Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
But I said, “Just not in the mood. Raincheck.”
Oscar got all quiet on the phone, and I figured I was doing a poor job of not sounding like a Johnny Raincloud.
Then he asked, “Is this about Luna getting a memory back?”
Farrow might’ve told him. Or maybe it’d been making its rounds through security since Luna didn’t keep it from her family. It was bound to spread.
I coulda said no. Instead, I found myself saying, “I triggered it.”
“What…? How?”
“She asked me to handcuff her to the bed.” I clenched the steering wheel. “I should’ve said sure or anything other than what I did.”
“What’d you do?”
“Think I made an expression like she shot me in the stomach. It sort of felt like that, at least.” I exhaled a heavy sigh. Oscar knew the night she’d been kidnapped I had found her in the rowhouse handcuffed to the bed. He’d read the report. “Out of everything I could’ve done to help her, why the fuck did I trigger that bad night and not a good one? We’ve got so many more good ones, and it’s like the universe is telling me I have shit luck and I shouldn’t touch her—”
“Stop. Bro, stop.” His voice caved. “You can’t take on that kind of blame.”
I just listened.
He said, “No one knows what triggers her memories or why that one came first. Even Redford doesn’t have that answer. So stop thinking you own a crystal ball or that you’re a death knell for Luna. You’re not that. For anyone. Legitimately. You’ve only ever been a harbinger of life.”
“You saying I’m a good omen or what?” I asked quietly.
I thought he’d rib me, but he was serious as he said, “That’s exactly what I’m saying. You’re the precursor for good things to come, Donnelly. I’ve known you for over a decade, and you don’t bring harm or toxicity to the party.” He kept going. “You won’t let anything drag you down. Not your family, not a shitty situation, not a drunk fuck at a bar, and not yourself. And don’t blame yourself now, bro. I highly doubt Luna would want that.”
“She doesn’t know,” I said.
“Well, she’s going to find out. Guilt is like a leaky faucet. At some point it’ll be obvious the bathroom is flooded.”
I knew he was right.
And I felt better after talking with my friend. Deep-down, I needed someone to reassure me—that my hands, my touch, my entire being aren’t causing Luna more pain. That I’m not fucking her up.
I shed my thoughts to focus on the tattoo.
Gotta do it right. Though, it’s been literal years since I’ve blown out a line. I still want Luna to have my best art. It takes another fifteen minutes to finish up. After wiping the ink, I appraise my work with a smile.
“Finished,” I say, relinquishing her leg.
“Really?” She sits up and tucks her knee to her chest to get a closer look. Her smile is instant when she examines the fresh ink. It’s a pinky promise between a feminine alien and a masculine human—just their hands. One is shaded a vibrant lilac purple, and the other is grayscale. I framed their hands with stars, a comet, and a ringed planet.
It’s identical to the tattoo on my thigh.
Her eyes glass, and I see the words overwhelm her features before she says them. “It’s beautiful, Donnelly.” She wipes at her watery gaze. “I love it.”
It burrows so deep into me, and I can’t look away from Luna for a second. Not gonna lie, I’d tattoo every inch of her just to see that reaction again.
“Need your leg back,” I say, and she extends it over my lap. Heat ramps up as our eyes flicker to one another and meet with sparks of desire. Don’t know what else to call it. The intensity of our attraction is a visceral heartbeat. It’s pulsing between us. Alive. The headiness is fucking insane. Feels like I could get high off her.
But I need to focus. Cleaning and bandaging the tattoo, I tell her, “There’s more in your future if you want ‘em. Girlfriend privileges and all.”
She bites the corner of her smile and nods. “Perks of dating a tattoo artist.” She tosses up a Vulcan salute, and my cock twitches like it has suddenly become a sci-fi fan. Really, it’s just her number one fan.
While I’m sitting on the pool table with Luna, my legs are spread around her. She watches me use a medical-grade, waterproof bandage to protect the ink on her calf, and her fingers brush the top of my foot. She’s tracing the bold lines of an American traditional tattoo—a daggered red heart with a ribbon that says Love Me.
Her eyes flash up to mine again. “What should my next tattoo be?”
“You wanna pick out the design first or the spot on your body?” I snap off my gloves and pack away the machine and ink.