Page 12 of Devious Vows

“No, you’re definitely getting one.” My gut coils. “And I’m picking it out,” he adds with smirk. The “hell no” about to come out of my mouth is interrupted by him saying, “Last time we spent quality time together, you made me buy you two hundred dollars’ worth of candy because you didn’t know it was priced per ounce.” I almost snort at the way he said “quality” but keep it in. His eyes find mine at a stoplight. “Then you puked it all back up after insisting I do donuts in the parking lot to get back at them for ripping you off. So, I’m picking out your tattoo.”

Popping my lips with feigned nonchalance, I roll my eyes when he raises a brow. “Fine. But you’re paying for it.”

He just laughs, the sound yanking at the corners of my lips with his. “I always pay.”

“I will be pissed if you let them tattoo something stupid,” I mumble as he flicks through a book of tattoo designs, ignoring me as I walk around the small parlor. “What are you getting?”

He doesn’t even acknowledge me, slapping the book closed and raising two fingers. Someone magically appearing to help him, like always.

“Aaahh, Luciano, back for more?” The voice comes from a man wearing what I imagine a lumberjack would, with a thick goatee, gauges, and a sleeve of tattoos that extends to the left side of his head. His eyes find me before Remy can answer. “Who’s this? A friend?” He winks at Remy with the question and I scrunch my nose.

Remy says “Yes” at the same time I say “No,” and the man laughs.

“All right, what’re we doing then?” he asks Remy, motioning for us to follow him.

“Beverly is getting her first tattoo tonight,” he responds, eyeing me over his shoulder as I follow them down the hall toward a private room. Remy holds the door open as I walk in and the man taps the seat, putting on a fresh pair of gloves.

“Your first tattoo! I’m honored.” The man smiles at me and I force a tight-lipped grin back, the seconds ticking away at my fake bravery.

I really shouldn’t be doing this.

Remy’s voice stops me as I move to sit on the tattoo bench. “Lay down on your stomach, Bev.”

My eyes snap to his briefly at his nod I swallow hard and take a deep breath, moving to lie as he instructed. My fingers clench onto my skirt, awkwardly adjusting my dress as I move so nothing flashes.

“Hold tight, I need to go grab something from the other room.” My eyes watch the tattoo technician leave the room before falling back on Remy.

“What am I getting and where is it going?” He lifts off the wall he was leaning on, walking toward the table. A hoarse whisper escapes me as my panic rises, “Please don’t say my ass.”

Dimples flash at me, his honey browns grazing my skin as he crouches next to me so we’re face-to-face. Without a word his inked fingers just brush my cheek, softly pushing my hair over my ear and away from my neck so that it hangs off the side of the bench. My fingers pinch into the leathery fabric of the bench, my pulse involuntarily quickening at the touch.

His thumb brushes the skin just behind my ear. “Here.”

I blink at him, lips slightly parted as his breath fans over my cheeks. “What?”

His eyes find mine, a dimple winking at me from his left cheek. “Your tattoo is going behind your ear.” He stands, the sudden loss of him making the space he occupied feel oddly cold.

“Oh. Right.” I lick my lips, looking around the room to avoid his face and the look he’s giving me. “What is it again?”

He doesn’t answer, but the door swings open a moment later anyway, saving me from being alone in my awkwardness any longer.

“Okay, we’re good to go.” The tattoo artist sits down by the bench, a stencil of something I can’t see already in his hand. He cleans the space behind my ear in the same spot Remy had said, the buzz of his gun sounding near my head before he looks at me. “Ready?”

My eyes find Remy’s, voice thick with my lie, “Always.”

Forty minutes later and I have a headache from frowning so hard.

At this point, I’m not sure what hurts worse, my headache or the tattoo. “All right, go ahead and look.” The tech rolls his chair back, grabbing a handheld mirror for me as I stand and walk toward the full-length mirror on the wall opposite us.

Remy left shortly after my session started to go get his own ink, so it’s just the two of us.

Moving my hair aside once again, I look into the mirror. Behind my ear is a small delicate-looking feather tattoo. My heart thumps, fingers rising to lightly touch the edges of it.Remy picked out a feather. After a few more seconds, I realize how odd it must be for me to be standing quiet for so long, so I hand the mirror back. “Thank you, it’s really pretty.”

He nods, pleased that I like it and motions for me to sit back down. He quickly covers the ink with a plastic sheet, then opens the door for me to exit. “I’m glad I was able to talk him out of the penis tattoo.”

I stop, whipping my head to look at him. “What?”

He laughs, shaking his head at me. “No, I’m joking, he picked the feather.”

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