Page 22 of Huge Dynamite
Holding out my hand, I nod to him. “Let me have your hand. Please.”
“Okay.”
Taking his strong hand in mine, I draw in a deep breath and focus. “There are twenty-seven bones in your hand.” As I trace his fingers, I name the medical term for each. “Finger metacarpals. Proximal phalanges. Middle phalanges. Distal phalanges. Thumb metacarpal. Thumb sesamoids. Thumb proximal phalanx. Thumb distal phalanx.” Looking up into his eyes, I smile. “Should I keep going?”
“N-no. That was quite impressive.” He doesn’t pull his hand away.
“Thanks. My point is if I’m sober enough to name every bone in your hand, I’m lucid enough to make this decision.” Pausing, I look into his eyes. “I want this, Seth. But it seems I can’t do it without you. Please.”
Spinning his hand over, he holds mine in his. “Come on. It’s time for you to get a tattoo.”
Getting out of the car, he pulls me gently, and I climb out next to him. Standing on the sidewalk, I take deep breaths, trying to slow my racing heart and calm myself. But this time it’s not because I’m having an anxiety attack—this time it’s because I’m standing so near Seth Hardy.
Looking into my eyes, he takes a deep breath, too. “Do you know where, um, on your body you want the tattoo?”
Nodding, I glance at the ground and then up into his eyes. “I’ve thought about it a lot. The spot I mentioned on my hip.”
He draws in another deep breath, and his grip on my hand grows tighter.
“My right hip. I think it’s the perfect spot,” I explain. “I don’t want it somewhere that’s visible if I wear a formal dress, but I’m okay with it showing in a bikini. Does that make sense?”
Nodding, he swallows hard. “Yeah. Um, you don’t happen to have sweats in the car, do you? It’ll make it easier for Marco to work rather than you having to, uh… slide those pants down.” His cheeks redden.
“No sweats, but, oh! I have clean scrubs in the car.”
“Great. Grab those, and let’s go in and get you changed. Come on. I think I know exactly what you need.”
Glancing up at him, I bite the corner of my lip and then smile. “Yes, Seth, I think you do.”
***
Squeezing my eyes shut, I hold on tighter to Seth’s hand. It’s not that I’m afraid of the needle or the pain—truthfully, nothing like that affects me much. Never has. That’s why becoming a surgeon was a natural fit for me.
What I am afraid of is who I’m becoming. Afraid and thrilled.
Lying on my side, I’m amazed at how comfortable this chair really is. The chair reclines all the way back and it’s shaped to fit my body, so my left hip is tucked snuggly into the soft leather of the chair and my right hip—the one getting the tattoo—is easily accessible to Marco, my tattoo artist. My scrubs are pulled down just enough for Marco to access my hip, and my sweater is tucked up just under my breasts. Sitting on a rolling stool next to me, I catch Seth’s glance at my tummy. Raising my eyebrow, I smirk at him, but he pinches his lips together and turns away like it never happened.
But it did, and when he glanced at my naked tummy and hip, a shiver shot up and down my body, settling as a warm feeling deep in my gut.
Marco, my tattoo artist, speaks calmly in his deep, melodic voice. “Okay, Holly. We printed out and tried a couple of different sizes of your design, and we’re confident we have the right size and shape for your tattoo. Seth did a good job choosing.”
Making eye contact, Seth nods.
“You may feel some sharp pricks and even some localized pain,” Marco explains. “It’s a small tattoo so it will be quick, but there will still be pain. If it becomes too much—”
Looking into Seth’s eyes, I think of him lying on the table in the ER with a knife impaled in his shoulder. I can do this. “It’s fine. Really.”
“Holly.” Seth slides closer and wraps my hand tightly in his. “This can hurt. You don’t have to be a hero. If you need a break, we take one.”
Nodding, I smile at him and he smiles back. Without another word, Marco begins.
“You’ll feel something wet and a little sticky,” Marco tells me. “It’s the stencil. I create all my designs freehand and then run them through the computer and create a stencil. Just to make sure my proportions and placement remain accurate.”
As soon as he puts the needle to my skin, it feels like a small but sharp bee sting. “Oh, ow. That is prickly.” Closing my eyes, I take deep breaths and soon, the pain normalizes.
“You’re doing great, Holly.”
Seth’s deep voice makes me open my eyes, and I see he’s smiling at me. We stay like this—looking into each other’s eyes—for the next half hour or so.
