DICK GUY: She’s an artistic type. I like that.

ME: I didn’t even notice.

DICK GUY: You’re not. I like that, too.

ME: I’m a florist. You arrange two dozen roses without getting stabbed by a thorn and tell me I’m not a fucking artist.

DICK GUY: My apologies. Why was she zooming in?

ME: Excellent question. She didn’t answer. Too busy talking about Sam Jobs.

DICK GUY: Doesn’t she mean Steve Jobs?

ME: You’d think, but no. She’s a weird one.

ME: So… If you’re an artist, what are the chances of me getting to see those tats?

What? If you don’t ask, you don’t get.

DICK GUY: You wanna see my tats?

ME: I’ve already seen your cock. It’s not that much of a stretch.

DICK GUY: LOL. Hold on.

And hold on I did. For several minutes, actually. By the time my phone blinked again with his next message, I’d gotten up and refilled my glass.

Yes, I understood the insanity of what I was doing.

I also didn’t care.

I was never going to meet this guy.

Also, he was the best dating prospect I’d had in years and I didn’t even know his name. With Halley in a relationship with my brother and Ava torn between her on-off relationship with Butler and her feelings for her brother’s best friend, I was somewhat of an oddball.

I had no prospects.

Zero.

I was the most confident of the three of us, yet here I was.

Texting a guy who’d accidentally wrong-numbered me.

It could be worse.

I could be texting nobody.

I opened the message he’d sent me.

Holy. Mother. Of. God.

He was a work of art. Or his arm was. It was all semantics. The tattoos that adorned his muscular arm were intricate and all expertly woven together. There was a roaring lion on the inside of his bicep and roses on his elbow. A Celtic knot-style symbol was on the side of his forearm, and there was a thick line of black around his wrist with trees that stretched up the lowest part of his arm and wound into the other designs.

I didn’t want to think about how long it’d taken to get inked. I couldn’t even describe most of it, just that his arm was an explosion of perfect black lines and shading and bright pops of color.

It was the kind of arm you could lie in bed next to and trail your finger over, tracing the designs and never, ever complete it.

ME: I think I just came a little.

Was that too forward?

Nah. I was never going to meet the guy, was I? It didn’t matter if he knew that his arm was basically one step away from actual porn.

DICK GUY: Funny. That’s what I was aiming for when I started.

ME: Nailed it.

ME: Between the penis and the tattoos, how are you single?

DICK GUY: I’m waiting for a princess in shining armor to come sweep me off my feet.