Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mars
I knocked lightly on the door to Rip’s tattoo studio, then pushed it open. He was hunched over his desk working on a drawing, his pencil flying over the paper and the sleeves on his flannel rolled up to his biceps.
“Mars,” he said, turning around. “What are you doing here?”
I lifted the paper bag I held, shaking it in the air. “Tacos? I had some time to kill between a couple of piercings appointments in the neighborhood.”
Rip stood up, then greeted me with a kiss. “Tacos are exactly what I need. Pull up a chair.”
It was funny—I used to do shit like this all the time. I’d bring him lunch when I knew he was busy or take some extra time to clean the house. But ever since we’d become boyfriends, it felt different somehow. The same little stuff just meant a lot more, like I was showing him all over again how much he mattered to me.
I dropped down in a chair by his desk, then kicked my legs up against the wall. “Nice photos,” I said, gesturing to the pictures he’d hung on the wall.
“You want to snap some for your social media?”
I shrugged, then pulled out the tacos, sliding him a few. “Maybe. I’m trying to stick to new work now that I’ve got more business coming in.”
Rip opened the foil packet and dove right in, shoving the first taco down. “I’m glad it’s working out,” he said with a full mouth.
I laughed, then dumped some salsa on my lunch. “Glad I stopped by. You hungry?”
He laughed back, then leaned back in his chair while he wiped his thumb across his lips. “Sorry, I guess we’re both busier than usual. I haven’t really taken a break today.”
“You still got time to chill with Clark later?”
“Fuck yeah,” he answered. “Wouldn’t miss that for the world, not after the last night we spent together.”
I hummed quietly to myself, remembering the feeling of Clark, sweaty and whimpering beneath the two of us. “Something special about that kid.”
“You knew it from the start. I’m the one that took a while.”
“That’s me,” I joked. “Can’t get one by Mars.”
Rip rolled his eyes but chuckled anyway. “I’ve been texting with him a bit,” he said. “Just making sure he’s doing okay and all that.”
“Me, too.”
“Good,” Rip said quickly. “I know we’ve got years of experiencing hooking up with other people, but I was starting to worry myself you’d get jealous or some shit.” He shrugged, then chomped down on his next taco. “I know it’s silly,” he added.
I scrunched up my mouth, uncertain what to say next. We’d been talking around Clark like this all week, celebrating how much fun we had and how lucky we were to find the guy. But still, there were a lot of unanswered questions in the air. “It’s not,” I said. “Hell, I’ve never even had a serious boyfriend, and all of a sudden, I’m living with the love of my life and dating a guy I care about more than any of the hotties back in Detroit.”
“Mmmm,” Rip growled. “Love of your life. I like that sound of that.”
I laughed, then pushed at his knee. “Don’t go acting all mushy,” I said. “It will ruin your reputation around this place.”
“Trust me, the other tattoo artists don’t give a shit. They’re just obsessed with the fact that I’m seeing two people at once. You’d think I was their own personal reality dating show, the way they keep asking me questions about it.” He paused, then narrowed his eyes, and a cloud passed over his face. It was a familiar look, brooding and concerned, although I hadn’t seen it in a while.
“Something wrong?”
He shook his head, sighing. “It’s nothing. Just something Clark said the other morning when we were downstairs.”
“What’s that?”
“Something about seeing a psychiatrist for years. Same woman Aunt Grace is seeing now. He says she’s great.”
I shrugged. “No big deal. Lots of people see psychiatrists. Hell, we should both probably see one at some point, considering how good the healthcare is out here.”
