Page 35 of Savage Grace
He shrugged. “The flowers were all Jess.”
I nodded.
“So, she’s your… girlfriend?”
He bit out a laugh. “Apprentice. Needed a job and safe people to be around.”
“Ah,” I nodded slowly.
I noted that the feeling in my stomachwasin fact jealousy, because it disappeared after the confirmation from him.
“How’d you find me?” he asked, leaning against the desk and crossing his arms over himself. The way his arms flexed as he did it made me feel a little feral, but I tried to ignore it.
Jesus, Zar. You do not get flustered by men. Get it together.
I ignored his question, instead making my way over to the frames that housed pages and pages full of designs. The panels were mounted on the wall, and I could easily flip through them like they were pages of a book. Some housed large designs that took up the whole sheet of paper, some of them were small, all grouped together and scattered throughout the displays.
I paused at one particular page, which seemed to have an almost nautical theme.
The bright reds and muted blues took my attention instantly, and I ran my finger over the depiction of a flying bird as I felt his presence behind me.
“Swallow tattoos usually represent freedom,” he explained softly. “Or coming home. A return. They used to be popular among old-school sailors. They were like a badge for the dudes that had sailed over 5000 miles.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
I kept flipping through the pages, taking in every beautiful design.
“Did you draw these?” I asked.
“Some,” he said plainly.
I nodded again.
“You want one?” Ashe asked, his breath warm against my ear and his gravelly voice a low almost-chuckle.
I surprised even myself when I answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
“That one?” he pointed to the flower I’d been lingering on.
The boldly outlined rose was beautiful, sure. I probably could have said yes and been happy enough with the choice. It was a traditional piece, a safe bet for a first tattoo.But I turned, looking up at Ashe and narrowing my eyes.
His face was trained in nothing more than a curious, slight smile.
“You pick,” I crossed my arms.
His eyebrows shot up.
“You wantme… to pick a tattoo for you?”
I nodded.
Why not? I didn’t particularly care what it was, and he was supposed to be the professional, right?
He shook his head, chuckling as he rubbed at his bearded jaw.
My mind began to race, and I assumed his was too as he considered me for a long while.
