Page 6 of Forever and Ever

“Says the girl covered in tattoos?”

“Exactly. Says the girl who knows a little something about permanence.”

He narrows his eyes as he thinks my words over, dipping his stare to my lips, before meeting my eyes with that shimmer he wields like a weapon.

“Maybe some things are worth the risk of regret,” he says, finally moving his arm and letting me pass.

His statement swirls around in my head as I walk past him, and I swear I feel his eyes watching me as he follows me into the shop. He’s not being as obviously flirtatious as he was in his dressing room when I met him, but that feeling is still there like he’s mulling me over, deciding what he’s going to do with me.

Rock stars, thinking they can have whatever they want.

It’s annoying.

“Noah Hayes.” The woman behind the counter practically gasps, her eyes going wide as she takes him in. She hops off her stool and straightens her shirt, tugging the bottom so it shows off more of her cleavage, leaving little of her tits to the imagination.

He walks up like he has no effect on her and leans his elbows on the counter as he shoots her a Hollywood smile.

“Hey, doll.” He beams, and I have to hold back the vomit in my throat. This man’s charm is insufferable. “I don’t have an appointment, but curious if Blaze or Rachel have any openings.”

Noah knows exactly what he’s doing, throwing his celebrity status around because he’s well aware they aren’t going to turn him away no matter how busy they are.

After all, he’s Noah Hayes.

Barf.

I roll my eyes and walk away from them, heading over to a wall of artwork on the other side of the parlor. If I walked in here today asking for a tattoo—assuming I had the cash, of course—they’d tell me they’re booked up for a year. I’d have to wait my turn like everyone else.

But looking over my shoulder and seeing half of the parlor staff gathering around, I know that’s not going to be the case for Noah.

Let’s all stop the universe from spinning to make sure he gets what he wants at any given moment.

It must be nice, to reach that point of fame where you have other people to worry about your bullshit, so you no longer have to. And so what if maybe I’m a little jealous seeing it in action now that I work for the band. But watching how they’ve reached a point so high that they’re no longer affected reminds me, if I ever get my shot, I’m going to appreciate it. And I’ll try to not be a total asshole.

“Find something you like?” Noah’s voice coming up behind me makes me jump.

I’ve been zoned out, staring at a sketch of a woman with rose vines wrapped around her, pulling her under. It’s highlighted with splashes of watercolor and it’s gorgeous.

“Just looking.” I spin around, shutting down Noah’s question.

He seems like the type to offer up a joint tattoo session even though he barely knows me, and from the look in his eyes right now, the last thing I need is him thinking we’re going to have some kind of ink-induced bonding moment. I don’t want him getting any ideas.

“What are you getting done?” I ask, trying to ignore the fact that he’s standing really close, and I’m boxed in between him and the wall.

Noah’s eyes move from mine to the sketches behind me, skimming them over.

“Another ring around my arm,” he says, looking back at me.

He holds his forearm out between us, and I notice his thin cotton shirt is rolled up to his elbow, showing off the thick veins in his forearm.

I’m not blind, everything about this man is downright sexy. He’s tall and lean with solid muscle. A surfer body that matches his untamed shoulder-length blond hair and tanned skin. But luckily for me, his irritating charm is enough to remind me I’d never go there in a million years.

I reach out and wrap my hand around his arm, flipping it over to get a better look. I’ve seen the tattoo in pictures, and that day I met him naked in his dressing room, but never this close. It’s a solid ring of ink that wraps in a full circle around his forearm. It’s about as wide as a quarter, with no other details or intricacy.

“What do the rings mean?” I release his arm and dip my thumbs in my jeans pockets.

Noah’s eyes do that thing where he watches everything I do, and it’s a little unnerving. He rolls his thick forearm over a couple of times, rubbing where the new band will go.

“They represent big moments,” he says, dropping his arm.

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