Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“You make it impossible for me to resist you,” I whisper into the darkness of the room. “I know we can’t be together, but I still want you. I want you more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” I kiss the top of her head again, because at this moment, I can speak freely, and that’s a gift I’m not passing up on. “Something tells me you’re going to turn my world upside down, and fuck me, Emerson. I’m scared as hell that I’m going to let you.” The confession falls easily from my lips, and it’s not until this moment that I know it’s true.
I’ve never felt this connection with anyone before in my life. She’s different, and that’s a blessing and a curse. I’m going to try to fight whatever this is, but as she rests peacefully in my arms, her hand gripping my shirt, I know it’s impractical.
I can already feel myself falling.
Chapter
Eight
Emerson
* * *
I’m nervous. I don’t know why, but I am. He’s one of the best, but it’s not his skill that has my palms sweating. When I think about approaching Roman and asking him to give me a tattoo that I’ve been wanting for a while, I’m scared to death.
I know he’s just Roman, the guy I’ve known and crushed on for years. My brother's best friend, and my… well, he’s not really my anything, but I wish he were.
Things have been weird between us. It’s the end of July, and I leave to go back to school in a couple of weeks. I really want this tattoo, and I know I could ask any of the other guys, or my brother, to do it, but I want it to be Roman. They’re all super talented, but I want it to be him. Besides, that will give us some time together. Maybe we can talk, and it will pull us out of this state of limbo we seem to be in.
He wants me.
I want him.
He says that doesn’t matter and refuses to consider we could be more.
Yada, yada, yada.
Forrest and I already have matching anchor tattoos. He gave me mine on my eighteenth birthday, on the same weekend I moved in with him. He had Legend do his. Mine is on my ankle, and his is on his forearm. It’s a symbol of staying grounded, and knowing that we always have a home, an anchor with one another.
I can still remember that day. I was nervous about asking him. I don’t know why; he was excited to give me my first tattoo. When I told him why I wanted the anchor, he teared up and called out for Legend, who was the only other person in the shop at the time and told him to get to work on his drawing, and that he was next once mine was finished. As siblings, we are anchored together by love, and in life, we know that we always have a home in each other.
Tonight, it’s just Roman and me at the shop. His last client was running late, and Roman said he would stay. He told me to lock up and go home, but I didn’t listen. Instead, I’ve been sitting here at the counter working up the nerve to ask him to ink my drawing on my hip.
Forrest taught me to draw. He’s by far more talented than I will ever be, but this drawing I’ve been working on for well over a year. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve started over, or how many drafts I have. A few weeks ago, I finally came up with a version that I’m in love with.
The hum of the tattoo gun ceases, and I sit up straight. Glancing at the clock, I see that the three-hour session is over. I wipe my sweaty palms on the ass of my jean shorts. I know the worst he can say is no, but I really want this design, and I want more than anything for Roman to be the one to give it to me. It’s a piece of me, and a piece of him that I’ll have always, no matter how this weird in between thing we have going on ends.
“Thanks for coming in, Scott,” Roman says, as he follows his customer to the front desk. “Hey, baby girl. I thought you were going home?” He tilts his head to the side to study me.
I pretend like my heart isn’t racing just because he called me baby girl. I love it. It feels intimate, and he’s the only person to ever call me that. The term of endearment makes me feel like his.
“I know, but I wanted to stay in case you needed me.” That’s only part of the truth, but there’s no way I’m going to ask for this tattoo in front of his customer. The chance of him rejecting me is high, and I don’t need anyone to bear witness to that humiliation, even if they are a complete stranger to me.