me to force the words out of my mouth, and she knows it.
“Fuck talking.” She shakes her head. “You want me to know how you feel? Show me.” She looks up at me, her eyes taunting me. “Kiss me, Damien.”
There are a million reasons why we should stop now. A million things we need to talk about.
And yet, I kiss her again anyway.