Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 649(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
“I really fucking do.”
“I always wondered what this would feel like.”
“It’s good, right?”
“Yes. It’s everything! Hey. We’re both having the best days of our life today. Look at that.”
His brows lift. “We should probably get matching tattoos or something. Too bad you’re not into that sort of thing.”
My mouth drops open.
And his smile right now? Knockout.
I’m up out of the stool, grabbing Jake’s hand and dragging him along the counter with me to the edge, and then I’m pulling him through the room and toward my station, looking back at him to say, “You better be serious. I mean, you are. Right? Please don’t be joking with me.”
“I brought it up, didn’t I?”
“Yes. But you’re scared of needles.”
We stop at my chair, and then Jake pushes my hair back out of my face before leaning in and kissing my forehead.
Magic.
“I was also scared to tell you I love you, and that turned out okay,” he says, finger-twisting the curls that fall over my ear. “You freaked out about it more than I did. Remember all the sweating?”
“It’s hot in here,” I grunt, and he laughs quietly. “And yes, I still need to keep your hoodie. Don’t piss me off by asking for it back.”
Jake’s eyes dart between us. “Where is it?”
The arm I have hidden behind my back tenses, and I tighten my grip around the soft, worn cotton.
“Where’s what?” I challenge.
Jake smirks and slides his hand around my neck to tug me flush against him, and we kiss like we’re in love.
Because guess what?
We are. :)
Hours later, we’re seated in the same booth we sat in before at the run-down diner I love so much, and Jake hasn’t touched his donut (while I’m well into my third) because he won’t stop staring at the ink on his forearm. And I’ve asked him four times now if he has any regrets because getting your first tattoo is a pretty big deal, and I can’t help but be worried that he secretly wishes he hadn’t gone through with this, but he doesn’t regret it at all.
He loves it (his words). And he loves me (still not used to that).
We both got them in the same spot on the outer edge of our left forearms after Jake examined me for available space, and while our tattoos look the same, they can’t be.
Because I wrote his We’ll Be Okay and he wrote mine, and today I discovered my boyfriend only writes in capital letters.
That’s cute, right?
But both of our tattoos are in thin black ink and the same size.
A permanent promise.
“How long until I can take this cling-film shit off?” Jake asks, picking at the edge. “I want to really see it.”
“I’d give it another hour. Then we’ll take them off.”
I flick a sprinkle across the table, and it flies into Jake’s lap.
He finally looks up at me.
“So. What’s your next one going to be?” I ask.
And he looks so adorably confused until I point at his arm.
“My next one?” He shakes his head and finally picks up the frosted chocolate rainbow sprinkled donut he’s forgotten about, biting into it. “I’m never doing that again. This was a one-time thing.”
“Don’t say that. You look so hot with ink.”
“I’m completely serious.”
I follow the path of his tongue as it cleans up the frosting on his mouth, and so quickly my dick starts to plump.
“But I thought we agreed on that Felix Was Here tattoo,” I say, and I somehow manage to keep a straight face.
Jake loudly swallows his bite. “When the fuck did I agree to you tattooing my dick?”
“You remember!”
“I remember that insane conversation, yes. But I don’t remember agreeing to it.”
“Oh. Wait.” I tap my temple. “That’s right. Tattooing it was a firm no.”
“Very firm.”
“You agreed to letting me ride your dick whenever I want. That was the compromise you suggested.”
He nods, licking his lips. “I’m a smart guy.”
I lean across the table, crowding him as much as I can while remaining in my seat.
“And I want, Jake,” I say. “I want.”
His brows tick up. “Now?”
“Now.”
“Here?”
“Here.”
“Bathroom?” he suggests.
We both turn our heads and look across the room where the one single restroom is located, and then Jake’s wiping his hands off on a napkin while I finish the last half of my donut (don’t act surprised), and we’re both smiling and sliding to the ends of our seats, we’re so excited to fuck in a public place. (Milestone!)
But then the door swings open and an older woman backs out, spraying air freshener into the darkened room until the can hits empty.
My nose wrinkles.
I slowly peer over at Jake and find he’s already staring at me, and if there was ever an expression that conveyed the phrase, I swear to God if you make me fuck you in there, I’ll kill you, Jake’s wearing it.