“Why?” she huffed, and then snorted, “Are you going to kill me with your magical hair?”
I rubbed a strand of hair between my finger and thumb. “It is thick. It would make good rope.”
“Dark. I like it, wee fairy.”
I rolled my eyes at the irritating nickname she’d adopted from Stu and wandered out of her room and down the hall to Simon. He was sleeping in his chair, his arms crossed on the counter and sink space in the back of the room, his head resting on his arms. I quietly walked over to him and nudged him awake, wafting the coffee below his nostrils.
“Argh,” he groaned, blinking sleepily. He saw the coffee first and wiped drool from his mouth as he sat up to take it from me. He sipped at it before throwing me a grateful smile. “Tony kept me up late last night.”
“No fucking sex talk!” Rae yelled.
“Since when?” I whispered at Simon, smirking.
“I heard that!”
My eyes bugged out. “She has radar ears.”
“So what? You have magical fucking hair!”
I laughed and heard Cole’s laughter join mine.
Sighing, I sipped my coffee as Simon chuckled into his. I felt almost content for the first time in as long as I could remember.
I felt part of something here.
I felt part of a family.
*
There really wasn’t much of an opportunity to talk with Cole at work that weekend, but as we closed up for the early evening on Sunday, Rae announced Cole was having dinner with us. I was surprised because if Cole could cut out early on a Sunday to catch up with his friends and family who got together for lunch at Ellie’s mum’s house, he would. I wasn’t complaining, though. There was something new between us now. Although we didn’t get a chance to talk much, when we did Cole was warm toward me, and there was a glitter in his eyes when he looked at me.
Mike was at the flat when we returned on Sunday, and the four of us had a good laugh together. Cole and I had formed a bond and we were a team against Rae’s sarcasm. She said it pissed her off that we were defending each other, but secretly I think she liked the challenge of finding a way to outwit us both.
From Monday through Wednesday Cole was in my space as much as he could be. He took me out to lunch twice, and when he didn’t have a client he hung out in the waiting area distracting me from my work with silly stories and jokes. When he wasn’t distracting me he was drawing, and what he was drawing were different ideas for my dragon tattoo.
I finally decided on a predatory black-and-petrol-blue dragon in profile.
The truth was I was nervous about the tattoo—not so much about the pain, because as Cole had told me many times since deciding to get the darn thing, everyone had different experiences and pain levels with tattoos. No, I was nervous about the fact that Cole was going to be the one giving me my tattoo. As in . . . touching me. Since Friday evening this new tension had grown between us. As much as I had always been aware of Cole, it seemed as if he was very much aware of me again. Not like he had been in the beginning—he was more careful now, like he didn’t want to scare me away or upset me.
But I caught him looking at me.
There was a huge part of me that loved that he was looking again. Yet there was this other huge part of me that loved the small taste I’d gotten of being Cole’s friend, and I didn’t want to ruin that.
“Ready?” Cole greeted as I walked into his room on Thursday afternoon.
I exhaled nervously and shut his door behind me. “I’m not going to lie. I’ve got butterflies.”
He smiled. “You’re in safe hands.”
Oh God, did he have to say that? I flushed inwardly, desperately looking anywhere but at his hands.
He was still grinning as he lowered himself to his stool and nodded to the chair. “You can straddle the chair and lean on the armrests.”
I swallowed hard and moved to do just that, painfully aware that he was probably getting a good look at my butt as I did so.
“I’m just going to increase the height on the chair,” he said a second before I felt the chair rise.
Suddenly his hands were in my hair and I tensed.
“There’s a lot of it. I’m just shifting it out of the way.” He gathered my hair and draped it over my shoulders. His fingers brushed my skin. “You can either take your top off or lift the hem and hold it out of my way.”
The thought of taking my shirt off in front of Cole almost fried my brain. “I’ll . . . uh . . .” In answer I lifted the hem and clutched it tight in my grip. “Is that high enough?”
“Yeah. But if you get uncomfortable let me know.”
I nodded and tried to relax.
That was really hard to do when his fingers brushed across my lower back. “Everyone feels different levels of pain,” he said, his voice soft as his fingertips lightly stroked my skin. “I will say you’ll probably find the outlines the most uncomfortable, because as I sketch it I’m dragging more definitively on the skin.”