Scratching him on top of the head, Logan held the bone out for him and then got up and walked back toward me, smiling widely. Of course, he had to stop to watch the kittens for a moment, but then he crossed over to where I was and bent in to kiss me.
Pressing my hand against his face, I pushed it gently away. “Dude, no. You need to wash your face first. Remember when we caught him eating something in the garden and couldn’t figure out what it was? Well, I caught him sniffing the litter tray today, too, and I’m not one hundred percent certain he didn’t go truffle snuffling in it if you get my drift.”
Realizing the truffles would be cat poop, he scrunched his face and moved quickly to the bathroom. “Why didn’t you tell me that shit before I let him do it, Bex. Jesus, what if he’d touched my mouth?”
“I’d hope you wouldn’t be the kind of person who’d let a dog tongue you. But just in case it needs to be said—don’t let him tongue you,” I called over my shoulder to his back. Just as the door to the bathroom began to close, I added, “And use soap. Lots of soap.”
It would be nice when the furniture arrived to have a place to sit and eat downstairs, but I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be sad not to have the excuse to curl up in bed with him, watching a movie instead of sitting on a couch doing it.
At that moment, I had my head on Logan’s chest as we watched Son In Law, and the hand of his arm under me was brushing up and down my arm. The rhythmic thud of his heart was almost like a lullaby, and when he laughed, and I felt it vibrate on my cheek, it made the moment feel even more intimate. Lucky for me, the movie was freaking hilarious, so I got to feel it a lot.
“Can you imagine if I did that when we were younger? Your dad would’ve killed me.”
“Pops would’ve helped him,” I snickered. “I remember when he saw my tattoo for the first time. Saying he lost his shit is putting it nicely.”
He rolled into me, turning me onto my back as he looked down at me.
“What exactly is the tattoo?”
“It’s a design that I saw and liked,” I winced. “I thought I was cool getting one at the base of my spine until I heard someone call them tramp stamps.”
“But what is it?” he asked again, prodding me with his finger at the same time.
“Well, if my family ever asks, it’s the ancient Egyptian symbol for strength. If you ever go to a tattoo place, though, you’ll probably find it under the ‘bullshit tribal’ category of their tattoos. You know, the ones that are quick, cheap, and easy to get done.”
“What did your Pops do when he saw it?”
“Well,” I wriggled slightly to get more comfortable.
Telling stories about Pops hurt, and it was hard to do, but at the same time, I needed to talk about him, and Logan knew that, so he often asked questions like this. Talking about him kept him alive, and my heart was never going to let him go.
“He’d come to visit me, not long after he got Doyle when he was a baby, and I bent over to pick up a bag when we came from the store. My tank top lifted at the back, and he saw the tattoo. He asked if my parents knew about it, and when I said they didn’t, he very casually asked where I’d gotten it done as we put the groceries away.”
Logan was already laughing without me telling him what happened. “He went and gave the guy shit, didn’t he?”
“Worse than that—he went and threatened to get him shut down. He told the guy that if he ever saw me again, he was to lock his doorm and to turn and walk the other way if he saw me walking down the street. He even had the audacity to tell the guy that it was shittily done, and that if he was going to give tacky tattoos, he could at least do them well.”
Laughing even harder, Logan motioned at me to turn onto my stomach. When I was in place, he lifted the back of the t-shirt that I’d stolen and inspected it.
“You know, he might actually be right. The outside of it’s uneven, and the shading is weird.”
“That’s the perk of it being on my back, I can’t see how bad it is,” I chuckled. “But I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t feel embarrassed now when I feel my top lift up at the back and know that people can see it.”
“You should get Ellis or Mace to fix it,” he suggested, still tracing the design with his finger. “I doubt they have the old Egyptian symbol for strength in their books,” he snickered, “and the work they did for me was pretty killer.”
Turning my head to see the arm with my favorite tattoos on it, I thought about it.
“The problem is, I’m kind of a pussy. I’ve got a scar here,” I lifted my hand to show him, “where two of my teeth broke the skin when I bit down on it during the tattoo. I don’t know if they’d ever let me live it down if I did that while they were working on me.”
“I’m fairly certain Ava would kill Mace if he upset you in any way. Just bring both of us with you.”
That wasn’t a bad idea. I could bite his hand!
Liking the idea more now, I asked, “What would I get done?”
“Given how dark and thick the design is, it might take some work to cover it up. What about a book or something like that?”
Picturing it in my mind, I wrinkled my nose. “That would look weird
