I blink. “Your team?”
“It’s a combination of field research and lab work, focusing on local pollinators, Great Lakes flowers, and climate change. You know the drill. My girlfriend runs the project, but we need someone with an encyclopedic brain like yours.”
“That’s your thing,” Joey tells me, excited, then turns to Janelle. “He’s been eager for more field research.”
Janelle glances toward the reception area. “Email me. We’ll talk details.” She winks. “And have a good night away from here. At least one of us should have some fun.”
I stand there, kind of stunned, but Joey pulls me out of it. “Hell yeah,” he says. “Sounds like you dodged a bullet.”
“Yeah,” I laugh. “I guess so.” I remember that I only started talking to Janelle in the first place because I wore that sweater Ayla gave me, and that I only wore that sweater because I was feeling high on my own confidence after hooking up with Joey. I can definitely take credit for my encyclopedic brain, but the people I surround myself with really have made all the difference.
I meet Joey for another quick kiss, right there in the middle of the lobby. “Thanks,” I say, “for everything. Maybe now would be a good time to get home and, uh, celebrate?”
Joey smiles, his puffy, bruised face gingerly twisted to the side. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”
CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE
MILO
The night isquiet when we get back to Joey’s place above the tattoo shop. My head spins with everything that’s happened, the good and the bad both. We’ve been through so much in the past few months, but we ended up together, and I feel rooted in our new relationship.
Joey takes my hand as he leads me through his apartment, straight toward his bedroom. “I’ve been thinking on this all day,” he says, “figuring out how to show you how I feel.”
I squeeze his hand. “I know how you feel, Joey. You’ve already shown me in so many ways.”
“You, too,” he says, then brushes his hand over my cheek, kisses me softly, and opens the door.
Inside his bedroom, a dim light shines from the street lamp outside. My breath catches. There are flowers spread over the bed, petals sprinkled on the pillows, and full, blooming vases on the dresser, the nightstand, and the windowsill.
“Joey,” I whisper, then laugh. “You were supposed to rest today!”
He chuckles. “I know, I know. But I had the flowers delivered and the champagne.”
I notice the bottle of champagne, cooling in a bucket of ice on the nightstand. Beside it, his tattoo machine and some supplies are spread out on a white towel. “Joey!” I exclaim, my voice lifting. “Is that…”
Joey strokes the side of my head. “You had flowers in your room for me the other night, before I made a mess of everything and took off. And I remembered what you said, wanting a tattoo while you’re lying in bed.” He walks me over, then presses down on his mattress. “There’s a plastic cover under this thing, but I think it’s still comfortable.”
I stare at him, my mouth hanging open as I search for the words.
“Shit,” he says. “Is this okay? Is it too much?”
“I love you!” I blurt out. “Joey, I’m in love with you.”
This time, Joey looks shocked, but his expression quickly melts into a warm smile. “I’m fucking in love with you, Milo.”
He kisses me, and I press my body against his. When I open my lips, his tongue meets mine, and the scrape of his stubble burns. I whimper, kissing and stroking his chest, and Joey lowers me to the bed.
“I can’t do much,” Joey says, shaking his hand. “No marathon tattoo or anything. But if you want a little ink, the start of something, just say the word.”
I take his hand and pull him to the bed with me. “I want you to spend the rest of your life tattooing me. And loving me. And kissing me. I want to do everything with you, Joey.”
“You’re mine, Milo,” he rasps. “And I’m yours.”
He crawls the rest of the way onto the bed with me, and the plastic rustles beneath us. We kiss each other, slowly and carefully, and push the flowers aside. There’s freesia, red lilies, anemones, roses, and sprigs of eucalyptus. While the floral scent hits me, Joey pulls my clothes off, and I gingerly unbutton his shirt, then rub my hands over his hairy chest. It’s unreal, like a dream, but the waves of pleasure and satisfaction slowly ground me in reality.
“We’re in love,” I whisper against his lips. “We’re really in love.”
Joey sucks in a sharp breath. “Beautiful,” he tells me, “you’re the only person I’ll ever love.”
