I stare at my splotchy ink. “If this shoddy tattoo has taught me anything, it’s that you shouldn’t let anyone steeryour choices. In the end, they’re not the ones living with them.”
“I guess that’s one way to look at it. But on the flipside, if I hadn’t listened to my mom, I wouldn’t have gone out for the Kings. And then where would I be? I wouldn’t have met you, I know that for sure.”
“That would almost be as tragic as this tattoo.”
“It’s not that bad. You know, the skull’s a little symbolic. That version of yourself is now dead and gone. And here you are. Ty Brewster. Living the dream.” She giggles and pokes one of the eye sockets of the skull, honing in on a specific target. “Veiny.”
Her comment breaks my daze, and my pulse rockets as I realize her warm hands are still wrapped firmly around my forearm. In a second flat, I’m slipping it from her hold and raising it above my head before she can snatch it back.
“Watch it,” I say, amused.
“What is that one? What’s that say?” She thrusts a finger into the black scribble on my inner bicep.
I step back, tucking my arm into my chest. “It’s a saying.”
“That says what?” Another hiccup.
“Weather the storm. That’s all it says.” I drop my arm to my side, inching back toward the counter, right next to her. “Your turn.”
“My turn what?”
“I show you mine, you show me yours. Surely you have at least one tattoo.”
She shakes her head, beaming at me. “Almost got one once, but I’m too indecisive, if you can believe it.”
I smirk.
She sighs. “People have always told me it’s not a good thing to be that way. But I think it saved me this time. Do you want to know what I was going to permanently ink on my body?”
I lean forward, suddenly desperate to be closer, to feel even just a fragment of the excitement that’s rolling off her.
She leans in too, her eyes bright as they lock in on mine. “A hippo.”
“A hippo?”
She giggles at my reaction. “One time after I’d just turned eighteen, my sister called me a hippo as an insult. I’d accidentally stretched out one of her tops. Not very nice of her, I know. So to prove a point, I was gonna get it tattooed on my hip. A hippo on my hip. Ha!”
My eyes draw down to where she lifts the edge of her tank top, exposing her smooth skin. I swallow hard as the other hand finds the spot, her fingers dancing over the bare patch.
“Right here.” She lifts her hip to show me as though my eyes aren’t cemented to her every move. “I was young and dramatic. Hippo isn’t half as bad as some of the other things I’ve been called, but those are all stories I’ve tried to forget.”
I don’t respond, I can’t. Because now my gaze is tracing her smooth legs, and I know I’ve had one too many drinks because I’m not even being a little bit subtle about it.
“Ty?”
“Yes?”
Avery’s finger finds my chin, lifting my face until our eyes meet again. “What are you looking at?”
I step back, crossing my arms over my chest. My cheeksare hot, and I can’t pinpoint exactly why. From the bourbon? The fact that I just shamelessly drank up Avery’s body right in front of her? Who knows. If there’s one thing for certain I've learned tonight, it’s that every chaotic scrap of Avery I discover only makes me want more.I want more of Avery.
I lean into my shamelessness, throwing a Hail Mary. “Just thinking about how you could make anything look good. Even a hippo.”
Now it’s her turn to blush.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AVERY
