Page 51 of Getting Over You

“The nearest tattoo shop. I’m getting a tattoo.”

Chapter eighteen

Ican’t believe I’m actually doing this. It’s the right time, though. I can feel it. Or maybe that’s just nerves.

“You don’t have to do this,” Cade says as I push open the door to the tattoo shop. “You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

“I’m not doing this to prove anything to you.” I march up to the tattooed man waiting at the counter. “I’m doing this to prove something to me.”

“Well, you don’t have to.”

“I do.” I shake my head. “I do. And you don’t get that.”

“Wait a second.” Cade grabs my wrist, turning me toward him. “Let’s talk about this before you do something you’ll regret.”

I glance back at the man waiting at the counter. “Can you give me a minute?” I ask.

“Take your time, sweet cheeks,” he says, walking away from the counter with loud, thudding steps. I wince.

“Sweet cheeks,” Cade mutters. “I’m putting that in the nickname bank.”

“I’m getting this tattoo,” I tell him, leveling my gaze. “Whether you’re staying to supervise or not.” It’s hard to remain confident when the storm clouds in his eyes are so striking. It’s even harder when I realize he’s only this concerned because he knows me. He understands that I’m doing something out of my comfort zone.

And he’sconcernedabout it.

His jaw flexes.

“Cade.”

“Gigi.”

“Cade. I’m doing this.”

“And there’s nothing I can say to make you think before you do it?”

I shake my head.

“I’m a little disappointed I’m not doing your first tattoo,” he says, his shoulders dropping their tension. “But let’s do this, princess.”

Elated, I can’t help myself. I hug Cade Deans. Might as well take two chances tonight instead of just one.

I feel fine until I’m settled into a chair and the tattoo artist starts prepping his ink and tools.

“How you doing?” Cade asks. He’s not looking at me, but instead watching the artist lay out his gear.

“Are you asking me, or the tattoo artist you’re drooling over?” I ask, smiling up at him. “I’m fine. We haven’t done anything yet.”

“Well, how are your nerves, then?” he asks. His eyes turn to saucers. “Oh, man. That’s not the new Bishop, is it?”

I turn to see what he’s looking at. A tattoo gun, it appears, all chrome and shiny.

The tattoo artist chuckles. “It is. You familiar with the art, then, I take it?”

Cade nods excitedly. “Very. Dude, the Bishop.ThatBishop. That’s my dream wand.”

“Corded or cordless,” the artist tells Cade. “Check this.” He unplugs the gun, pushing a button. The tattoo gun whirrs on, even after being unplugged.

“Dude,” Cade nearly moans.

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