Page 5 of Nights at Seaside
He shrugged and looked away again, his voice going cold. “Picked it up somewhere.”
She was surprised when disappointment washed through her. After hearing him sing, seeing his back, and seeing the P-town poet’s signature scrap of paper, she thought maybe she’d solved the mystery. She pulled up her stool and looked more carefully at his back, noticing the different sizes and fonts. Now that the awe had worn off a bit, she saw that there was plenty of room for her to fit these, and many more words, if he so desired.
“Do you have tattoos only on your back?” she asked.
He turned and looked at her again, his eyes darker, more sensual, sending a surprising rush of heat through her. “Only those that tread the landscape get to find that out.”
Yes, please.“Oh…Sorry.” She picked up her tattoo gun to give herself something to focus on besidesthatbefore trying to respond again, then managed, “Do you have a font in mind?”
“You pick.” His thick dark brows knitted together. Then he turned away, leaned his cheek on his forearm, and closed his eyes, as if he hadn’t made her hot, then flustered, then hot all over again.
She was used to clients allowing her to choose fonts and even designs, but she had so many more questions for him. She tried to tamp them down as she moved closer, spreading her legs so his hip was between them, allowing her to lean in closer with the hopes of her hand remaining steady.
“Don’t you have to make a copy of the words or something, then transfer that to my back?”
“I’m a freehand artist. Unless you want me to use a guide?”
“No. Freehand is better, actually.” His eyes opened and rolled down her body again. “You must be really good with your hands.”
Wanna find out? Holy cow!
“I’d like to think so.” She was not normally the type of girl who thought about touching andfinding outthings with guys she didn’t know. Sawyer was making her mind go in ten different directions, and she needed to get a grip before her sexy thoughts came streaming from her lips.
She was thankful when he rested his head on his arms again and closed his eyes, allowing her racing pulse to settle. She looked over his back for the right place for the tattoo, forcing her mind into artist mode.He’s a canvas. A very delicious-looking canvas.
“Between your shoulder blades okay? With a script font? I want to soften the words, unless you want me to go the other way—blocky or Gothic?”
“Softening is good, and like I said, wherever you think you can fit them is fine.”
She cleaned the area between his shoulder blades. “I haven’t seen you around. Where did you have these other tats done?”
“Different places around New York, Boston, Hyannis…”
She wanted to ask if he traveled often, but she resisted the urge, not wanting to become any more distracted by him than she already was.
“I’m going to start, okay?” She watched his back lift with a long inhalation, and when he exhaled all his muscles relaxed.
“Okay,” he said in a soft tone. “How long have you been tattooing?”
She concentrated on the tattoo as she answered. “Several years. I love all kinds of art. And music, actually. I really liked the song you sang last night. Did you write it?”
He didn’t answer for so long that she wondered if he was going to. He finally said, “Yes.”
“It was beautiful. Are you a songwriter?”Way to keep from getting distracted.
“No.”
For a man with so many words on his back, he said very few.
She worked in silence, enjoying the feel of his taut muscles beneath her hand. She knew better than to ask why people chose certain tattoos even though she was dying to know more about his word obsession. It rivaled hers, and that made him even more appealing. After she finished the third word, she sat back and took a momentary break.
“Music has always been a calming influence in my life. Do you write songs often, like a hobby, or…?”
“When inspiration hits. What about you? Do you have any hobbies?”
She thought about that as she finished the tattoo. Reading poetry. Listening to music. Hanging out with her friends. Were those hobbies?
“I guess just about everything I do is a hobby.” She didn’t even know if that made sense, but it felt like the truth. “I don’t really consider myself acareeranything, so even this is kind of a hobby. I’ll do it until I fall out of love with it, I guess. Although I don’t see that happening for a very long time.”
