“Alright,” I say, clearing my throat. “Last chance to back out.”

“I don’t want to back out. I want the tattoo.”

I gather my things and watch her as she fidgets in the seat. I should ask where she got the scar; right now would be the perfect opportunity. It’s almost like she’s waiting for me to. But I don’t.

Why can’t I ask about it? Who the fuck knows. It’s like my gut is just protecting itself; the more I know about her, the harder it will be to push her away and get back to my real life.

The tattoo goes pretty quickly. She opts for no color, so I stick with the gray and black fade. She barely moves while I work. The inside of the leg is a sensitive area, and I half-expect her to back out once the needle touches her skin, but she doesn’t. She takes long, shaky breaths, and I find myself stopping to check in with her more often than I would normal clients. Savannah is a tough girl, and no matter how much it hurts, she keeps her face strong the whole time.

Her hand rests on my shoulder for most of the tattoo, something else I like that doesn’t normally happen during my regular ink sessions. She’s stroking my back and running her fingers through my hair. If she knew what that was doing to me, she probably would have stopped considering what I’m doing to her was permanent. But I won’t tell her to stop. I love her hands on me. As much as I love my hands on her.

When the tat is done, she marvels at the flower on her skin. Tears pool in her eyes as she stares at it in the mirror, standing up and pulling her skirt up to see the new ink.

“I love it,” she whispers.

Then her eyes find mine in the reflection, and something about seeing us together in mirror tugs at a string in my heart. We look fucking good together.

There’s nothing stopping me from stepping behind her, running my hand up the back of her skirt, kissing her neck, caressing her body in the mirror so we can both watch. Her hungry bedroom eyes on me tell me she wants that too, so I step closer, let my hand rest on her waist, but I stop there, getting lost in the image before us both.

I can feel the heavy breath in her chest. She must feel it too.

Just then, the back door opens, stealing us both from the moment.

Logan walks in absentmindedly and stops dead in the tracks when he sees us standing so close together. “Oh shit. Sorry,” he says too loudly as he pulls out his earbuds.

“It’s fine,” I grumble, turning toward the workstation to start tidying up and getting ready for the day’s clients.