Make Me Bad(29)

“Really, just an outline of a rose.”

My heart lurches in my chest.

“Small,” she continues, “and I mean small—microscopic even.”

Paul chuckles.

“Here, I have an image saved on my phone.”

He steps over to where she’s sitting and she holds it up for him to see. I’m still wondering if I heard her right. She said rose, didn’t she?

“Okay, so more geometric than organic,” he says, nodding in understanding.

“Exactly. It’s almost like a stripped-down version of a rose. Someone else might not realize what it is at first glance.”

“And no stem?” She nods and he steps back. “Right. I got it. Let me sketch something and I’ll be back in a second.”

When he leaves the room, he closes the door behind him and Madison glances over to me, brows raised.

“So I guess I’m really doing this,” she says, her mouth hitched up in a nervous half-smile.

“Why a rose?” I ask through a clenched jaw. My nerves are all pulled taut. I feel like a live wire.

She doesn’t notice, too self-conscious about her choice of tattoo. She thinks I’m judging her.

“I don’t know,” she says, blushing. “It’s supposed to be a tattoo in memory of my mom, which is…I don’t know, probably idiotic because I didn’t even know her. I’m not even sure she liked roses all that much, but I just thought—”

“My mom’s name was Rose,” I blurt out, appreciating the air that rushes into my lungs right after.

Her eyes widen in shock. “Really?” Then realization hits her as she remembers. “Oh right, Rose Rosenberg.” She all but whispers the name, as if she’s conjuring a ghost.

“What a name, right?” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “She always joked that she must have really loved my dad to marry him and take that name.”

Madison looks down at her hands as she twiddles her thumbs. “I don’t know…I kind of like it.” Then she jerks up and her eyes lock with mine. Under the fluorescent lights, she should look washed out, but instead she’s lit up—fair skin, red cheeks, bright green eyes. “I don’t have to get it, Ben.”

I push off the wall I’ve been leaning against and walk toward her, hand outstretched. “Let me see your phone.”

She fumbles for it and holds it out to me. It’s like she thinks I’m angry with her for wanting to get a tattoo of a rose, but it’s actually the exact opposite.

“It’s a cool design. Where are you wanting to get it?”

“Left butt cheek.”

I blink, my face a mask of horror, and it takes me a solid three seconds to realize she’s completely joking.

“Ben, I’m kidding. I’m thinking I want it along my ribs, somewhere I can hide it.”

“From your family?”

She smirks. “From the world. This tattoo is just for me.”

And for me.

I’m the only one who will know it’s there. Me…and Paul.

When he returns with the finished design and Madison happily approves, he walks her through the steps of what to expect and then tells her she’ll have to go sans shirt and bra.

Her eyes widen. I guess she didn’t think that far ahead.

Paul senses her discomfort and produces a paper drape and some micropore tape.

“It’s fine if you’d rather cover up, but I don’t want you fidgeting around while I’m trying to tattoo. Just put the drape on so it’s open in the back, and leave your left arm out. Your boyfriend can tape it down along your breast so I’ll only have access to the skin along your rib, where you want the tattoo.”

“Oh he’s not—”

“That’s fine. Got it.” I step forward and take the tape from him before Madison can protest. Paul shakes his head at me like I’m a jealous boyfriend. Little does he know, I’m just jealous. I don’t get any of the perks that come with the second word.

When Paul leaves the room again, Madison is glaring at me suspiciously.

I shrug. “It’s either this or no drape at all. I’ll turn around while you get situated.”

She laughs as I turn to face the door.

“This is hilarious. It’s like I’m doing it on purpose—continuously undressing around you, that is.” Her voice lowers. “I swear this wasn’t my intention.”

I close my eyes, pinch the bridge of my nose, and will her to hurry up. I hear her slipping her shirt over her head and then unhooking her bra. Jesus. I imagine the entire thing in excruciating detail. My mind fills in the gaps with a fantasy, and now I’m wishing I’d just gone straight home after work.

“Where should I put…”

She’s wondering where she should put her clothes. Who the fuck cares?! Put them on your head. Throw them on the ground. Just do…something.

“The table, Madison,” I snap impatiently. “Just put them on the table.”

“Oh, okay,” she says with a shaky breath. The paper drape whips open and it rustles loudly as she tries to finagle it in place. “I think I’ve got it. Here, come tape.”

I turn and she’s sitting on the edge of the table with her feet dangling over one side. The thin blue material covers her, but I can still see the outline of her breasts. I tilt my neck side to side, willing the tension to leave my shoulders. She’s staring down at where her hand is holding the drape in place then her gaze slowly drifts to me and she waits, patiently, with her green swirling eyes and her soft pink lips…