Page 19 of Exposed Ink

As he spoke about his relationship with his daughter, I couldn’t help but get emotional. In a lot of ways, it reminds me of the relationship I have with my parents, but it also reminds me of the relationship I’ll never have with my daughter.

When I lost my husband and baby, I didn’t just lose them. I lost all our future moments. I’ll never get to hug or kiss them or tell them I love them. I’ll never hear Brenna tell me I’m her favorite person. She’ll never go to school or paint pictures to bring home. And looking at his picture reminds me how much I wanted all that.

“Where do you want the tattoo?” I ask once I set up my station and have somewhat gotten control of my emotions.

He mentioned his arm, but that can mean a lot of places.

“I was thinking we could do it here,” Shane says, lifting the sleeve of his shirt and showing off his toned upper arm. “I saw on Google …”

I glare, and he laughs, lowering his sleeve back down.

“Calm down, Sour Patch. I didn’t google this picture. It’s mine. But I did google what it would look like on my arm to see if anyone else had done this sort of thing.”

I love that he’s put thought into this, which was my point when I turned him away, but my brain stops on …

“Sour Patch?”

“Yeah,” he says with a grin, pulling a box out of his back pocket. “Sour Patch. They’re my favorite candy. I’m kind of addicted.”

He reaches into the box and pulls out a red one, his brown eyes sparkling as the sexual tension fills the room with his not-so-subtle inuendo. “They’re sour on the outside, but once you get to the deeper layers, they’re sweet.” He places the candy on his tongue and then closes his mouth, moaning softly. “So good. Want one?”

He extends his hand but retracts it when I shake my head, unable to move, let alone take candy from this man who has crashed into my safe, carefully constructed world, threatening to tear down the walls I’ve built.

“You remind me of a Sour Patch,” he says with a playful smirk. “Sour on the outside and?—”

“I’m not sweet,” I mutter, making Shane laugh.

“I beg to differ.” He chuckles. “You met my daughter once,” he says, shocking the hell out of me. “She came in here with her best friend, Casey.”

It doesn’t take me long to remember who he’s talking about. “The unicorn girl?”

“Yep. You refusing to tattoo it on her was sweet,” he says with a smile. “You can glare all you want, but underneath all that sour is a woman who cares.”

“I just didn’t want my name attached to that ugly tattoo.”

“Sweet,” he argues.

“Whatever,” I mumble. “AirDrop me the picture so we can get this over with.”

“Actually,” he says, “this is only the first tattoo I want. When I searched arm sleeves, I saw a bunch of images where people got sleeves of their kids’ artwork. I thought it would look cool.

“I have a few special pictures Taylor has made over the years, and I was thinking maybe you could design a few other images that are meaningful to me but make them cartoonish so they all have the same vibe—like my dog, Becky, and something to symbolize the fire station I work at.”

“You want a sleeve,” I say slowly.

I mean, I heard him, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.

“Yep,” he replies, popping theP. “I was thinking I could come every week, and you could continue it.”

Every. Fucking. Week. This guy can’t be serious …

“You can only do every week a few times,” I point out. “After a few sessions, your body will need more time to heal, and you’ll need to wait at least two weeks in between appointments, if not longer.”

“Okay.” He shrugs. “So, every week until you say I need to switch to every two weeks. Got it.”

I stare at him for several seconds, and when it’s clear that he’s being dead serious, I release an annoyed sigh. “Let’s just see how this goes today before you make any future plans. For all we know, it’ll hurt so badly that you’ll pass out and throw up and never come back.”

A girl can hope.

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