“Did you at least eat?”
“Eat?”
“And you flew?” Bella rolled her eyes. “God. That panther is like at least a six-hour tattoo. My advice… put it somewhere less painful, like the side of your leg or the top of your thigh. Don’t go near the back. Or your forearm. That’s a good place to start. You won’t even feel that after the first half-hour.”
Rhett stepped up to the desk and the sweet scent of Bella’s perfume tickled his nose. It tickled more than that and his cock jumped to life. He tamped his desire down and told himself to get a serious grip. As in, stop popping obvious boners in public in a pair of jeans that were probably a little too tight. He’d gone for a more casual look. No tux this time. Just jeans and a plain black T-shirt that he may or may not have picked because it happened to show off the better parts of his arms and was, like his jeans, a little too tight, and clung to his stomach.
He reached for the clipboard and glanced at the waiver. There were probably at least thirty boxes to check off.
“We take this seriously,” Bella informed him. “Even if it’s a spur of the moment decision you may or may not regret later, we want people to disclose any pertinent medical information and understand the risks. Tattoos hurt. They’re also for life.” She pegged him with a hard glare.
“Funny, I thought that about marriage too.”
Bella rolled her beautiful soft velvet eyes. She grabbed the jar of peanut butter, produced a spoon out thin air, and slid it over alongside the clipboard. “I want to watch you eat five spoonsful of that. Minimum. If you don’t, I’m not letting you back here. Also, I’ll go make you a large cup of really sugary juice. And I’ll bring out a few suckers. What were you thinking not eating?”
“The flight was early?”
“I’ll bet it fucking was.”
Bella turned and brushed her hair behind her ear. Rhett nearly let out a shocked sound when he realized that those big plugs in her ears had been replaced with some kind of hollow looking tunnel. She had a large, thick hoop stuck through.
She smiled at him like she knew what he was thinking. “This is just a double zero. Hardly large at all. The guy tattooing you, his stretchers are the size of my fist.”
“Great.” Rhett swallowed hard and grabbed the jar of peanut butter and the forms. He took them and stalked over to the couch. Even though he kept his head bent as he got to work filling out the very thorough paperwork, he felt Bella’s hot gaze on him. He chanced a glance in her direction but found her back turned. She wasn’t watching him at all.
Or maybe she was just that smooth.
Why the hell am I even here? This is the worst idea in the history of terrible ideas.
His pen flew across the paper, checking off boxes. He knew exactly why he was there. He might as well have his own personal checklist as well. Life falling apart. Check. Get accused of having a small dick. Twice. Check. Lose your man card to a guy named Bob. Check. Never stop thinking about your shitty ex’s not so shitty sister. Check. Use images of her O face to get off in private. Check. Still have the bluest balls, so blue they’re purple. Check. Fly across the country for a glimpse at said ex’s not so shitty sister. Check. Let my dick do all the thinking. Check, double-check.
Rhett literally stalked Bella, found out where she worked and flew all the way to Detroit not to get a tattoo, but because there was something about her that he couldn’t get out of his mind. Or out of his soul. Out of his…
Not going to go there. System. I can’t get her out of my system.
He was tired of walking around all day pining for someone who was long gone. He should have meant Sarah, but he didn’t. Once he got over the initial shit sandwich that was their wedding day, he felt surprisingly free. Like if she showed up at their house one day, no, his house, he’d actually thank her for what she did. For sparing him from being locked into a loveless marriage.
The crazy part was he actually found himself wishing it could have been Bella. That he could have met her earlier, instead of Sarah. That it was their wedding day, except that it went off without a hitch and right now instead of sitting on an antique couch that had seen better days, filling out a waiver that scared him shitless, about to get some random piece of art poked into his skin for life, he was banging Bella on their kitchen table. Or in their shower. Licking that fucking peanut butter off her breasts or something.