Page 32 of Major Penalty

I don’t notice the small boy next to me until he reaches for a few flowers. That’s when I see something dark peeking out from under his sleeves.

I frown gently.

“Hey,” I murmur, leaning closer. “What do you have on your arms?”

The boy beams like I’ve just asked him his favorite question.

Without hesitation, he shoves up his sleeves and holds out his arms proudly.

I gasp, stunned.

His skin is covered in thick black marker—doodles, swirlies, rough little shapes. Messy lines that try so hard to look permanent.

Like tattoos.

I glance up at Ares, who’s leaning toward Mandy, helping her twist her flowers together. His mouth is curved into a quiet smile, and the warmth in his entire face makes my heart flutter.

I turn back to the boy. “You drew on yourself?”

“Yeah!” He grins. “So I can be like Ares!” he shouts proudly.

Oh.

Emotion catches in my throat.

I glance back at Ares again. He’s looking at the boy now, too—and this time, he looks caught. His smile falters for half a second, his gaze flicking to mine, unsure how I’ll react.

And I see it. Plain as day.

This means everything to him.

And I have a feeling…this isn’t the first time that boy’s done it.

The kids are lost in their own worlds.

Heads bent, tongues poking out in concentration, tiny fingers twisting stems together, trying to copy Ares, who’s working on his fifth flower crown.

He sets it down and turns slightly. Before I know it, his hand is on mine.

Oh, God.

My breath catches as his fingers wrap around my wrist. Not like the previous times. This time, his touch is gentle as he drags his fingers down and wraps them around the flower.

“Here,” he murmurs, his voice a velvet rasp against my skin. “Let me help you.” Low, steady, and sinfully dark—each word brushing my ear in a slow, deliberate touch. My spine locks up. I feel him lean in just slightly, enough to send a shiver straight down my back. His fingers adjust my grip on the flower stems, slowly guiding my hands.

“Twist them like this,” he instructs, taking his time, fully aware of what he’s doing to me. I swallow and try to focus on the flowers. But his hands, his fingers, his breath on my cheek…I can’t think.

“There you go,” he praises, his tone warm and teasing. I feel the drag of his thumb against the inside of my wrist when he slowly pulls away.

“Keep going.”

The words land softer now—darker, like he’s savoring every second.

I twist the flowers exactly as he showed me, forcing myself to breathe and act normal. Ares leans back, watching me and my hands.

“Such a fast learner,” he murmurs, quiet enough so only I can hear.

By the time we’re back at the youth center, the sun is dipping low, painting everything in gold. The air has cooled, soft and fresh with the scent of cut grass and late April warmth. The kids are all wearing flower crowns—every single one of them. Ares made sure of it.

---