I throw my arm over Drew’s shoulder. He lets out a surprised, pleased hum, and I pull him close. “You getting what you want tonight?” I ask him.
Drew slips his arm around my side. “The other artists are amazing. Why aren’t you constantly hanging out with them?”
I glance up toward the bar. Billie has Stone in a headlock, and she’s messing up his hair while Joey watches, coolly sipping a beer.
“Yeah, they’re all right,” I agree. “Glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Maybe you’ll even come back? They do this once a week.”
“I know,” I huff. “I’m the one that brought you here.”
Drew laughs. “Okay, right. I’m just saying…” He glances around, then catches me with a quick kiss, just deep enough to start me unraveling. “I think it’s good for you.”
“You want to throw some darts?” I ask. If he’s having such a good time, we might as well draw it out.
Drew holds my eye and grins. “Or you could drive us back to your place and fuck me again.”
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
DREW
Caesar rummagesthrough the drawers in his dressers, grumbling something to himself that I can’t understand. He’s in his short black boxers, which ride up his thick, hairy thighs. It’s past noon, but after another long night, we’ve been moving slow all morning.
The long back massage I gave him in bed definitely added to the delay.
I sip the coffee he brought me, watching him kick on a loose pair of jeans, then wrestle with a T-shirt. I’m learning his tattoos, slowly taking them all in, and my eyes dance over the intricate scenes as he moves.
“My client should be showing up soon,” he says as he turns to me. “You going to stick around?”
I pull myself up, sitting straight. The last time I slept over, I kind of ran away in the morning, but I remember that he didn’t actually tell me to leave.
“I’ll stick around,” I answer. “I’m making progress gutting the machines.”
Caesar nods. “Good.”
I roll out of bed. I don’t really love laying around all day, at least not without Caesar there, too. “Can I use your shower?”
“Sure. Anything you need,” he answers, then grabs a sketchpad that’s by the bed. “By the way, what do you think of this?”
He hands me the sketchpad, open to a drawing of my Nebula Invader tattoo, but with more spaceships added, exploding into each other toward the bottom.
“Thought it would look good to fill it out,” he explains, studying my arm. I’m shirtless, and his gaze feels nice on my body. “Extend it down some.”
I grin and stare at the sketchpad. “You want to keep tattooing me.”
“If you come back to town. I’ll fit you in.”
I throw my arms around his shoulders, then kiss him. His stubble is scratchy, and his thick tongue swirls into my mouth.
“I guess I’m a tattoo guy now,” I say with a laugh.
Caesar draws his fingers down the side of my face. “I like that.”
“Do you like working?” I ask. “Is tattooing still fun for you?”
“Never gets old,” he tells me. “Every piece is different. Anyway, it feels good to work. It’s satisfying to make something.”
“It is,” I agree, then chuckle at myself. “The satisfaction of repairing pinball machines.”
