“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” Charlie chuckles.
“His hands are nowhere near as soft as yours.” Hudson pouts. “Come on, Giselle, distract me from the pain he’s about to put me through.”
“You’re about to putyourselfthrough,” I correct, feeling my feet moving beneath me without a second thought.
Hudson shrugs those broad shoulders of his. “Either way, the feel of your hands on me is going to be worth any pain.”
I swing the chair Hudson had been lounging on to face the correct way and sit, desperately trying to ignore his residualbody heat now flowing along the backs of my thighs. “Even if I was the one hurting you?”
“I’m sure I told you before Giselle, but if you need reminding… any way you want me, I’ll take it.”
Chapter 9
Hudson
Why won’t Giselle just admit the obvious attraction between us, so we can do something about it?
If I asked her out now, I’m pretty sure she would say no, and I really don’t understand why.
There’s something there, between us, I know there is – mutual attraction, sexual chemistry, whatever you want to call it – but something makes Giselle retreat back every single time.
“We still finishing off the creation of Adam on your neck?” Charlie asks me, rolling on a fresh pair of latex gloves and peering down at the tattoo that we started inking into my flesh a couple weeks back.
“Yeah, please.” I reach behind my neck to pull my t-shirt off even though it’s not exactly necessary. Charlie could work his way around tattooing my skin by just pulling the neckline down slightly, but I’d be silly not to take any opportunity I can when Giselle is sitting so close to me.
Charlie sanitises the right-hand side of my neck with a cold alcohol-soaked wipe, nodding his head to give me a warning so I can close my eyes before I can see the tattoo gun. I’m not the biggest fan of needles, although strangely enough I can watch others get inked up without a problem.
At least I know the pain will be worth it in the end.
Gooseflesh prickles across my neck at the first contact of the gun, quickly followed by the sharp sting I’ve come to be familiar with over the past couple of years I’ve been visiting Charlie’s tattoo parlour.
I hiss through my teeth when Charlie hits a particularly sensitive spot, but the feel of soft fingertips grabbing at my wrist, folding her fingers over mine to grip tightly without a word, does the job of taking the edge off.
It doesn’t take long for the thrumming sound of the tattoo gun to cease and for a square of tissue to be swiped over my skin one last time to remove the excess ink.
“All done, mate.” I crack open my eyes to peer at my neck in the mirror, my eyebrows rising as I look at the famous art piece Charlie has managed to replicate.
He holds a square of plastic wrap to my freshly cut skin, securing it with four pieces of tape and pockets the multiple thin sheets of £20 notes I hand over to him as payment.
Giselle keeps her lips tightly sealed, just as she has done for most of my tattooing session, but I can feel the heat of her eyes on me, on my body, as I mimic her actions and slide my shirt back on.
“Got any plans for the rest of the evening?”
I glance at Giselle out of the corner of my eye before I answer Charlie’s question. “To be decided…”
Charlie sends me a nod in silent understanding, his eyes too flicking to Giselle and then back to me. “What about next weekend? Will you be free on the Saturday?”
“I can be.”
“Next Saturday. The Stag’s Head.” Charlie reels off the name of our usual haunt. “I’ll tell Freya and the gang we’re celebrating your birthday then.”
It isn’t until we’re both halfway across the parlour floor, passing Freya’s now empty receptionist desk, that Giselle opens her mouth. “Your birthday’s next week?”
I shake my head, plucking the only winter coat beside mine, which hangs from the designated rack, and holding aloft the sleeves for Giselle to slide her arms into. The scent of whatever perfume she sprayed on her coat collar, before she walked out of her apartment this evening, even stronger now I’m standing so close behind her.
“It’s tomorrow. The big two-six.”
“You’re turning twenty-six tomorrow?” she repeats, peering over her shoulder to look at me like she’s never fucking seen me before in her life.
