I didn’t answer. Regardless, he tugged his tank top over his head and turned.
“Holy shit.”
The tattoo took up the majority of his back, from the base of his spine to nearly his nape. A highly detailed, swirling, debris-spitting tornado, fully rendered in black and white. It had many of the characteristics of the EF5 he’d photographed, and I suspected it had been used as inspiration.
“That’s incredible.” Without thinking, I ran my fingers over it, admiring the detail. “It’s almost like your logo.”
“More realistic, but that was the idea. Elliott’s wife drew it. She’s an artist. She did our logo at the same time.”
Ozrik turned, tank top in his hand, chest bare. The charm from his necklace rested near the midline of his pecs.
“My mom doesn’t know about it. She’d have a fit and probably have me tested for HIV again, so don’t tell her.”
I bit back a smile because he was serious, but Ozrik snorted. “Whatever. Go ahead and laugh. I can take it.”
“Why would I tell your mother?”
“I don’t know.” He tossed his shirt aside. “I’m not ready for that level of harassment.”
“When did you get it?”
“About ten months ago. For my twenty-fourth birthday.”
Ozrik flopped down onto the bed, shuffling to rest on the pillows. He folded his hands under his head and stared up at me.
Something about bare-chested, bad-boy Ozrik in ragged jeans and with tousled hair, lounging in bed and looking at me like he wanted to eat me alive, stirred my blood to life.
His devilish smile emerged. “Are you having dirty thoughts, Gale?”
“No.”
“Liar. Your face says differently.” He reached out a hand. “Come. Lie down with me?”
“What about your mother?”
“She never bothers when I have people over. Besides, she’s probably already left for the store.”
I scanned the room, realizing we were peacefully alone. We weren’t sneaking around a motel in the middle of the night. We weren’t parked on a side road at the mercy of the weather. No one was expecting us or wondering where we’d gone.
I joined him.
We shared a pillow, heads together, side by side, staring at the ceiling. My pulse thrummed with anticipation.
Ozrik held up a finger, and a smile broke out across my face.
I touched the tip of mine to his.
“Zap,” I whispered.
“Zap.”
He weaved our fingers together and held my hand. A simple gesture, and it felt right.
“Are you doing okay?” he asked.
“I’m great, actually. Perfect.”
“It’s the company, isn’t it?”
