Landon obliged wholeheartedly, and the studio answered with a harmony of wolf whistles.
“Compensating,” Mason muttered from his station. Not so much as a flinch as the needle broke his skin.
Josie weaved through it all, her phone poised for the perfect shot at all times. “This is what champions look like. Look at this lineup.”
Champions.
I veered out of frame when she swung her phone around, pretending to get a closer look at the pictures on the wall. I didn’t feel like a champion. Not now, not when that horn sounded, and the team got to lift the cup for a second year in a row.
Time slipped away. More names got called behind me, and my heart rate sped up the closer it got to my turn.
“Can’t hide forever, Santos,” Grayson called.
It was just him standing there, and I went over. “Not hiding, just figured I’d wait like a normal person instead of fighting about my place in line like a bunch of kindergarteners.”
He laughed, recognition glinting in his eyes. “Tell me about it. So what are you thinking? Calf, bicep…?”
“I’m gonna go forehead. Really commit.”
The thing was, I hadn’t thought about it at all. Everyone else talked about placement, visibility, flex points. How it would look in summer photos. All I could think about was the games I never played. The way my name stayed lower on that lineup card, even when my legs were fresh.
“Sorry for the wait. I’m ready.”
It wasn’t her face at first. That came later. It was hearing a woman’s voice in the mix of whirring machines and a bunch of guys incessantly ragging each other that made my head snap toward the back of the studio.
She’d popped out from behind one of the privacy curtains, brown hair twisted up and secured with a pencil. Curious eyes looked between Grayson and me in a way that was bothunimpressed and intense at the same time. The piercings made her look even more intimidating. There were several in her ears, of course, but she also had one in her eyebrow, nose, and that center gap where her bottom lip ended and her chin began.
The studio dipped half a notch in volume. Because we were all looking at her. Band t-shirt cropped just enough to spare a glimpse of her torso, cuffed blue jeans that had seen better days, and a pair of moody combat boots to drive home the “zero fucks” attitude.
Tucker whistled low under his breath. “Should’ve held out five minutes more.”
“You take it.” Grayson slapped me on the back.
I nodded and crossed the floor before my brain could catch up. Her space was tucked into a narrow corner, and even though she backed up so I could pass, there was still the distinct, almost-touching that would’ve wiped my mind clean of what was happening if this wasn’t so goddamn unnecessary. Still, I caught the faint citrusy-floral scent coming off her as I moved past.
“I’m Sage. Are you new to the team?” She closed the privacy curtain and gestured to the tattoo bed.
“Depends on your definition of ‘new’.” I pulled off my hoodie. T-shirt followed. “I’ve been backup center for going on five years now. Aiden.”
But Sage’s attention had flipped to something else. “Oh, wow.”
She came closer, her eyes glued to the existing ink etched into my skin. Arms, chest, stomach. Her fingers traced over the lines with interest, latex skimming clean, black edges, and sprays of watercolor with obvious approval.
“I guess there’s no point in my asking about placement.” She huffed a laugh. “I’ll have to take what I can get.”
Story of my life.
But I simply nodded again and settled back on the bed. Soft rock blended with the guys laughing and talking behind the curtain, making the space we were in feel even smaller.
“I was thinking inside right bicep,” I said, and held out my arm. “Above the Latin?”
Sage rolled over on her chair and tilted her head as she read it. “Paratus semper.”
“Always ready,” I said to the questioning look she gave me. Up close, her rich, brown eyes looked almost molten.
The constellation of freckles on her face danced as she wrinkled her nose. Then said nothing. Just fiddled with the tools arranged on the tray beside her.
“What? What was that look?”
