Page 42 of Red My Lips

He replaced every single chair in this entire club—for me. All because I made one comment. The thought has warmth rushing through me as a small knot forms in my stomach. I wait for him to mention the catch, or how I now owe him something in return. But it never comes.

Tommy would’ve told me exactly how much the new chairs cost, hinting that I cost him all that money—even if it was all his own idea. There were always string tied to everything.

Thinking back to when I was eighteen, I snuck out to meet up with my older brother and some of his friends. Tommy said the only way I was allowed to hangout with them was if I got them some beer. So I flirted with an old man outside a liquor store to buy a six-pack for me.

When I arrived at the overlook where Tommy and his friends always hung out, one of his friends, Trevor, was very excited to see me—too excited. He kept getting closer, trying to touch me. When he leaned in to kiss me, I’d pushed him off and decided I wanted to go home.

Tommy had rushed after me, trying to coax me to stay. That’s when I knew something was up.

“What’s going on?” I asked him, arms crossed.

“I lost a bet.” The way he said it had my eyes narrowing.

“What does that have to do with me?”

“Trevor lent me the money, with one condition,” Tommy winces as he continues. “He gets to makeout with you.”

“What?” The word leaves my mouth sounding more like an accusation than a question. “What the hell, Tommy?”

“I know, I’m sorry. I needed the money.” Seeing that I’m about to walk away, he grabs my arm. “But you’ve said Trevor is cute, right? So kissing him will be no big deal. Come on, Jillybean.”

I had stared at my degenerate brother for a moment, his big green eyes pleading with me. Trevor was a decent looking guy, so kissing him wouldn’t be the end of the world—under different circumstances, I probably would’ve been excited about it. So, I relented.

“Fine. But don’t ever try to pull this shit on me again. Next time I’m not going to rescue you.”

So I’d kissed Trevor— it was terrible and sloppy, and he tried to grope me in the process.

But that wasn’t the last time Tommy roped me in to save his ass, not even close.

“What are you thinking about?” Gage’s question pulls me out of my memories and my focus lands back on the man holding me. I pause for a moment to really look at him.

Taking advantage of my up close and personal view, my eyes run over the details of him. How the perpetual five o’clock shadow across his angular jaw adds a rough edge to his gorgeous face. That his dark brown eyes carry flecks of mocha and onyx in them, and how intricate the ink that covers him all the way up to his chin really is. “Your tattoos are beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“You sure lay it on thick, don’t you?”

“You like how thick I am. Or do I need to remind you?”

“Can we have a normal conversation for like five minutes before you turn into a horn dog?”

“We can try, but no promises.”

“Why tattoos? With your skill, you could’ve been an artist.”

“I am an artist. My work is recognized around the world. The canvas I’ve mastered is one of the most challenging. The human body is a beautiful and fragile thing, and I turn it into a masterpiece.”

“Is that why you’ve covered yourself in ink? To become a masterpiece?”

“Let’s be honest, I was a masterpiece without the ink. Now I’m a god.”

“Is that the purpose of all these?” I lightly trace some of the designs decorating the skin of his sternum with my fingertips.

“Tattoos don’t always need to serve a purpose. Sometimes, they’re a desire. Secrets, stories, dreams. All of them walking around for the world to see.”

“You seem very passionate about this. I like it.”

“You like when I’m passionate about other things, too.”

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