Page 5 of Virgin Skin

“Yeah. You must be Milo. Come on up and have a seat so we can chat about what you have in mind.”

My knees are quaking, but somehow, I manage to do just that. The fact that I don’t stumble over the step up to the elevated level is a minor miracle of its own. It’s a short walk to the spot he gestured to, but along the way I find the time to twirl a strand of hair around my finger and then tuck it behind my ear, tuck then untuck my shirt, momentarily forget the normal way to swing my arms when I walk, and finally trip over my own feet right as I reach the chair. Luckily, I manage to fall into the chair itself rather than face planting on the floor.

Hero catches me with a steadying hand on my way down, so I can’t even play it off like I didn’t trip. My face heats and I huff out an anxious laugh.

“Let me guess, this is your first ink?” He gives me an understanding look, and for a second, I swear I’m eight years old, daydreaming about my dad coming along to save me from my mom’s endless impulsive decisions.

I bob my head and swallow hard again.

I practiced this whole thing in my head a thousand times, but now that I’m here in front of him, I can’t remember a single thing I wanted to say. My tongue feels too big to even fit in my mouth, let alone form any words.

My eyes wander over to where Piston is sitting, slouched in his rolling chair with his feet up on the one meant for his clients. His head is dipped, and it looks like he’s drawing, but his gaze flickers up to meet mine just long enough to let me know he’s still paying attention to me. I’m not sure if that’s comforting or not. I didn’t expect to do this with an audience, let alone right in front of the guy I was kind of hoping to take another shot at having sex with.

Fuck, he must think I’m such a little kid right now, watching me practically fall apart meeting my dad. Especially after Ibrought him back to my motel last night and didn’t do anything except make out with him like we’re a couple of teenagers.Ugh, focus. One problem at a time, Milo.

“That’s no problem. We love a virgin around here,” Hero says with a wink. My stomach twists and my face flames again before I remember he’s talking about tattoos.

I let out a weak laugh.

“I drew up a few rough ideas based on what you described in your email. Let me show you what I’ve got.”

He swivels away to grab his digital sketch pad, and I tap my foot anxiously against the floor, and some of the rough versions of my speech start to echo through my mind.

Do you know a woman named Emily O’Malley…

It’s been over twenty-eight years, I doubt he remembers the name of a one-night stand when he was just a teenager himself.

Hey, funny story…

God no, too flippant.

Have you ever wished you had a son?

Ha, way to set myself up for rejection before I can even get the rest of it out.

He spins back to me and turns his sketch pad towards me. I don’t even look at it, still stuck staring at him, too many things running through my head at once. So much for the Adderall fog I was riding before.

“So, I was thinking I could—”

“I’m your son.” The words fly out of my mouth and it’s like a full-on record scratch moment. Everything goes silent: the music, the buzzing of tattoo needles. I’m pretty sure everyone else is holding their breath. I know I definitely am.

His mouth falls open just a little and his eyebrows pull together.

“You’re…” His throat bobs with his own hard swallow, and I nod.

“Your son,” I say again.

Chapter 3

PISTON

“What the hell wasthat about?” Jag asks in a low voice after we all pretendnotto watch Hero lead Milo into the back room.

“The kid thinks Hero is his dad,” Tex butts in to explain, as if we didn’t all just hear the exact same thing.

Granted, I think they all probably heard it better than I did since I can’t hear much over the sound of blood rushing in my ears.

I had my tongue down Hero’s son’s throat last night. I swallowed his moans while we rolled around on the hard-as-cement motel bed and felt the shape of his erection against my thigh. A hot, heavy feeling pulses in my gut, some combination of guilt and the desperate desire to do it all again.

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