Page 219 of Make the Play

“You, uh…” I gesture vaguely at him. “You gonna put clothes on or…?”

He grins. “Does it bother you?”

“I—no—yes—I don’t know. You’re—God, Chase, could you just—”

He turns casually, heading toward the dresser. “Sure. But you’re gonna have to deal with at least ten more seconds of towel time.”

I groan and bury my face in the coat, muffling my voice. “I’m in hell.”

He laughs low and warm, and I can hear drawers opening, fabric rustling, and my own brain imploding.

And I can’t help myself, because this man’s body is beauty and grace, and I’ve been starved of it for longer than I care to admit. So I glance up.

He’s pulling on a T-shirt, arm lifted, ribs stretching, and that’s when I see it.

A new tattoo, just below his left ribcage.

Small and subtle, but very fucking familiar.

“What’s that?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He looks over at me. “What’s what?”

“That.” I nod toward his ribs. “That’s a tattoo.”

He pauses with his shirt half-on, caught mid-motion.

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just gulps and lifts the hem of the T-shirt, revealing it fully.

A small, delicatecarnation.

“What is it?” I already know the answer, but I need him to tell me himself.

He meets my eyes, and there’s no grin now. No jokes.

“You know what it is,” he says, so quietly I barely hear it.

The T-shirt hem is still bunched up in his hand, his skin still damp from the shower, but I can’t look at anything else.

It’s so soft. So subtle. So fucking beautiful.

White ink, curling into petals just under his ribs, inked so close to his heart it might as well be part of it.

I swallow hard, the burn rising behind my eyes. “But… why?”

His mouth twitches just slightly. It’s not a smile, more like a crack in resolve.

“Because I wanted a piece of you with me,” he says. “To keep under my skin, right where you’ve always been.”

The silence stretches between us, full and fragile and impossible.

“The way I feel about you, Zo… it’s not always loud. It’s not for show or attention.” He pauses, his voice sounding thin. “It’s just… pure.”

My hands curl into the coat like it might hold me together, keep me from falling apart right here in front of him. But it doesn’t.

Because I’ve spent weeks trying to find the version of me that’s worth something again, and here he is, telling me he’s seen it all along. And not only that, he inked it into his fucking skin.

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