Page 117 of Pucking Around

I follow her gaze with a frown on my face. “Tess,” I say in warning. “This is not the humane society. Stop looking at that puppy right now. He is not up for adoption.”

She snorts, dragging her eye away from Langley. “Hey, if you get to juggle three hot dogs at once, I’m allowed to take an All-American cheeseburger out for one little dinner.”

“And on that note,” I say, getting up out of my chair.

“Yeah, go get him,” she teases. “Go invite him on a whirlwind getaway to charming Cincinnati!”

I roll my eyes, crossing over the sand towards where Ilmari stands watching some of the guys play volleyball. “Don’t feel like playing?” I say, standing next to him.

“Can’t,” he replies. “Don’t want to risk it.”

I nod, taking a sip of my drink. I can’t even offer him one to break the tension because he’s already holding a bottled water. “Come meet my friend Tess,” I say.

He follows next to me as we go over to the rainbow striped beach umbrella. Tess is now stretched out on a beach towel. Her eyes are closed, but she’s got a little smile on her face. I know the faker was watching me talk to him.

“Hey, Tess,” I call. “Meet Mars.”

She sits up, one hand holding onto her hat. “Well, helloooo, handsome,” she sings. “My, you’re a tall drink of water, aren’t you?”

He glances at me.

“I’m sorry for your pain and suffering,” I say by way of explanation.

“Come have a seat, Mars,” she coos.

He sits down on the beach chair Tess was just in, and I take up my seat again.

“Why don’t you take your shirt off and stay awhile,” she says, perched up on her elbows. The angle does great things for her curves.

“Can’t,” he replies.

I share a quick look with Tess, who asks the question both of us are thinking. “You can’t take off your shirt at the beach?”

“I have a tattoo. Sun is bad for it,” he explains, taking a sip of his water.

“Well, good thing you’re in the shade,” she teases, pointing up to the rainbow umbrella.

“Tess, will you leave the man alone? Mars, you don’t have to—”

Too late. He sets his water bottle aside and tugs it off one-handed, tucking it in to the top of his shorts. I’m trying really hard not to look but Tess makes no such effort. She ogles him shamelessly, her mouth tipping up appreciatively.

“I don’t get it, handsome. I don’t see a tattoo.”

“It’s on my back,” he replies.

I can see it. Well, part of it. And I was right, it’s practically a total blackout.

Tess being Tess, she crawls around the side of his chair and pushes on his shoulder, a silent request for him to lean forward. “Oh, holy fuckballs! Mars, this isgorgeous. Rach, look at this. What am I even looking at?”

I look. I can’t help myself. His entire back from the base of his neck, across his shoulders, down to his waist is blacked out in a full-back tattoo. It’s incredibly intricate, with multiple scenes playing out. It’s like some kind of creepy, death-themed fantasyscape—skulls, wolves, an open-mouthed, rabid-looking bear, a demon king, a raven in flight at the top. Those are the wingtips you can see even when his shirt is on.

“What is it?” I say.

“Stories from theKalevala,” he replies.

“The kale-what-a?” says Tess.

“TheKalevala,” he repeats. “It’s the Finnish book of folklore. Our mythology. The making of the world, Ilmarinen and the forging of Ukko’s hammer, mighty Otso guarding his forest, the death god on his throne.”

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