I slapped PD on the shoulder in thanks as he walked past me to the break room. I guided Logan over to the black leather chair and smoothed my hand down his arm in comfort. He sat without complaint, but it would’ve been hard to miss his nervousness in the way he glanced around and swallowed more than necessary. Dec grabbed a chair with wheels from nearby and dragged it opposite me. I couldn’t help but appreciate the long-sleeved shirt he wore today and the way it pulled across his chest, showing off his incredible pecs. My mouth watered.
Logan’s chuckle drew me out of my daze, and he nodded. “I’m thinking the same thing.”
I grinned when Dec gave us a frown.
“Did I miss something?” he asked, glancing between us.
“Nope. You just sit right there. Don’t move an inch,” I murmured teasingly, making Logan laugh harder.
Dec shrugged with a shake of his head. “You two are weird.”
“That’s why we get along so well.” I nudged Logan, and he winked at me in return.
“I feel very attacked,” Dec muttered, and it only made us laugh harder. “Okay, seriously, what is this about?”
Logan nodded at Dec’s chest. “That.” He nodded at Dec’s arms next. “And that, too. Do you have a permit for those guns?”
Dec’s gaze slid down to himself and he chuckled, striking a bodybuilder pose. “Kapow!”
PD chose that moment to walk back in from the break room, which put him very close to us, and he paused, frowning. “Don’t flash your guns like that around here. The cops will raid my parlor.”
That sent Logan and I into another fit of laughter, and PD grinned when Dec gave him the finger.
“Hockey stars should not be making such rude gestures around their fans. You never know who has a camera,” PD said, and to make a point he raised the phone in his hand; the sound of a camera shutter filled the room. “Like that. I wonder how much money I could get for this.”
“Zilch.” Dec crossed his arms and smirked. His words were a lie, though. The New Gothenburg Blizzards had a good chance to make the championship this year, and Dec was one of the players the media was watching intently. He’d already had a few interviews about being an out player in a league that was known for its homophobia, but every piece he did was handled with grace, and he had everyone eating out of his palm. He was naturally charismatic, and I was jealous of his skill. A few interviewers had tried to get Dec to bring me, too, but he knew how much I hated being in the spotlight and found reasons why I couldn’t—without being rude. Thinking about how the media would react to us being a throuple made me smile. If anyone could handle the controversy, it was Dec.
“All right, let’s get this done. We can do this two ways. I can have a stencil done and we can transfer it onto your skin so I can work from that, or I could stencil it freehand and work off that outline.”
“Jake has beautiful handwriting,” Dec said.
“I think he’s biased.” My cheeks grew hot anyway.
PD slapped his ass down on the stool behind the register again and slipped off his bowler, resting it on the counter in front of him. His hair was shaved close to his head, and he was a handsome guy, even if I usually wasn’t a fan of short hair. I liked to grab onto something during sex. “Dec’s right. Jake’s got a lot of talent, and his writing-style ink’s one of them.”
I smiled in thanks at his compliments. PD was a hard boss but a good one. He let you know when you fucked up, but he also told you when you did well.
“I trust you.” Logan leaned into me, and I kissed his cheek. “I want”—his voice lowered to dangerously sexy, and my dick perked up at the sound as he whispered—“the personal touch.”
“Oh, I’ll give you the personal touch,” I murmured back, and he chuckled heatedly. Tracing his jaw, I slanted my mouth over his and gave him a short but sweet kiss before I got to work. I grabbed the equipment, from my needles and tubing to the ink I needed. I decided to stick with black, and when I asked Logan if he agreed, he nodded.
“Black is good,” he said nervously, chewing on the corner of his lip. Dec grabbed his hand and entwined their fingers, and I smiled at how easily Logan’s muscles relaxed. Grabbing the marker I used for freehand work, I turned his arm over so the top laid against the chair. I touched about halfway along his forearm. “About here? It’ll hurt less.”
He nodded. “There.”
“Okay.”
First I drew the writing in a beautiful cursive font on a piece of paper. The words curved like old-fashioned handwriting, which I’d perfected as a teenager. I’d been fascinated by cursive and had practiced on my own body so much in one day that my skin was covered in Sharpie. Dad had yelled at me because that was the day before my aunt’s wedding and we’d had to spend the entire night scrubbing it off. Looking back on that moment still made me laugh.
“So I did two versions.I am someone”—I pointed at the writing on the paper—“andyou are somebody. Do you like one more than the other?”
Logan tilted his head carefully, lips drawn into his mouth in thought. “The ‘you’ one can refer to more than just me. I like that everyone is somebody.”
“Me too.” Dec raised Logan’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.
“Easily done. How do you like the style?”
He gave me a wide grin. “I love it.”
