“Nothing really,” I say through a tight throat. Her fingers on my skin are awakening something in me that I don't really want to wake right now. I glance down at the part of my bicep that she’s touching. It’s the galaxy part of my sleeve with a swirl of purple, pink, and blue. I wanted as little black in my tatts as possible; I had enough darkness in my life. I wanted something bright on the outside.

“It’s so beautiful. I can hardly see it in the moonlight.”

“I’ll be happy to show you more another time,” I say, and it slips out of my mouth without bypassing my brain. Instantly, she blushes and presses her lips together, creating little dimples in her cheeks. “Oh shit…that’s not what I meant.” I’m trying to dig myself out of what sounded like a terrible pickup line, but it’s not working.

She laughs silently, looking at my forearm as if she’s ignoring what I said. Or maybe she’s secretly hoping that I meant it the way it sounded. Now she has my arm in her hands, looking through the blue and pink flowers there. I’m watching her face. She really is the most beautiful girl that’s ever touched my arm, and she’s far too pretty for me. Too clean. Too pure.

Is she really into a guy like me? If she knew the dark things that went through my head, she wouldn’t be interested for long. I could scare her away in one thought.

“I like this one,” she says, pressing her fingers along the orchid near my wrist. I keep my hand relaxed as she holds my wrist, but my fingers are so close to her body that I can feel them humming. I could outstretch my digits and touch her stomach. Push her against the sand and pull that soft pink skirt above her hips.

“Thanks,” I whisper.

Her eyes rise up to meet mine through hooded lashes, and I can feel the heat coming from her skin like a flame. She wants me. It’s in that look. She wants my dirty hands and dirty thoughts to cover her like a roaming storm—and I want it too. I want to feel her soft breasts under my palms. I want to taste the sweetness between her legs. I want it so bad, but I can’t.

Something holds me back.

And it’s calling me from my pockets like a little reminder that I’m not good enough. I’m wasted. Broken. I can't be with beautiful girls or make anyone happy because I belong to something else. Not whole enough to even give her the pleasure I so badly want to.

Her fingers are still on my arm and her thumb is still lightly pressed against the pulse on my wrist. I know she can feel it under my skin, beating faster with each second.

“I should get you back home,” I say, breaking the stare and looking toward the ocean. Her perfect pink toes catch my attention again. I would be a criminal to even lay a finger on her. Or in her.