Fireball (Cheap Thrills #1)(17)

The sheriff took it from me again, along with the instruction sheet on the bed, and put them both in my purse before thanking her and nodding toward the exit to freedom. Just as I was rounding the end of the bed, the little boy who’d irritated me since I’d gotten there said something that melted my heart.

“Sorry about your mom, fart lady.” He sounded so sad that I didn’t think twice as I walked around the curtain and into the cubicle he was waiting in.

There he was, sitting on the end of the bed with his legs dangling over the edge, his feet nowhere near touching the floor. He was focused on watching them swing slowly, so he didn’t see me until I got close to him.

“Hey, bud,” I murmured, taking in his freckled face and sad brown eyes as he lifted his head. Jesus, it was like looking at a lost puppy. “Thank you for making it better.”

Looking confused, he tried to figure out what I was thanking him for. When he couldn’t, he tilted his head back even more and asked, “What did I make better?”

The answer to this was simple. “Everything. My wrist, my boredom, and my heart hurting over my mom. Thank you for all of it.”

When I mentioned the last bit, he looked at my arms and focused on the tattoo of the feather. “It’s a really pretty drawing she did. I wish my mom would draw for me so I could get it tattooed on my arm.”

Snorting, I swept my finger over the tattoo, something I did often like I was just making sure it was still there. “You’re a bit young, bud, but maybe one day. Or maybe you’ll draw something yourself and get it tattooed on? That’s what I did with this one,” I pointed at the rose.

“Cool,” he muttered, his legs starting to swing more energetically now. “Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Mom can’t draw for sh…” he broke off when the sheriff cleared his throat. “She can’t draw. Even her hearts look like butts. I’m gonna learn to draw and one day I’ll be like you.”

“There’s your plan and motivation. Don’t lose it, ok?”

I had no doubt I’d be seeing him around soon. After he nodded and raised his hand, I looked over and saw that his sister was ignoring us and staring at her phone, and shook my head.

“Hey,” the sheriff called over my shoulder getting her attention. “Watch your brother. I already told you, and I won’t tell you again. Eyes on him because his safety is your responsibility while your mom’s in the bathroom.”

We both walked out with the sound of the boy’s laughter following us. “Oh, you got told. I like him. I’m gonna be a sheriff when I grow up, one with tattoos.”

Glancing at his arms again, I lamented the fact he didn’t have any once more. As we reached the elevators, he leaned over to press the button and then revealed that he had a superpower. A scary superpower. “I’ve got tattoos, I just don’t have any on my forearms. When I joined, we weren’t allowed any visible ones, so all mine stop where my shirt sleeves do.”

I dare any woman to say they wouldn’t have automatically tried to see through the material. If they said they wouldn’t have, they’d be lying. Just like they’d be lying if they said they hadn’t already done the discrete eye skim over the crotch bulge in his pants to see if they could figure out a measurement. Just saying, I’d done it on many occasions, and I’d also searched to see if there was a rule of thumb that said what a guy’s erect length would be if their soft one was what his was. Sadly, we either hadn’t done that study, or men were being bashful and didn’t want to scare women off by divulging the answers. I guess we’d either be disappointed, scared, or ecstatic.

Taking my mind off his dick because I’d done the quick dick check too many times for it to stay unnoticed by that point, I asked, “What have you got tattooed?”

The doors opened, and we both stepped in at the same time. “A piece of Japanese art that my grandad brought back with him after he was stationed there with roses either side.” His lips twitched as he said the last bit, and I rolled my eyes understanding why. “Yeah, we have that in common. Mine are black and gray too.”

“It looks better, you can see the details on the petals more.”

“Agreed. I also have a Latin word down here,” he pointed from his collarbone to his pec. “Resurgam.”

I’d heard a lot of the more common Latin phrases, and I’d come across quite a few in the art I’d studied, but this one was new to me. “What does it mean?”

“I will rise again.”

He didn’t give me any more than that, and I was stopped from asking him more questions about it when the doors opened and we came face to face with a guy who was standing on the other side, tattooed arms crossed over his chest.

“There you are. Where’d you go?” he asked, making me look behind us to see if he was talking to someone else.

“Tabby hurt her hand while her sister was having the baby, so she was in the ER getting it checked,” the sheriff told him. “Did you follow me here?”

A big grin split over the man’s face making me draw in a sharp breath. Dude was hot. Not as hot as the big bad po-po man beside me, but not far from it. “Of course.” Tilting his head slightly and focusing the full force of that beam on me, he held out a hand. “Ellis Beauregard,” he introduced, “and you must be Tabitha.”