“Baby,” he whispered and my eyes moved from Tabby’s name to his.
“I’m gaining weight,” I announced and his fingers gave me a squeeze.
“Yeah,” he agreed but said no more.
“I keep going, I’ll need to buy more clothes.”
“So buy more clothes.”
There it was. Not, “Stop drinking beer,” not, “Quit eating the Big Grab of chips with lunch and dipping into the boys’ donut stash” but, “Buy more clothes.”
He didn’t care.
Good.
I bent over him and put my hand to his chest, my eyes dropping there and to watch my finger tracing the curlicue where Tabby’s name was written. While I did this, his hands slid up my cami and moved soothingly over the skin of my sides and back.
“You hungover?” he asked, my eyes went back to his, I shook my head but said, “A little bit. You?”
He shook his head.
My hand slid up his chest, his neck to his jaw and my thumb moved over his stubble on its path to glide along the edge of his goatee where my eyes had dropped to watch.
“You okay?” Tack asked and I looked back at him.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“You’re quiet,” he observed.
“I want to be inked on you,” I blurted.
Yes, I blurted that. Right out.
His hands went completely still.
Damn.
We were having fun. It was easy. It was good. No, it was great. We were in that time when we were getting to know each other, enjoying it, seeing how we fit into each other’s lives.
But it was too new, too soon for something that heavy.
Panicking, I blathered, “I mean… I don’t know, not now –”
I stopped speaking when his fingers tensed into my skin so hard they dug into my flesh. Then I was flying through the air as he lifted and rolled so I landed on my back with Tack on top of me and between my legs.
“You want you inked on me?” he growled and I stared up in his eyes, uncertain what I read there and for the first time in a long time I fought against biting my lip.
“No,” I finally answered and his eyes narrowed scarily. “Yes,” I amended hastily. “I mean, maybe. Eventually. Not now, of course, but –”
“I’m on you.”
I blinked.
He was but I didn’t think that was what he was talking about.
So I asked, “Pardon?”
He didn’t exactly answer. He spoke and maybe he thought it was an answer but he didn’t actually answer.