But I can't say that. I can't do that.
So I spit out the first lie I can think of. "What the hell is that mess?" I say, sharply. "You look like a video game character from 2005."
He shrugs one shoulder like it's no big deal, like we're talking about a fucking haircut.
"Got it last fall," he says casually, tilting his head just enough for me to get a clearer view of the ink.
My throat's dry. I don't say shit. I can't. I'm gone.
Completely hypnotized.
My eyes just saw God or a crime, I'm not sure which, but I definitely feel blessed and cursed at the same time.
I can feel the blessing in my retinas.
They did not deserve this. I wasn't supposed to see that. That should be illegal.
Up until now, my thoughts were contained.
Messy, yeah, but contained?! I'd built this little bubble in my head where I kept everything under control.
And now that bubble just fucking exploded. Shattered.
And I know the pieces are sharp, sharp enough to cut both me and him if I don't find a way to tape it back together fast.
I nod slowly, my eyes still glued to the damn thing, those black lines slicing across his spine, sharp and fucking gorgeous.
He goes on, too calm.
"Noah said it would look good on me. Thought my back was the right canvas for it."
"...Noah?"
He hums. "Yeah. My best friend. He's a tattoo artist. Kinda begged me to try it. Said the placement would be insane on my skin. So I let him."
I don't say anything.
Noah. Best friend. Tattoo artist.
So this Noah, this conveniently talented, overly familiar best friend, he got to touch Rava's back for what, five, six hours? Got to sit behind him, up close, pressing his palm flat between those perfect shoulder blades to test symmetry.
Got to brush ink over that smooth, golden skin and say dumb shit like "Hold still" or "Just breathe."
He got to see Rava's jaw tighten when it hurt.
He got to see how good it looked when he sat shirtless and tense, letting someone else fucking mark him.
Fucking kill me. My throat burns.
I want him under me right now.
Now.
I'm so jealous of that Noah guy I might fucking cry.
I roll my eyes, mask it with a snort. "Yeah. Well. You look like a try-hard."
He grins.
