Page 38 of Twisted Violet
She scowls. “I want to.”
I shake my head. “It’s late. I don’t want you going out of your way.”
“Oh.” Her voice drops just a little. “Right. I forgot you don’t really like my cooking.”
Fuck.
“That’s not it,” I say quickly. “I just…”
I trail off, then sigh.
She looks confused, maybe even a little hurt.
I don’t tell her the truth… it’s not the food I avoid, it’sher.
She’s soft in a way I’m not built for and eventually, I’ll break her.
“I just don’t want you to waste your time.” I say.
The words slip out too soft, too honest.
She frowns. “I wouldn’t be wasting my time.”
“Thank you, but really, I’m okay.”
Violet nods as she chews on her lower lip, but says nothing else. She just leans against the counter, picking at the edge of her sleeve like she regrets walking in here.
I should’ve just let her make me something.
I’m such a fucking asshole.
I go to toss the packaging, and when I glance back, her eyes aren’t on my face anymore; they’re on my chest.
My muscles instinctively tighten under her gaze, like they’re enjoying having her eyes on them.
She stares at the ink that crawls over my chest and ribs and spills down onto my arms. A tiger, sharp and angry. A camellia bloom carved in red. And a demon wrapped in smoke.
“Your tattoos.” She says softly. “They’re beautiful.”
“Thanks. Painful too.”
For a second, I imagine her with ink of her own. Something sexy and artistic, hidden in a place that no one else can see. Andfuck,I shouldn’t be picturing that.
She tugs at her sleeve again. “They look like it.”
Her gaze is slow, curious, and it lingers a little too long. She clenches her hands like her fingers want to touch the ink, but she doesn’t trust her control over them.
I let the moment stick.
“You ever think about getting one?” I ask, casual.
“A tattoo?”
I nod.
She hesitates, barely, but I notice.
“I never wanted one.” She says a little wistfully.
