Page 42 of The Fake Boyfriend Fiasco

Which was fine! Absolutely fine! Because Aria was off men. Off relationships. Completely.

“I think,” she answered finally, “that you’re a man of many talents.” She rose up on her toes and kissed his nose right back. Then she let go of his hand and headed up the street. “Do you know how to say, ‘India ink’ in Spanish, by the way?”

There was a slight pause before he answered, a hesitation before he fell into step at her side and took her hand again. “I know how to say ‘India’, and I know how to say ‘ink’.

“Good enough.”

* * *

Nik hadn’t been joking on that drunken night when he’d asked Aria to give him a tattoo. And he wasn’t joking now, either, though she was laughing at what he’d just said as if it were top-tier comedy.

“You want me to surprise you?” she repeated, incredulous.

“What, no-one’s ever asked you to do that?”

“Well, yeah. The guys who are fucking covered and don’t give a shit, sometimes they ask me to do that. But this is your first tattoo, Nik! Don’t you know what you want?”

“I think,” he said, with complete honesty, “that you’ll choose something perfect. Because you’re perfect.”

Around them, the kitchen erupted into groans. Half the house had dragged themselves out of bed to watch Nik get a stick-and-poke from his girlfriend—and, as always, Nik was using their presence to say things he couldn’t usually get away with. He could lavish fake-girlfriend-Aria with praise and have her think it was all part of the act. When they were alone, though, he tried to cool it.

He usually failed, but he tried.

“You know what?” she asked with a wicked smile. “If that’s what you want, that’s what you’re gonna get. A surprise.”

“Oh, Christ,” Georgia laughed. “You’ve done it now, Nik. You great ninny!”

Ah, well.

Aria took the whole thing very seriously—but then, he supposed, she was a professional. She’d told him all about her apprenticeship, her many tattoos, and how much she loved her job. She was going to open a tattoo shop with the money she’d earned this week. So, obviously, she wouldn’t want to accidentally poison him with a needle in a Marbella mansion.

He felt a tickle as she outlined whatever design she’d chosen, but he couldn’t see anything. For some reason, she’d decided to tattoo the back of his arm, just above his elbow. He suspected she’d done it to make sure he couldn’t see—or maybe so that, if he hated it, it would be easy to ignore. She was the kind of person who thought about things like that.

He wished he could tell her, as she filled the needle with ink and kissed his shoulder, that he’d never hate any mark she put on him.

So why don’t you? Why don’t you stop fucking around and take what you want? Why don’t you tell her that you’re not letting go?

Because I want her to hold on, too.

The sharp little pokes began, like scratchy bug bites. He felt her hair brush against the small of his back as she bent her head. He remembered how it had felt grazing his thighs that morning as she rode him, as she tipped her head back and told him she’d never wanted anyone like this.

Soon. He’d tell her soon. Because keeping secrets from Aria was starting to feel like the worst kind of sin.

* * *

“Hold still.” Aria twisted Nik’s arm into the perfect position as she snapped a picture of his fresh tattoo. “I’m gonna post this on Instagram.”

“That’s great, chrysí mou, but what is it?”

“It’s the shit emoji,” Varo said solemnly.

The room erupted into laughter. She ignored them and leaned over Nik’s shoulder, holding her phone out for him to see. Her heart pounded as she said, “Look.”

He peered at the little screen, and she held her breath. She always wanted clients to like their ink, but this was different. She couldn’t explain how. It just was. While Nik looked, she studied the image herself, searching nervously for any fuck-ups she’d missed with her naked eye. But all she saw were neat letters inked in fine capitals, spelling out ‘Colston City’—the team he’d been so devastated to leave.

She placed her lips by his ear, aware of the whole room watching closely, and murmured, “If you don’t like it—”

“I love it.”

---