Page 52 of Merrick

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Merrick leaned over the counter and pressed a kiss against the corner of Wilder’s mouth. “I always think about you.”

“Do you have an appointment coming up?”

Merrick glanced at a clock over the door; it was a thick black-framed thing with bold black numbers, the kind Wilder remembered from elementary school. “Not until three.”

“Is that enough time to tattoo me?”

Merrick scoffed, reeling back. “You want a tattoo?”

“I want you to tattoo me,” he corrected.

“What did you have in mind?”

“Your choice,” Wilder said.

“That’s too broad.” Merrick scratched his cheek. “Where do you want it?”

“Somewhere I can see it.” He unbuttoned the cuff of his shirt and pulled up his sleeve, giving Merrick the underside of his wrist. “Here?”

Merrick drew featherlight lines over Wilder’s veins with the edge of his fingernail, eyes fixed on Wilder’s untouched skin. “Anything I want?”

“Anything you want me to have,” Wilder clarified.

Merrick pulled his lips between his teeth and bit them together, nodding slowly until his mouth broke free and he smiled at Wilder like he was sunshine. “I think I know just the thing.”

“Okay,” he said. “Lead the way.”

CHAPTER 19

Merrick

The last personMerrick expected to walk into Ink and Ember was Wilder, but there he was, dressed for work with a wild kind of look in his eye that made Merrick wish they were anywhere besides his place of employment. He sat Wilder down in the chair and set up his station, ignoring the way his fingers weren’t as steady as he needed them to be.

“I left work early today,” Wilder offered without being asked. “Went and had lunch with some friends of mine who are eager to meet you.”

“Oh?”

It had never occurred to him that Wilder would have friends. It made sense, of course. Everyone had friends, not counting himself, who pretty much only had Bryce, but Merrick understood why that had been his experience.

“I’ve known them a long time. They’ve never…I’ve never talked about anyone the way I talk about you, apparently.”

“Apparently,” Merrick repeated, glancing up beneath the fan of his lashes. His sketchbook was open, and he’d been flipping through to find the piece he wanted to put on Wilder.

Merrick realized that, save for the music playing overhead, the shop had gone completely quiet. He looked away from Wilder to find Holden staring at him, tattoo machine in one hand, other still stretching his client’s skin. On the other side of the room, Riggs watched him too, green soap and paper towel raised in midair like he was frozen in time.

“What?” Merrick asked.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Holden asked.

“Why would I introduce you to a client?”

“He’s not a client,” Holden countered.

Merrick narrowed his eyes, his expression completely counter to the happiness that sparked to life in his chest. “This is the most you’ve talked all day. Is my brother rubbing off on you?”

Holden gave him the finger, but didn’t go back to work.