Leo nods and reluctantly offers a hand, which Mercy takes. “I’m here to sit with Cami. Unless that’s a problem?”
I hide a smile at how petulant he sounds. Is he honestly bothered by another good-looking man? Mercy might be attractive, but he can’t hold a candle to Leo.
“Not at all.” Mercy jerks his head toward the tattoo booth. “Why don’t both of you come on back?”
The receptionist winks at me as we pass, and I smile shyly.
“I’ve had a look at the scanned version of the design you sent me,” Mercy says, and gestures for me to sit on what looks like a massage table. “Did you bring a physical copy?”
I perch on the edge and watch Leo drag a chair over to join us. “Yes.” I fish the sketchpad from my purse and flip it open to the correct page before handing it over. My heart is in my throat as I watch him study it. I don’t show my designs to people often, and my old insecurities are flaring up.
He makes a humming sound and finally looks at me. “It’s even more beautiful in person. Did you draw this?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
He grins. “You could have a future in tattooing, Cami.”
I don’t miss the way he uses my nickname, and based on how Leo stiffens, neither does he. I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I realize Leo keeps acting like he’s not interested in me until he thinks another man might be. My jaw clenches and I try to ignore the tingles between my legs. Hot as it is to think he’s getting possessive over me, he has no right to, and the last thing I need is another man who wants to run my life because he thinks he knows best.
“Are you happy for me to draw this onto you freehand, or would you rather I trace it onto transfer paper to make sure we get it how you want?”
“You can go straight onto my skin,” I tell him. Everyone says Mercy Tattoos is the best in the business, and if Mercy is its namesake, then I’m sure he’s amazing. Besides, what’s the point in stepping outside my comfort zone if I don’t take a few risks along the way?
“Great.” He dons gloves and rubs an antiseptic wipe over my forearm. “Would you prefer to lie down or sit up?”
“I’ll lie down, just in case.” I stretch out on the table, and he rearranges me into a position that works for him. I hear the hum of the needle, but I can’t bear to look so I meet Leo’s eyes instead. They’re softer than I expect. Almost tender.
“You’re doing well,” he murmurs. “I didn’t know you draw. How did you get into it?” He’s trying to distract me, and I’m grateful. I’m so preoccupied that I don’t flinch when the needle bites into my skin. My body stiffens for a moment, but then I relax into it. The pain isn’t so bad. Uncomfortable, but not awful. I giggle to myself. Maybe I’m tougher than I thought.
Leo
She laughs. The crazy woman actually laughs when the tattoo artist buzzes the gun over her skin. I shake my head in disbelief. Camile Hayes is far from the person I thought she was. At first, I was annoyed she wouldn’t stay in the box I put her in, but now I’m beginning to enjoy her unpredictability. I can’t wait to see what she’ll do or say next. It’s as though she’s had everything under lock and key for years, and suddenly she’s thrown open the doors and decided to let her real self out.
“Cami,” I prompt when she doesn’t answer my question. “Where did you learn to draw?”
“Oh.” She blushes and steals a glance at the tattoo gun, then goes pale and looks away. “I taught myself. I always loved drawing when I was younger. I suppose I probably picked up a few things through school, but mostly I just figured out what I liked and what I didn’t.”
“Wow.” Her skills are impressive for someone who hasn’t studied art.
“I have a diploma in fashion design,” she adds cautiously, as though expecting me to look down my nose at her. Me? I punch people for a living. It’s not as though I have any right to be snobby about anyone else’s career aspirations. “I like designing clothes. It’s fun. These days, I don’t draw much outside of that.”
“Nice.” Mercy breaks into our conversation, and I want to tell him to shut up because I saw the way she looked at him before, and the idea of her fluttering those big blue eyes at anyone other than me makes me want to kick something. Like the hapless tattooist. But I’m not a violent person outside of the cage, and I know I’m being ridiculous, so I rein in the impulse. “What kind of stuff do you design?”
She bites her lower lip. “Mostly dresses, tops, and skirts for plus-size women. I’m working on a plan to get them out into the world.”
“That’s great.” He grins at her. “You ever have any luck, let me know, okay? My sister is always complaining that she can’t find any dresses that fit her chest without making her ass look massive.” He pulls a face. “I wouldn’t know, but I’m sure she’d be keen to have a look at anything you come up with.”
“Thanks, I will.” Her smile is shy. “But it might not be her style.”
“Still worth a shot,” I tell her. “I’m sure she’d love it. Have I seen anything you’ve designed?”
The pink of her cheeks deepens. “I design most of my own outfits.”
“You do?” My gaze journeys down her body, noting the way the pale blue blouse lovingly cups her tits and then nips in before a darker skirt flares over her hips. It’s a good look on her. Then again, her curves drive me insane regardless of what she’s wearing. “That’s awesome.”
“Thank you.” She starts to lower her chin, but then seems to catch herself and raises it back up. “My goal is to help women and girls realize they don’t have to be thin to be beautiful.”
“Amen to that,” Mercy says. “How’s the pain? Not too bad?”
