Stop being a drama queen.
Layla
Is it ignore Layla day wtf
I roll my eyes, setting my phone down back on the table beside my workstation.
The front doorbell rings, but I don’t bother looking up. Probably another walk-in or June’s lunch delivery.
“Hey, wifey. Miss me?”
My stomach drops, and my hands suddenly begin to sweat.
I look up, and immediately choke on a laugh.
Maverick’s standing in the entryway of Blackbird Ink Co., in a fucking crop top.
He’s in tight black shorts that leave nothing to the imagination, the fabric stretched over thick thighs that flex with every step. The black compression crop top clings to his abs, every ridge of muscle outlined, glistening where sweat still slicks his skin. My eyes snag on the chain at his neck, the gold catching in the light, and there it is. His wedding ring, resting against his chest like it belongs there.
A stupid pang twists in my stomach because I can’t tell if it’s for show or if it actually means something to him.
I turn my attention back to him, pushing those thoughts out of my mind because I know it’s sick that I let my past dictate my future. My eyes watch the droplets trail down his stomach, catching the light before disappearing beneath the waistband of his shorts. His blonde hair is a chaotic mess from his helmet, strands curling damp against his forehead, giving him that wild, reckless look.
“What the hell are you wearing?” I ask, squinting at him.
He grins. “I wore this specifically for you, baby.”
June, thankfully, is in the back and not witnessing this circus.
I cross my arms. “You look like a walking thirst trap. Congratulations, I guess.”
He shrugs, unbothered. “Practice ended, and I came straight here. Thought I’d get some fresh ink… from my wife.”
I stare.
“You are so irritating,” I mutter, trying to hide the smile threatening to pull at my lips.
“Yeah,” he says, sliding onto the client chair. “But I’m your problem now.”
maverick
“I want something across my chest,” I say, dragging my fingers down the center of my sternum. “Script that means something. Brotherhood, loyalty, you know, deep shit.”
Amelia cocks a brow from behind the counter. “Deep shit, huh?” She uncaps a pen, scribbling something on a sticky note. “Any specifics or just… vibes?”
I grin. “Mmmm, vibes.”
“All right, Hayes. Shirt off, and sit down.”
I obey, peeling off my shirt and tossing it aside. Her gaze darts over my body, but just as quickly averts her eyes, like she hadn’t meant to look, but I caught her.
And do I want her to keep looking at me.
She puts on gloves, grabs a razor, and steps between my knees. “Lean back.”
I settle into the leather chair, and she switches on the overhead lamp. Her fingers tilt my chin as she angles my body where she wants it, then her hands are on my chest, prepping my skin.
It shouldn’t be a big deal.
