Page 320 of Rock Me All Night
I slide my arms around his neck and look him dead in the eyes. "Makes sense, because loving you hurts."
"A good hurt?"
"Very good."
He presses his lips into mine. "Do you want to do it?"
A tattoo with Drew? It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once. So much more permanent than anything else, even marriage. He'll never be able to unmark his body. I'll never be able to unmark mine. But then, it's not like there's anything I could do to convince my body it's not addicted to Drew.
"Let's do it," I say.
"I have a design picked out." He leads me into the shop and waves at one of the artists. "You'll like it."
The tattoo artist, an inked-up man in a black t-shirt and skinny jeans, introduces himself. "You must be Kara. I'm Ed. I've heard a lot about you."
"That so?" I ask.
Ed nods. He pulls out a sketchbook and flips to a page. There's a drawing of a matching set of tattoos—an ornate key and a heart shaped lock. "Drew wants the lock."
I turn to Drew. "You do realize the phallic implications of the key?"
He plays dumb. "You should explain them to me. Preferably with a demonstration." He looks to Ed. "You guys have a bathroom, right?"
"No way in hell," Ed says.
"That's one of our songs. About another girl though." Drew turns to me. "I figured I'd get it on my other shoulder. Instead of a broken heart, I have one that can only be unlocked by you."
I swear to God, I melt. I have the key to Drew's heart. It's cheesy, but it's perfect. "I want mine on the opposite shoulder."
He slides his hands into my hair. "You sure?"
"Positive." I kiss him so hard I can't breathe. It doesn't help the nervous feeling in my stomach, but it still feels so damn good.
A tattoo. Thisisgoing to hurt.
"I can go first," Drew says. "In case you chicken out."
"I want to go first."
Drew winks at Ed. "She always does."
"Shut the fuck up, Denton. You come first plenty."
Ed smiles. He points to a smooth leather chair. It looks like something out of a dentist's office.
"Make yourself comfortable," he says.
I do. Drew sits next to me, squeezing my hand hard enough to cut off circulation to my fingers. His eyes find mine. Those brown eyes are wide with excitement and wonder.
"You don't have to do this," he says.
"I want to."
"Good." His smile gets wider.
Ed returns. He rubs my arm with some kind of antiseptic and shaves the area with a safety razor. Then he sprays water on my arm, then slaps something there and peels it off.
It's a stencil of the design.
