Sure am, sweetness. I’m at the shop, just finishing up my last piece for the night.
Can I stop by?
You don’t even have to ask. Always. Remember the name?
Of course, I do. I have near perfect recall.
LOL. Of course you do. See you soon?
See you soon.
The drive to Fine Line goes by quickly. Traffic is light this late at night, and my mind is still working a million miles per hour. Before I know it, I’ve arrived. I park in an open spot right in front of the door to Wilder’s tattoo shop, and, ignoring the butterflies that take flight in my stomach at being here for the first time, I hurry inside.
The space is beautiful. It’s a small shop, with only three other chairs besides Wilder’s, but it feels open and spacious. Exposed brick walls are covered in artwork and custom flash, the wood floors are wide planks that are polished and shiny, but show their decades of wear in pockmarks and dents that the building’s owner didn’t try to buff out before staining and sealing the floors. Music plays out of Bluetooth speakers hung in the corner of the room, but it’s set low enough that you can still hear the buzz of tattoo guns over it.
Wilder grins when he spots me, and my scent blooms. He’s so beautiful when he smiles. His whole face lights up, and right now, it’s because of me.
“Hey, sweetness!” Wilder calls. He says something to his client before turning off his tattoo gun and pushing off his stool. The other two artists currently working on their own clients look up at me curiously, and I wave awkwardly at them before Wilder picks me up in a crushing hug.
“Hi,” I mumble into his neck as he smooshes me to him.
“What are you doing out so late? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for bed by now? You have work tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, but I actually came from the lab. I saw Nigel tonight. Emeline is getting worse, and I can’t let them lose her after they lost Trevor.” My voice catches, but Wilder’s there, rubbing a hand up my back and soothing me.
“I know, baby.”
“But Vicki said the preclinicals are going well. The data shows more progress than any other formula we’ve tried before. Actually, triple the amount of progress, which is...mind-boggling but also so promising. Anyway, I can’t stop thinking about the research and the preclinical success so far. There’s no way I’d be able to sleep.”
Wilder’s smile turns soft. “That’s amazing. You’re amazing, and I’m glad you’re here. I’m almost done with this client. Maybe ten more minutes. Want to stick around, then I’ll treat you to some ice cream? There’s a twenty-four-hour diner down the road.”
“Can I watch you?” I ask, nervous for some reason.
“Hell yeah, you can.” Wilder releases me from our long hug and wraps his hand around mine, dragging me toward his station. “Joel, this is my omega, Liv. She’s going to hang out while I finish up if that’s okay with you.”
“Yeah, that’s okay.” Joel, who is so heavily tattooed you can barely see any flesh-colored skin on his arms, flashes me a smile. “Hey.”
Once again, I wave awkwardly, and both men chuckle as Wilder pulls a rolling stool over for me to sit on before tuggingon a new pair of gloves and picking up his tattoo gun. I lean forward, eager to watch him work. I’ve never seen anyone get a tattoo before. They’re not exactly socially acceptable in my mother’s circle.
Watching Wilder work is hypnotic. The way the individual dots of color blend together so effortlessly under his hand, the periodic wiping of ink, the soft hum of the machine. And watching him here, totally in his element, has my heart soaring for the second time tonight.
“Okay, man, you’re all done. You know the drill. Keep that second skin on for at least twelve hours, gentle soap, unscented lotion.” Wilder surveys his finished work one last time before he and the tattooed man clasp hands.
“I got it. See you in a few months.” The man turns and smiles at me. “Nice to meet you, Liv.”
“A few months?” I ask incredulously as Joel saunters out of the shop. “Does he have any bare skin left?”
Wilder laughs loudly as he breaks down his machine and sanitizes everything. “A little bit. Soon, we’ll probably have to tattoo his ass.”
My nose wrinkles at that. “Really? That sounds . . . unsanitary.”
“Come on, smarty-pants. Let’s go get that ice cream.” He wraps his arm around my shoulder and says goodnight to the other people in the shop before leading me out the door and over to his car. “We’ll come back for yours, okay?”
I nod. I don’t want to drive separately. I want to sit in the passenger seat and hold my alpha’s hand. His fingers thread through mine once we’re in the car, and a smile cuts across my face. It’s so blissfully domestic—I love it.
We eat ice cream and talk for hours. He tells me about his favorite tattoos, I tell him about my research. We share secrets and laughter, and with every passing minute, I fall harder forthe tattooed man sitting across the booth from me. By the time we get to the pack house and stumble into bed, we’re both so exhausted it takes no time at all to fall asleep.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
