Page 125 of Messy Strokes (Wrecked Roommates)

“It’s perfect, Milo. Seriously. I love it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Looks a little familiar, though,” I mention, my gaze dropping to the same tattoo on his forearm.

“You caught that, huh?”

“Mm-hmm,” I hum, dragging my fingers along his arm then tangling our fingers together. “What made you choose the same dandelion?”

He brings my hand to his lips and kisses my knuckles. “I never told you what it meant, did I?”

“Nope. You most definitely didn’t. And I wasn’t about to ask you again after you bit my head off the first time,” I tease.

With a low growl, he rubs his nose along my cheek and kisses it softly. “When we were kids, my sister used to say it wasn’t fair.”

“What wasn’t fair?”

“Dandelions didn't get the credit they deserved. She’d pick as many as she could find on the way home from school.”

“So sweet,” I murmur. “Honestly, I’ve never given them much thought.”

“Like I said, they don’t get the credit they deserve. They’re resilient. Bright and cheerful. And even when they die, they give you a wish in return. Most people say they’re weeds and try to kill them. She’d say it wasn’t fair.”

“I never thought of it that way,” I admit, my attention shifting back to the tender spot on my shoulder in the mirror’s reflection. It almost looks real.

“When we broke up, I got the tattoo.” He shows me the inside of his forearm. “I told myself it was because you were a dime a dozen. A pretty weed who needed to be pulled, or you’d keep spreading, tainting the perfectly put-together life I’d tried to build on my own.”

I cringe, shame flooding my system. “Ouch.”

“It wasn’t the real reason why I got it, Mads.” Resting his forehead against my temple, he explains, “It was a reminder I was too scared to make a wish, to take the leap when we were at risk of dying. And because of it, we never grew into anything new. It gutted me.”

“Milo…”

“Little did I know, weweregrowing something new.Youwere growing something new. Something which would erase our pasts. Something to tie us together and give us another chance. The little seed turned into my baby girl.” He lifts his arm and drags his finger against a freshly-inked dandelion seed floating on the breeze a couple of inches from the vibrant dandelion on my shoulder.

“Mine didn’t have the seed before,” he murmurs, twisting his arm and lifting it to match the one on my shoulder so I can take them in side by side through the mirror. “But when I finished sketching yours yesterday, I wanted to add it to mine too. What do you think?”

My heart swells in my chest like the Grinch’s inHow the Grinch Stole Christmas, making me feel like the luckiest damn girl in the whole world. I twist around and rise onto my tiptoes, steadying myself against his warm, hard chest.

“I think matching tattoos is almost as bad as having your name inked into my skin,” I note, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I love it.”

“Yeah?” he asks, his voice laced with disbelief.

“Yeah. And I have a feeling this is the first of many. But only if you’re the one to give me each and every one. Deal?”

His arms wrap around my waist, and he pulls me even closer to him until I’m sandwiched between his hard chest and his massive arms coiled around me. “Only if I can put my name on you.”

“Oh, so now that I’ve had a taste and decided I like tattoos, you think you can start making demands? Huh, mister?”

“Mm-hmm,” he hums, the sound vibrating through his chest and into me.

“And how is it fair? It’s not like you’d ever tattoo my name on you.”

"I might not have your name tattooed on my skin––yet––but I’ve still carried you everywhere I went."

Aaaand there goes the rest of my self-preservation.

Biting my lip, I whisper, “Is that right?”

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