The music shifted toBell Bottom Blues.
We're laying on our sides,
facing each other.
His fingers brush the edge of my tattoo, featherlight.
I should be cold, but I don’t feel it.
Not with him this close...
or with the champagne in my blood...
or with his fingertips trailing my skin.
“What does this mean?” he asks,
brushing my hair off my shoulder,
his fingertips grazing over the ink.
His eyes fall heavy
as they follow the curve of it.
“It’s a soundwave…
“My dad was a musician too. Guitar.
“It’s his voice.”
Andrew touches it gentle,
'cause it's a piece of me.
Then his hand slides warm across my bare back.
It lingers at the base of my spine
before dragging me closer
until I’m pressed up against him,
our foreheads nearly touching.
The heat of him floods all the way through me,
combating the the next icy breeze.
Our chests rise and fall together
as his fingers drift slower now.
He finds the exposed cut of my dress down my side, pausing before touching the second tattoo.
His thumb hovers over it,
barely grazing the skin of my ribs.
