"Sure," I mutter, and I watch as he pulls the needles out. Honestly, I’m not sure that they bother me any more than the thought of him touching me again. His jawline is so sharp in profile that it looks like it could cut glass. It’s smattered with a dark stubble, and I have to fight the urge to run a finger down it.
"Why a tulip?" he asks as he loads up one of the needles with the first color.
"You know what kind of flower that is?" I reply, surprised. He nods. The needle meets my skin for the first time, and I gasp – he grasps my hand to keep it in place. I try not to think about how strong his fingers are right now.
"It’s... what my grandma used to call me," I admit. "Just a nickname she had for me. Nobody else calls me that, but when she passed away, I knew that I needed to get something to commemorate her."
"I’m sorry you lost her," he replies softly, and there is a slight sadness to his voice that tells me that he means it. His fingers tighten on my hand as I shiver, nearly jerking away as the needle scrapes at my skin. It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, and though I could close my eyes and just pretend like this isn’t happening, that would mean missing out on him. And the intent expression of concentration on his face as he stares down at my skin like I am the most important person he has ever seen in his life.
It’s something I haven’t felt since Grandma was alive, and it feels good. Which is something of a miracle considering the needle poking me right now. A smile spreads across my face as I relax, feeling totally secure under Shotgun’s hand.
3
Shotgun
As she tells me a little more about her grandmother, I do everything that I can to keep my eyes on the tattoo. I don’t want to fuck this up. But she’s so damn sexy it’s hard to keep my focus. Hell, I’ve never had a woman like her in my chair, and I wish the tattoo she chose was massive so I’d have her under me for hours on end.
"...it’s just that she always said they were a new beginning, a fresh start," she explains to me. "And she said that they reminded her of me because they always bloom in spring, and, well, that’s my name."
"That’s pretty damn sweet," I remark, as I trace out the stem of the tulip in bright green ink on her wrist. This might be her first time, but she’s picked one hell of a difficult place to get her first tattoo, and she’s taking it like a champ. To be honest, it turns me the fuck on – she looks like innocence but is acting brave as hell.
In that sundress she’s wearing, and with the sunshine pouring through the window, I can practically make out her entire body – she's small, curvy, sexy as all hell, with that mess of blond hair around her shoulders and piercing green eyes that seem to cut right through me. We don’t get many girls in here, and the ones we do get are nothing like her. More leather than lace.
"I always thought it was kind of a silly name," she replies, pulling a face. "I mean, why not go with Summer? That’s the best time of year, isn’t it?"
"Not to me," I reply. "Spring all the way. New life, new starts..."
"I guess you have a point," she agrees, and she smiles at me. Fuck, her smile is gorgeous – is she flirting with me, or does she just look that hot by accident? I turn my attention back down to the flower on her wrist. This is all going way too fast. I could slow it down, but I know that she probably has other shit to do today, doesn’t want to spend all of it sitting in a chair waiting for me to finish up what should be a quick piece.
"I sure do," I reply, and she laughs.
"Cocky, huh?”
"Only when I’m right," I reply.
She giggles. I like the sound of her laugh. That’s something that a guy could get used to, if he wasn’t careful, and I’m feeling the direct opposite of careful right now.
This tulip? It’s like a sign. I’ve always been too sentimental for my own good, but there’s no way that I can deny the intensity of this coincidence. I know that this means something. A woman like her, with a smile like that, coming in and asking for a tulip the same morning that I saw all of mine bloom in my yard?
Yeah, no way I’m going to let that slide. When you know, you fucking know.
It doesn’t take long before I’m finished, and I reach over for some plastic wrap to cover her arm. Her wrist and her fingers are so delicate, and when I touch her, I move as carefully as possible. I don’t want to break her. She’s too precious for that.
"I love it," she murmurs, looking down at the picture on her arm. I’m not the biggest believer in my work, but this is one of my favorite pieces. Or maybe it’s just that I’ve got the best possible canvas to show it off on. I lean forward to seal the plastic around her wrist, tucking it in to make sure that the ink’s not going to run, and I notice that her nipples are pressing against the fabric of her sundress.
I try not to stare, but it’s hard when all I want to do is tease the fabric lower, lean down and take them into my mouth, hear her little gasp of desire when she feels my teeth on them.
"It’s perfect, really," she remarks,
