“What? Do I
look that bad?” he asks.
“No, you
look fine. Fine. Yes. Nope, you’re good. Good, good…I was just…” I scramble for
some reasonable excuse to be staring at him. “I—It’s just that I couldn’t help
but notice your tattoo.”
Yes! Brilliant save, Jameson!
“Oh, you
know, I forget it’s even there sometimes,” he says, bringing his smooth, broad
chest closer to me so I can get a better look at him. It. At it. The tattoo…
He’s
pointing to the image on his right pectoral muscle, a vibrant orange skull
intricately decorated. It has a bright array of red and pink flowers and small
jewels adorning it.
“They call
this a sugar skull.”
Before I
can help myself, I reach out to touch the colorful picture that takes up a
large section of that side of his chest. I pull away before my fingers make
contact.
“It’s
okay,” he assures me, taking my hand and pulling it to his chest. “You can
touch it.”
I keep my
hand there for a beat longer than I should before reluctantly extricating
myself. “Well, I...uh...I think it’s beautiful.” I glance down at my watch.
“Oh! I’ve got to get the chicken in the oven.”
I start to
turn toward the other naked flesh in the room.
“So...a
toothbrush?”
“Of course!
Sorry, yes, I, uh, I think I saw a sex pack—sorry, six pack. There’s a six
pack of toothbrushes in the hall closet.”
Holy hell!
What was that? I try to appear
composed, even as I feel the two hot, red spots that are forming on my cheeks.
He chivalrously turns to leave before I’m in full-on beet mode, but not before
I catch a little color on his face, too.
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