He grins.
“Seriously. It’d be an honor.”
Something warm blooms in my chest.
He gestures to the chair he just finished cleaning.
“C’mon, Red. Let’s pop your tattoo cherry.”
I laugh at the new nickname and slip onto the padded chair while Theo grabs a sketchbook, already flipping to a blank page.
“Give me a sec,” he says, pencil flying.
While he sketches, I blurt out, “By the way… if I survive the lighthouse dare, I’m totally getting another tattoo to celebrate.”
Theo freezes mid-sketch, lifting his eyes to mine.
“You’re still actually planning to do that?”
I nod, grinning.
“You’re insane,” he says, shaking his head. HIs hair falls into his face a little, and he shakes it back. “That place is a death trap. No sane person would spend the night there.”
“Guess that makes me the perfect candidate.”
He chuckles under his breath.
“When?”
“Next weekend,” I say casually.
He groans.
“You’re gonna drag me into this, aren’t you?”
“You already volunteered,” I remind him sweetly.
He mutters something about needing hazard pay but goes back to his sketch, a little smile pulling at his lips.
In less than five minutes, he shows me the design. A delicate outline of a single peony bloom morphing into the curves of a vintage motorcycle wheel. Soft, feminine… but strong too.
It’sperfect.
I nod, throat too tight to speak.
“Where do you want it?” he asks, already prepping his station.
I tap my hipbone, right where it dips below my waistline. I want it somewhere only I can see.
His ears flush pink when I tug my skirt down slightly, baring the skin.
Professional or not, he’s still a guy.
He clears his throat, carefully smoothing the stencil onto my skin.
The cool pressure of his fingers sends goosebumps chasing up my spine.
“This’ll only hurt a little,” he teases.
