3. Liv
three
Liv
Istand outside Temptation Ink, staring through the window. This morning, getting a tattoo sounded exciting, rebellious, and wild. Now I'm remembering needles—and Keanu.
The door opens, and I jump. Keanu stands there, amused. "You coming in?" He leans against the doorway. Black shirt, tattooed forearms, dark hair, and an annoyingly handsome face. "Scared?"
"No," I say, but then don’t move.
"You coming?" There’s a teasing tone in his voice that pushes me to be brave.
I lift my chin. "Obviously."
Keanu leads me toward his station and shows me the final sketch—it's my drawing, only better. The flowers curve naturally around the moon, delicate but not overly feminine. I love it immediately. “Keanu."
His expression tightens. “You don't like it?"
"I love it." I smile, practically vibrating with happiness over something as simple as a tattoo design.
“Good.” The word comes out more like a sigh of relief. "Ready?" he asks.
"Absolutely."
Twenty minutes later, I'm lying on the tattoo chair questioning every decision I've ever made. I've lowered the waistband of my jeans enough to expose my hip while keeping everything appropriately covered. Keanu pulls on black gloves. Why are gloves attractive? They shouldn't be. Yet here we are.
He catches me staring. "What?"
"Nothing," I reply too fast, which sounds suspicious.
"You're staring."
"So were you."
His eyes flick to mine. "Wasn't."
"Liar."
He exhales slowly. "You're making my job difficult."
I grin. "I haven't even done anything."
"Exactly." That one word shuts me up for approximately seven seconds.
I watch as he positions the stencil—his gloved fingers brush my skin, and every nerve in my body seems to wake up at once. I remind myself this is clinical, professional, completely normal. My body, unfortunately, does not seem interested in the lecture.
My breath catches as his fingers come dangerously close to the top of my panties—red lace panties I specifically wore for today.
His hand freezes. “You okay?"
"Yep."
"You sure?" He gives me room to change my mind, and that is exactly why I don't. He never pushes. Even when he's clearly fighting his own feelings, he leaves the choice in my hands. For someone who started this week desperate to reclaim control of her own life, that matters more than he knows.
"You okay?" He asks again.
"Define okay." I tease.
“We can stop.” He moves to set the ink gun down.
"Do it," I say before thinking.
"That's a dangerous sentence." His eyes trace my lips.
My eyes widen at the double meaning. “Please.”
With a nod, he begins, and for the next hour, we talk about the winery, his shop, his sister, my family.
I tell him how Lex thinks being the oldest makes him ruler of the universe.
How Lyra and I once switched places during a middle-school test. How Lana once accidentally fermented something that smelled like gasoline, and Keanu actually laughs.
"You should do that more."
"What?"
"Laugh."
"I'm laughing now."
"Exactly. You're welcome."
He shakes his head. When he's finished, he wipes my skin carefully. “Want to see?"
He hands me a mirror. I look, and my chest tightens. It’s beautiful. Exactly where I wanted it—exactly mine. “Oh."
Keanu watches my face. "You like it?"
"I love it." I look at him. “Thank you."
His expression softens. "You're welcome."
Neither of us moves. Then Kira shouts from the front. “Is everyone wearing pants?"
Keanu closes his eyes. I burst out laughing. “Unfortunately," I call back.
Keanu mutters, "I'm firing her."
"No, you're not."
"Why?"
"Because you love her."
He looks at me. Yeah." The simple honesty does something unexpected to my heart.
I fix my clothes carefully as Keanu explains aftercare. I try to listen. But my mind keeps replaying the way he said easy. The way his hand felt steady against me. At the door, I turn. “Hey, Keanu?"
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you did it."
His gaze holds mine. “So am I."
I walk outside. And suddenly the tattoo isn't the wildest thing I've done today.
Flirting with Keanu Reed might be.