‘There are far worse addictions out there than tattoos.’
I was conscious of his eyes on me while I tattooed the little shell picture onto his arm. He winced when the needle first touched his skin.
‘Ouch.’
‘Seriously? I barely touched you.’
‘I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all,’ he said defensively. ‘I know what to expect now.’
‘Just breathe through it,’ I told him. ‘And try not to move.’
‘Don’t move. Breathe. Got it.’
There was no sound for a while apart from the hum of the machine, and the music off in the distance.
‘Do you always look so serious when you do this?’ he asked.
‘Shush, I’m concentrating.’
‘Sorry.’
I tried not to smile.
‘You’re very cute when you’re concentrating,’ he whispered.
‘Do you want me to make a mistake?’
‘No. Sorry. I’ll be good.’
I snorted. ‘I doubt that.’
Truth was, I didn’t need silence to tattoo. When I was first starting out, I once worked a booth at a heavy metal concert. I was used to noise. Used to crowds, and being watched. Those things didn’t bother me. Whatdidbother me was his proximity. Touching his skin, I kept having flashbacks to the other night, and then I’d remember the things we’d done, and I’d start feeling a bit hot and bothered.
‘You’re blushing,’ he said. ‘Is it because you’re so close to my muscle?’
‘Oh my God, Jack.’
‘I’m kidding. About my muscle, not the fact that you’re blushing. You’re definitely doing that.’
‘We’re almost done here; do you think you could be serious for a few minutes?’
‘Seriously? That didn’t take long.’
I wiped the small amount of ink and blood away and checked the design, adding little bits here and there, little touches. ‘It’s not very big.’
‘Words every mandoesn’twant to hear.’
I laughed. ‘What is with you tonight?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Teasing, joking around. You just seem, lighter, somehow.’
‘Hannah’s decided to move back to L.A.,’ he told me. ‘Permanently.’
‘Oh.’ I wiped, checked, continued again. ‘How do you feel about that?’
‘Honestly? I feel… relieved. I think she’s making the right decision.’
