“Your tattoos.”She gestures vaguely toward my chest.“The detail is incredible.”
I glance down automatically.I’ve had these pieces for a few years now.Long enough that I forget they exist most of the time.
“Thanks.”
“Did Laine do them?”
“Some of them.”
“Some?”
“Alistair did the phoenix.”
Her eyes widen slightly.“That must have taken forever.”
“About thirty hours total.”
“Wow.”She looks impressed.Which is not a reaction I’m used to getting about the tattoos.
Most people just assume I’m trying to look tough.The truth is, these pieces mean something.Every line.Every shadow.Every flame.They tell the story of a kid who spent years feeling small and the man who decided he wasn’t going to stay that way.
“You don’t seem like the tattoo type,” she says.
I raise an eyebrow.“What’s the tattoo type?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dangerous?”
“Maybe.”
“I do accounting.”
“I know.”
“That’s not very dangerous.”
She smiles.“Hidden depths.”
“Something like that.”
The silence returns but this one feels different.More aware.Like we’re both suddenly conscious of the fact that we’re alone in a small room together.And that five minutes ago she saw more of me than most people ever do.
“So,” she says finally.
“So.”
“You’ve been hiding this the whole time?”
“I wouldn’t call it hiding.”
“You definitely hid it.”She smiles as she ribs at me.
“I just didn’t advertise it.”
“Same thing.”
I chuckle softly and she shifts her weight slightly.“You look different.”
