Chapter 25 Reed
REED
Iturned back around, ready to walk her through the setup and tattooing process. I started to wheel the table over and nearly knocked over everything.
She was already lying on the table, shirtless, just waiting for me.
My brain short-circuited. After a few seconds, I realized I was staring at her.
Her body was incredible. She was lean but curvy.
Her tits at this angle looked fucking fantastic.
Judging by the size, they would have to be more than a handful.
I could see her rosy pink nipples through her white lacey bralette. My throat went dry.
“Jesus, Wren,” I coughed, doing my best to keep my eyes—mostly—where they were supposed to be. “Are you trying to kill me?”
She smirked, all innocent mischief, like she knew exactly what she was doing. “You said strip and get on the table.”
“I wasn’t being serious.”
“Oh, I know.” That wicked smile didn’t budge.
She was loving the power shift. The way I stood there, completely wrecked just from the sight of her.
I cleared my throat, trying to reel it in, but the way she looked at me, her chin tipped up and her eyes lit with something between a dare and desire, made it impossible to focus on anything but her.
“You know this isn’t helping me concentrate,” I said, stepping in, letting my hand skim along the curve of her collarbone. It was the spot where I was about to leave a mark she’d carry forever. Her breath caught.
“It isn’t supposed to, Reed.” She whispered. “Just work.”
God help me. This girl was going to ruin me.
“All right,” I said, clearing my throat. “You ready?”
She nodded, biting her bottom lip.
I sat and turned back to my station, grabbing fresh gloves and finishing the setup.
I was trying hard like hell to stay in work mode, to keep my head focused, and stay professional.
It was not time to focus on her lips or her exposed skin.
It was definitely not time to think about that white bralette that left almost nothing to the imagination.
I hadn’t realized that under those hoodies, she was hiding all that.
It was hard not to focus on the way she smelled.
It had to have been some type of citrus and warm vanilla and some kind of softness that made me want to press my face into her neck and breathe her in.
I stepped closer and gently brushed over her skin to sanitize the spot. She inhaled sharply.
“Is this okay?” I asked, voice lower than I intended.
She nodded slowly, but the way she looked at me was like she wasn’t just thinking about the tattoo. Not even close.
“Yeah,” she said, barely above a whisper. “It’s more than okay.”
I swallowed hard and picked up the stencil.
“This is gonna be cold,” I warned, applying the gel and then the stencil beneath her collarbone. My knuckles grazed the edge of her chest, and goosebumps rose along her skin. I looked up.
She was already watching me. Her pupils blown black and lips parted like she was holding back a thought she didn’t trust herself to say.
“Wren…” I started, not sure where I was going with it. I just needed to say her name. To anchor myself.
She smirked slightly, head tilted. “Yeah?”
“Do you want to check the placement before I start?”
She smiled the biggest smile, “Nope. I trust you.”
God help me. I sat up straight, exhaled, and flicked the machine on.
“Hold still.”
The buzz filled the room, and I pressed the needle to her skin.
She flinched, sucked in a sharp breath, and then relaxed.
I kept my eyes on her. I watched for every subtle shift, every flutter of her lashes, the pink rising on her neck.
She stared at me like she couldn’t decide whether to kiss me or keep letting me tattoo her.
“You okay?” I asked, voice soft.
She nodded, but this time her voice was rough. “Mhm. Feels kinda nice. I can see why you have so many.”
I couldn’t stop the grin. “Didn’t peg you for a masochist.”
She shrugged, eyes glinting. “Guess you brought it out of me.”
For fuck’s sake. I focused on the ink, watching each line take shape. But all I could feel was her—her warmth, her breath, the pulse under her skin where my fingers rested, steady and sure, even though I felt anything but.
By the time I finished, sweat had gathered at the back of my neck. It wasn’t from the work, but from the effort it took not to fall apart.
I shut off the machine, wiped the area clean, and looked up. She was still watching me. Like she knew. Like she felt it too.
“You did amazing, Little Birdie,” I said quietly, peeling off the back of the Tegaderm and applying it to her skin. I took off my gloves and tossed them in the trash.
“So did you,” she whispered, that lazy, gorgeous grin spreading across her face. “I think you made me fall in love.”
My chest tightened. For some reason, I knew she wasn’t just talking about the tattoo.
And God help me… I didn’t think I was far behind. Her smile still lingered in the space between us. The kind of smile that made it hard to remember where the line between us was. Or if it had ever existed at all.
I was about to say something. Something stupid, probably. Or honest. Something about how I’d wanted this exact moment for longer than I should’ve. How perfect the tattoo looked on her, but not half as perfect as the way she was looking at me.
And then—
“Reed, what the actual hell?”
I jolted back like I’d been caught red-handed. Which, in a way, I had. Dax stood in the doorway, smoothie in one hand, keys swinging from the other. His gaze flicked from me to Wren, who was still sitting half-undressed on the tattoo table, her fresh ink still red and wrapped.
Wren quickly reached for her shirt, pulling it on as the moment cracked and fell apart, awkward silence filling the space with a little too much air conditioning.
“I thought you weren’t working today,” Dax said, raising a brow. “Did I get the schedule wrong, or did you sneak in to get lucky on the shop chair?”
He knew the schedule was right. We have kept the same schedule for over a decade now. I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. “I’m not working. I brought her in to see the place. She’s been asking for years.”
Dax blinked. Then it clicked. “Oh. Oh shit. This is… her. You look familiar. Have we met before?”
Wren gave a small wave, cheeks flushed but eyes still dancing. “I think once or twice, a few years ago. I am Cameron’s sister.”
Dax looked at me like he was suddenly connecting five pieces of a puzzle I hadn’t told him I was putting together. I have never seen Dax nervous, not once in all these years. But watching him avoid eye contact and rub the back of his neck? Dude was seriously feeling something.
“I’m gonna just grab some stuff from the back,” he said, already backing away, a grin forming. “You two carry on. But maybe not too much carrying on. I still work here.”
He disappeared around the corner.
“Well,” I muttered. “That was subtle.”
Wren laughed. It was a real laugh, a sound I wasn’t sure I’d ever heard from her before. Soft, unguarded, the kind of laugh you wanted to bottle up and keep in your back pocket. “So… does he walk in on your ‘non-working’ days often?”
“I think this is the only time I’ve tattooed on a day off,” I said, smirking. “Unless we count when I tattoo myself.”
She hopped down from the table and came to stand beside me. That smile hadn’t gone far.
“I like your shop,” she said quietly. “It feels like you.”
I glanced down at her. Wren barely reached my chest at five-foot-three, but somehow she always felt bigger than her size. Especially in moments like this, when everything in me was buzzing from her presence.
“You mean chaotic and covered in ink?”
She shrugged. “I mean full of life. And secrets.”
That stopped me cold. Like she’d seen something I hadn’t meant to show.
I leaned in, lowering my voice just for her. “You realize you’ve got one of those secrets on your skin now, right?”
She grinned, eyes sparkling. “Yeah. And I think I’m addicted.”