Mac blinks at him, laughing. “You sure you got space?”
“For this? Hell yes. Celebratory ink.” Trey grins like a lunatic. “Baby girl remembered me today. Called me Cupid’s Angel. I’m getting it tattooed. Script. Small. Sexy as hell, You should get Bubblegum Pink inked somewhere. Like a classy tramp stamp? Maybe Logan Dale’s Happy Holster? You know… for his tremendous cock?”
Mac arches a brow at him unimpressed. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response, Baker. But I am getting out of the cold and into a hot shower. I can’t feel my damn toes.” She holds up her hands as proof, fingers red beneath those thin gloves. “I do want to see your new ink later though.”
“You want me to come with you?” I ask, already half-turned to follow.
She shakes her head, giving me that soft smile that undoes me every time. “Nah. Go have fun.”
Trey throws an arm over my shoulder like we’re frat brothers. “Let's go, brother!”
Chace saunters up behind us, rubbing his hands together. “Not for me thanks, I’m already on my family’s shit list back home.”
Sam cocks a brow. “I can’t even remember your tattoos, man, and I’ve seen you shower.”
“Yeah, well, family does. Threats have been made,” Chace mutters. “There’s now a photo in my mom’s hallway with my face blacked out.”
We all crack up
I lean down to kiss Mac’s cheek, fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I’ll see you soon.”
“Try not to end up with each other’s names tattooed by mistake,” she calls as she walks off, her hips swaying in my hoodie.
“No promises,” Trey shoots back with a wink.
I watch as she disappears inside the villa, before we make our way toward the tent.
Inside, the air smells like ink, alcohol, and adrenaline. It’s a warm—tight space, low lighting, machines buzzing like background music.
Trey’s first in the chair. “Cupid’s Angel,” he says, pulling off his hoodie and pointing to a sliver of space on the inside of his left ribs. “Right here. Just enough room.”
The artist glances at him like he’s not sure if he’s being messed with. “You want me to put Cupid’s Angel on you? Seriously?”
“It’s a nickname. Long story. Meaningful,” Trey shrugs. “Make it pretty.”
Sam watches him with a slight smirk. “You’re insane, man.”
“You’re jealous. There’s a difference.”
My turn comes next.
I shrug off my shirt, sit in the chair, and tap a spot directly over my heart.
“Mackayla. Script. Make it bold.”
The artist looks up. “You sure?”
Sam leans closer. “You sure about that, man?”
I don’t hesitate. “Gonna ask her to marry me.”
Silence falls. For a moment it’s dense before the damn breaks and sound returns.
Trey’s head jerks up. “Wait, what?”
“Deadass?” Chace blinks. “You got the ring?”
“In my guitar case.”
