Fuck, I didn’t even have to ask him on a date, and he’s offering me dinner and a movie? Matty and Ayla are not going to believe this.
“Yeah, a movie sounds nice,” I say, and Joey turns back to the kitchen.
The idea that he might bring me food feels really, really special, but I want to be helpful, too, so I jump to my feet and follow him into the kitchen. “I’ve never been to Milwaukee,” I say. “Did you like it there?”
Joey lets out a rough laugh, almost like a cough. His back is to me, and I can’t see his face as he pulls out the food. “It’s a good city,” he says, a subtle ache in his voice. “Good people there, some of the best, but I won’t miss it.”
I watch his movements as he plates the food, and his words hang in the air. It’s not like he actually told me anything meaningful, but in those few words and the tightness of his voice, I hear the hint of something more. He’s left something behind, maybe like how I had to leave my hometown behind to go off on my own.
I have an urge to step forward and wrap my arms around his waist. I want to press my cheek to the back of his shoulders and hold him until his breathing slows and he talks to me.
Instead, I rub my hand over the top of my head. I must be losing my mind or something because the raw energy building between us now is just as intense as what I felt sitting in Joey’s chair while he marked my body.
When he turns, there’s a hesitant look in his eyes. Our gazes catch, and I nod softly. “That’s how I feel about my hometown,” I say, then offer him a smile. “Great place, don’t miss it.”
Joey smiles. “Here,” he says, handing me a plate. “There’s only the one chair at the table. You mind eating on the couch?”
“Sure. The couch is great.”
A minute later, we’re both chowing down on hot peanut butter noodles while Joey flips through his Netflix. He’s asking me what I like to watch, and while I list genres, my eyes dance across his selections. There’s a lot of history, especially documentary-style cable TV shows, a healthy selection of action films, and what I guess are TV shows about pit bulls.
After we decide on a nature documentary about mountaintops, I set my plate down and get comfortable. I want to pull my sweater off and stare at my tattoo all night. It needs to stay wrapped up in plastic, but I’d be excited just to see the colors again, vivid and full of life.
Except that I’m not going to lose my chill like that, not with Joey sitting right on the other side of the couch from me.
He’s smiling. It’s not an almost-smile, or a scowl that might be a smile, too. It’s an actual smile, pulling up the wide corners of his mouth and relaxing his dark gaze.
“How’s that tattoo feel?” he asks me. “Wouldn’t hurt to get some air on it.”
Shit, is he reading my mind? I just glanced down for half a second.
I hesitate, the way I always hesitate when I’m undressing in front of someone else, but then I realize how silly that is. Joey’s seen my body up and close and personal all day, after all.
“Right.” I grab the bottom of my sweater and yank it off, then turn my eyes straight to the ink, blurry behind the plastic, but just as beautiful as I remember.
“You still feeling okay after that long session?”
“Yeah,” I say, then laugh as I sit there in my baby blue tank. “And it’s true. I already want another one.”
On the TV, an eagle soars through snowcapped peaks. “Give it a few weeks,” Joey says with a shrug, “but come back in. I’ll give you another flower.”
My heart jumps, and I start to stumble over my words. “Oh, I can’t afford it, I mean. I wish I could, but—”
“No cost,” Joey says, his eyes on the screen. “You’re a good client. I’ll enjoy doing the piece.”
My words all disappear in my mouth. I feel flattered and shy and surprised, but he’s just looking at the television with that steady, even look on his face, like this is nothing.
I’m not sure what is making me more hyped right now, the fact that Joey thinks I’m a good client and enjoys working on me, or the revelation that I’m going to get another flower tattoo way sooner than I thought possible.
“Oh, wow, thank you,” I finally blurt out. “That’s so nice. Are you sure?”
Joey grunts and pushes his fork around his plate. “Sure. No problem.”
I glance over my shoulder and see out the window that the snow has slowed down considerably, although tiny flakes still drift lightly through the air. I’m stuck here, but with a plate of warm food, a nature documentary, and Joey’s steady presence on the other end of the couch, I suddenly can’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else.
CHAPTERNINE
JOEY
