"Ow- Shit, whore, fuck."
Sofia glares at me, "Did anyone ever tell you you have a foul mouth?"
I stare up at her from the black leather seat I've been stuck in for an hour now. "Has anyone told you how much a tattoo hurts?"
"Raf told me he couldn't feel a thing." She shrugs, still holding my hand for emotional support. I roll my eyes because her brother has the pain tolerance of Thor. I punched him in the arm once, as an experiment, and he didn't move an inch. He was as still as those Roman statues.
I squeeze her fingers a little harder, ignoring the buzzing noise of the tattoo gun on my other arm. "Your brother is almost never a reliable source when it comes to these situations."
She squints her eyes for two seconds, thinking about it, and then agrees with me. I smile, my gaze slowly drifting towards the window to distract myself.
If it wasn't obvious, I'm getting a tattoo and Sofia is here as moral support. I probably could've gone without her but she wanted to see how tattoos are done.
I miss Morelli.
I find myself thinking that everyday. I haven't seen him in like two weeks. The team has been extra busy and I've been caught up in finishing orders. It's a lot of pressure trying to get out paintings before Christmas.
"You're almost done, you wanna take a peek?" Ren asks me, the woman who's tattooing my arm. I've grown familiar with everybody at the parlor since I've been selling some drawings to them to use.
I shake my head, "I like the big surprise at the end."
"Alright then." The buzzing in my ears starts again and I feel pressure on my forearm. Unconsciously, I squeeze Sofia's hand again. She squeezes back, but harder.
30 minutes later and I'm finally relieved of incessant poking that's called getting a piece of art permanently stitched into me.
"Here you go," Ren rolls a full body mirror over to me. I smile and thank her, hopping off the leather chair to admire my tattoo. I already know I'll love it. Hell, I designed it.
It's on the inside of my forearm, near my wrist, so I can easily see it but I like to look at my whole arm to see how it blends with the rest of my tattoos.
It's perfect. Perfectly perfect.
And I know just who I want to show it to.
I don't stop by the lounge, too giddy, excited to show Morelli my newest art piece. I'm still mindful of my arm when I walk around corners, making sure not to bump into anything because lord, that would hurt.
I take a turn, my feet following the usual route like they're on autopilot. I don't think twice when I meet the door, latch my hand to the knob, then push it open, and walk in.
I don't think at all.
Because I'm too frozen at the sight in front of me for my brain to recognize any other thoughts.
A woman stands with Luca behind his desk. Her dark brown hair is in perfect waves that trail down her back. She's shorter than me, even in heels. She's fucking gorgeous.
It makes my heart stutter. Not because she's hot, but because I'm thinking, what the hell is she doing with Luca?
He doesn't let anyone else into his office. He barely even lets Colton in and they're childhood friends. Any feeling of giddiness has dropped out of me, into a deep pit of my stomach. It hurts, my chest feels heavy.
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c l u e l e s s (adj.) having no knowledge, understanding, or ability . • ° ✿ ° • . "Come on, Morelli, you act as if I can walk on water." "Maybe. But you act like I can turn it into wine." ° • . ✿ . • ° Hana Park finally got her life together, f...