I swallow. “Yeah, that works.”
He grabs a couple of plastic gloves from a box. “Pop that shirt off. Let’s talk placement.”
I grab the bottom of my sweater and wrestle through a whole mess of insecurity, then pull it off. “Sorry I didn’t wear a T-shirt,” I say as I avoid his eyes and fold it. “I wasn’t thinking ahead. Is this going to be okay for you?”
When I tilt my eyes back up, the corner of Joey’s mouth is turned toward a smile, or what I think his version of a smile must be. The guy really doesn’t give me a lot to work with.
“You’re fine,” he says. “Show me where you’re thinking.”
I glance down at myself. It’s not like I think I’m hideous, but my slim frame and hairless chest have always made me self-conscious, like people can see just by looking at me that I’m not tough. That if you threw a football at me, I’m more likely to run from it than to catch it.
My body is soft, like all the rest of me, and my cheeks heat when Joey’s hard eyes graze across my bare skin.
“Right here,” I say, and lay my hand on my upper bicep. He crosses over to me, and when he presses a printout of the flower to my arm, his touch stills my entire body. For just a second, time freezes, my heart stops beating like an exploding drum, and his campfire scent fills my nose.
An easy smile fills my face, like I just chugged a glass of wine and I’m dizzy.
“Right here,” Joey repeats with his deep, steady voice. He cleans me with a wipe and then rubs his palm down my arm to affix the tattoo, which makes the core of me thrum.
I glance down, and it’s like a giant temporary tattoo on my arm, placed exactly how I had imagined it. “That’s perfect,” I say. “The blazing star looks perfect like that, all three of the flowers together in a little bouquet.” I tear my eyes and look at Joey. “Oh, shit. I’m actually going to get a tattoo. I’m going to look at these flowers for the rest of my life. That’s so fucking cool.”
Joey puffs air out of his nose, and I think it might be a friendly laugh, or at least I hope it is. He doesn’t say anything, though; he just fusses with the tattoo machine, then lifts it like he’s ready to start.
“I’ve actually already looked at these flowers my whole life, kind of,” I say, helpless to stop the babbling now that Joey’s approaching me with the machine. “They’re not exactly native to where I grew up, but Mrs. Butler always planted them in her garden. She’s the old lady who lived down the street from me. Anyway, I’m not worried I’ll get tired of the Hairy Button-snakeroot!” I smile widely at him, my nerves singing. “Did I tell you that’s another name?”
Joey pauses in front of me, only inches away. “Can’t remember.”
I wave my hand in front of my face. “I’m kind of babbling. I do that when I’m nervous. Sorry. I’ll try to not talk so much, so you can concentrate.”
“Talk if you want to. I don’t mind,” Joey says, then rests his hand on my arm again, stilling the world around us as he guides my elbow to the rest for support. “Just don’t move so much.”
I nod, and he pulls his hand away, leaving me with an aching need to feel him again. “Don’t move so much. Got it.”
The air suddenly feels cool on my bare skin, and when I glance down, I see that my nipples are hard, which is embarrassing. Joey, though, has his eyes so focused on my bicep and his work, I don’t think he notices.
“I’m just going to start on one line, go for a second, and then I’ll stop. Okay?”
I nod softly, my heart thudding. “Okay.”
The machine buzzes in his hand, and when the needle presses to my bicep, his warm touch steadying my arm is the only thing that keeps me from yelping and jumping up. When the shock passes, though, the sensation of the tattoo needles mellows into a steady, sharp burn. It hurts, but not as bad as I expected, and before I know it, Joey draws the machine away.
He looks at me without saying anything, but the slight raise to his eyebrow asks the question. “That was okay!” I tell him, then bounce in the seat again. “Wow. I mean, it hurt—” I reach to touch the spot, then stop myself just in time. “It hurt, but not too bad. And I probably didn’t even get the endorphins yet, right? Matty says that will come later, and it might even feel kind of good.”
Joey grunts under his breath. “Just tell me if you need a break.”
And like that, we’re back into the tattoo. For a second, the throbbing, aching sensation of the needle is the only thing I can think about, and it takes all my strength to not squirm. But as Joey uses his free hand to position my arm and pose me the way he wants me, waves of warm satisfaction wash across the pain.
I gasp in a soft, sharp breath, and Joey draws the machine back. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I answer quickly. I don’t want him to think I’m a wimp, so I take a deep breath and promise myself to be cool. “Keep going.”
Joey pauses for a second and adjusts the gloves on his hands. “Tell me more about this flower,” he finally says. “Snake button?”
“Oh, yeah. Prairie blazing star, Cattail Liatris, Button Snakeroot,” I say. “The purple petals always grow in a stalk like this—”
My breath catches when the machine hums and the needle sinks into my skin again, continuing with the outline, but I quickly fall back into talking. “The petals grow in little clusters like this,” I continue. “The ones in the illustration are just starting to bloom. That’s why the purpliest, ripest flowers at the top are open. They flower, and all those little interior sex parts come out, so the purple pistils protrude and make it look fuzzy.”
The machine stops, and my mouth falls open. At least I’m distracted from the pain because I’m way too horrified by whatever the hell I just said to Joey.
