Not understanding what he means, but not wanting to get another speech from him, I let my mind wander back to Hannah. Everything seems so easy with her, there’s no awkward silence or pause. Even last night when I texted her out of the blue, sure the first few texts were clumsy, but I was just nervous abouttalking to her, worried I crossed a line by texting her without asking her for her number personally.
Plus, the woman has a great ass, an ass I thought about holding onto as I pictured taking her from behind in the shower this morning . . .
All right, change of topic . . . Mom. Hockey skates. Coffee. I can’t get a hard on thinking about Hannah’s spankable ass with Levi sitting right beside me. God, I’d love to get my hands on her ass.
Before I can stop myself, I find myself asking Levi, “Do you think she’s into me?”
“You’re not a child, figure it out,” he says as he stands. “Thanks for the coffee, and whatever you do, just be careful with her, okay?” he says as he leaves.
That’s all the okay I needed.
Once he’s gone, I stay outside still looking out at the trees as the sun starts to beat down on me.
Fuck it. Mom was right. Not everyone is like Alex, just like I’m not gonna be like Hannah’s ex-husband. Besides, maybe, just maybe, she wants nothing to do with me. But I’m still gonna ask her out on a date. But how? I don’t think I’ve ever asked a woman on a first date. Alex and I became boyfriend and girlfriend when we were thirteen. No one asked anybody out on a date at thirteen. And every girl after her has been a one-night stand. Holy fuck, how did I get to twenty-three and not ask any girl out on a date?
Hagrid meows from behind the screen door, and I swear it sounds like “loser.” Rolling my eyes, I get to join her in the house and refill my mug.
“Maybe I’ll ask Sadie,” I tell Hagrid as I scratch between her ears. “Or maybe I’ll ask Lacey. She did give me Hannah’s number, no questions asked. Yeah, I’ll ask Lacey,” I say as I grab my phone.
Halfway through writing my text to Lacey, I get a text from Hannah and can’t stop myself from smiling. I open it to see four more pictures: one of her sitting at Levi’s kitchen island with a mug of coffee and her laptop, and the following three were of tattoos. There’s also a text asking what I think of those tattoos.
Still smiling, I send her a picture of my own mug of coffee with the views from the window above the kitchen sink and tell her that I like the style of the second photo best, but that I’ll book an appointment with my artist and see what she thinks would work best with her body.
Hannah:
That makes sense. What was your first tattoo?
Me:
The one I sent you last night.
Me:
Then I got this one.
I send her a picture of my inner right forearm, where a horseshoe with a small pink butterfly surrounds Sadie’s birthday in black ink. Over the years, I got an entire sleeve done. Mostly black-and-white flowers, but Sadie’s horseshoe has stayed the main focal point.
Me:
Then this.
I send her a picture of my back. Where four birds lay in black ink through the swirls ending my sleeve; one for my mom, my dad and Sadie and me.
I got a few in-between, and my last one is the most colorful one I have. I text her back with a picture of a Mexican candy skull I have on my left thigh.
Chapter 15
The guy has a thigh tattoo. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any hotter, he sends me a picture that gets me way too hot and bothered so early in the morning. It’s been three days since he sent me that photo, and I still can’t stop thinking about it. How I didn’t notice a flipping thigh tattoo at the cabin I will never know.
We’ve been texting like teenagers since that first night I fell asleep texting him. We’ve sent each other multiple pictures since then, mostly him sending me pictures of his cat, Hagrid, yet I still find myself scrolling back to the top to look at the photos of his tattoos.
Sure, to look at his tattoos, the voice in the back of my head says. It’s not wrong, I’ve found myself more hot and bothered than ever in the last three days. I told myself my slip in the shower was a one time thing, and it has been. However, I can’t deny that he’s crossed my mind more than once since the last time I saw him.
“What’s got you blushing there, Han?” Lacey says from my left, bringing me back to the massage chair I’m sitting in and the lady currently taking care of the calluses under my feet.
“Must be a boy,” Rose, the nail technician, says.
“Must be Ian,” Ellie says from my other side.
