Coming off an overnight shift usually leaves me in one of two states—either dead tired and wishing I could sleep for a week, or so wide awake I wonder if I’ll ever sleep again.

Today is the latter.

That’s a good thing, as long as I can hold out until at least Charlotte’s bedtime before I crash. I have to be at the hospital at seven tomorrow morning, so the best thing for me to do is stay awake until tonight. The way I’m feeling, it shouldn’t be too much of a problem, provided I stay busy.

I park in the driveway and head for the front door. Charlotte is still at school, and I’m not sure if Linnea is home. I find myself hoping she’s here, and just as quickly squashing that hope down. Hard as I try to bury my attraction to her, it rears its ugly head at just the thought of seeing her. And the promise of a few hours alone with her before it’s time to pick up Charlotte from school is tempting in all kinds of ways. That surge of temptation almost makes me turn around and go back to my car.

But then I hear it. Music. Is that Linnea playing?

I’ve heard her play a little, but never like this. Very carefully, I slip my key in the lock and open the front door—slow, so I don’t disturb her. I know she needs to practice and I’d hate to break her concentration.

That’s what I tell myself, at least. Really, I just don’t want her to stop playing.

I stand just inside the front door and quietly shut it. From the entryway, I can see her sitting at her piano. Her back is to me, and she doesn’t pause or look over her shoulder. I don’t think she heard me come in.

Her hands caress the keys with such fluid dexterity, it’s mesmerizing to watch. She sways to the rhythm of her song, as if the music fills her body. Her head tilts, leans to one side, then the other. Hands stretch out to reach the keys at each end.

I don’t recognize the piece, but the music is breathtaking. Intense and dramatic. She hits the keys with authority, as if she has no doubt about which notes to play. I’ve never seen this side of her. She’s sweet and soft-spoken, but this music is powerful and passionate. Her whole body moves as music fills the air, and I stare at her, captivated.

The song winds down and she stops, her hands still resting lightly on the keys.

“Wow,” I say. “That was amazing.”

She gasps and turns around. “Oh, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“It’s okay.” She glances down, and tucks her hair behind her ear. “I just didn’t realize someone was listening.”

“It was absolutely beautiful.” Just like you.

Her eyes lift to meet mine. “Thank you.” She tucks her hair again, on the same side, although it didn’t need it. “Sorry, I knew you’d be home this morning, but I wasn’t paying attention to the time.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad I got to hear you play.” I’ve got heat and tension growing where they shouldn’t, so I break eye contact and walk toward the kitchen. I hear her following me. “So, what are you up to today?”

“Well… actually…”

I pause and glance back at her. She’s standing just outside the kitchen, where the carpet meets hardwood, plucking at her hair like she’s nervous.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

A knot of dread forms in the pit of my stomach. I bet she has an audition. I bet she’s trying to figure out how to tell me she’s going to leave.

I swallow hard, alarmed at the rush of emotion that thought elicits. I know it’s coming at some point, but I don’t want it to be now. Charlotte is going to be devastated.

Let’s not talk about how I’m going to feel.

“Yes, everything is fine.” She takes a deep breath, like she needs it to be brave enough to talk, and then the words come out fast, in a rush. “I have an appointment to get a tattoo and I’m kind of scared and I was wondering if you’d come with me.”

I blink at her. What did she just say? I didn’t hear audition or symphony. I think she just said tattoo.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have asked you. It’s fine. I can go by myself. I planned on it anyway.”

“No,” I say, hurrying to get the word out. “No, that just wasn’t what I thought you were going to say. When’s your appointment? I’d love to come with you.”

Her face brightens. “It’s, well, it’s in an hour.”

“Great,” I say. “I need something to keep me awake until tonight anyway.”

* * *

The tattoo shop is on Roosevelt in a strip-mall style building. There isn’t any parking out front, so we circle the block and find a spot. It’s a short walk, so we get out and head down the sidewalk.

“Is this, um…” I falter, because as far as I know, Linnea doesn’t have any tattoos. I’ve seen her in a swimsuit, so if she does, they must be… well-hidden. “Is this your first tattoo?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I think that’s why I’m so nervous.”

“What made you decide to get one?”

“Well, I’ve thought about it for a long time,” she says. “I just think they can be really beautiful. It’s art you wear on your body, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any?” she asks.

“No,” I say. “I’ve thought about it a few times. I might get something that represents Charlotte someday.”

“That would be so sweet,” she says.

“How did you find the shop?” I ask, suddenly wondering if she’s done any research. Is this place going to be clean?

“Oh, Mia knows the artist,” she says.

“Mia?” I ask. “Alex’s Mia? How does she know a tattoo artist?”

“He’s someone she grew up with,” she says. “They went to school together or something. I was talking with her and Kendra and told them I was thinking about doing this, so Mia gave me his number.”

“Do you know what you’re going to get?”

“Yep,” she says. “I already met with him last week. He’s going to have some designs for me to choose from today, but it will be a treble clef and some music notes.”

“That’s perfect,” I say.

“Yeah, I think so,” she says.

Before I can ask her where she’s planning to get her tattoo, we’re at the shop. I open the door for her and we both go inside.

There’s a large L-shaped front counter with every kind of piercing jewelry imaginable displayed in the glass case. I’m actually not sure where some of them are designed to go. A woman with tattoos covering most of her arms and several piercings in her face greets us.

“Hi, can I help you?”

“I have an appointment with Dex,” Linnea says.

“Great, I’ll tell him you’re here,” she says.

Linnea fiddles with her hair and I glance around at the samples on the walls. There are posters and prints with hundreds of different tattoo designs.

“Hey, Linnea, good to see you again.”

The guy who approaches is tall, with thickly muscled arms covered in ink. He’s wearing a faded gray t-shirt and jeans, and I have no doubt women find this guy attractive. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Square jaw covered in rough stubble.

Linnea holds her hand out and he takes it gently. “Nice to see you too,” she says.

“So are you ready for this?” he asks.

“I think so.”

“You’re going to do great,” he says, flashing her a smile.

Linnea nibbles her bottom lip.

I can’t decide if I appreciate his friendly demeanor—it’s obvious he cares about making her feel comfortable—or if I’m annoyed at the way she’s looking at him.

“So, you brought someone?” Dex asks.

“Yeah, I hope that’s okay,” she says. “This is Caleb.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he says. “You can both come on back.”

He leads us behind the front counter and past several tattoo stations where artists are busy working on clients. One has a woman stretched out on a table, lying face down. He’s working on a design on the back of her calf. Another has a man seated in a chair while he tattoos something on his forearm. That artist has a long silver beard that hangs down to his beer belly. Why couldn’t Linnea have picked that guy to do her tattoo?

Dex’s station is at the back of the shop. It’s full of posters and stickers, most of them black. Lots of skulls. There’s a colorful sign near a few coat hooks that says I believe in unicorns. I’m not sure what to think about that one.

He pulls up a stool and gestures for me to sit, then has Linnea sit in the chair. He brings out some drawings with several variations on the music theme.

“Okay, here’s what I came up with,” he says, showing the drawings to Linnea. “What do you think? Any of these what you were hoping for?”

“That one,” she says without hesitation, pointing to a drawing of a treble clef with a swirl of music notes. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Awesome,” he says. “Any changes, or just like this?”

“Just like that,” she says.

“Great. Give me just a second and I’ll get the stencil ready.”

He goes to a flat area, almost like a desk, on one side of his station. Linnea bites her lip again and twists her hands in her lap.

“Nervous?” I ask.

She nods. “A little.”

I’m close enough to touch her, so I reach out and squeeze her hand. “You’ll be fine.”

Before I take my hand away, she squeezes mine back. “Thanks for coming.”

“Okay, Linnea, we’re going to try this on,” Dex says. “Is this your boyfriend, or…?”

“Oh, um… no,” she says, her face flushing. “But it’s okay if he stays. I’ll just turn.”

I’m a little stunned at hearing the word boyfriend, and before I can say anything, he drops a fucking bomb.

“Cool, then go ahead and take off your shirt and bra and we’ll make sure of the placement.”

My eyes almost bug out of my head and it’s all I can do to keep from choking. Take off her what, now?

She stands up and turns her back to me, then lifts her shirt over her head. I keep my eyes directly on the back wall.

Okay, so I peek. Once. Fine, twice. I’m only human.

“You can just hold your shirt up to keep your boobs covered,” Dex says and I clench my jaw when he says boobs. “Caleb, can you give her a hand with her bra? Or I can in a second.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Is he kidding? Has he seen her? But hell no, this dude is not taking her bra off. “Yeah, sure.”

She’s holding her shirt over her chest and gives me a quick glance over her shoulder before turning away again. My eyes lock on the clasp of her pale pink bra and I swallow hard.

Okay, let’s just get this over with.

Her hair hangs down her back, so I move it aside. It feels like silk between my fingers. I unfasten the clasps and her bra comes loose. I open it so the straps slip down her shoulders. All I can think about is how much I want to run my hands all over her skin and reach around to cup those magnificent tits. My heart pounds too hard, the blood rushing in my ears. She shrugs out of one strap, letting it slide off her arm while still holding her shirt up against her chest. I help her get the other one off, guiding the strap down her arm so her bra doesn’t fall on the floor.

“You can just hang onto that for her,” Dex says, totally nonchalant, as if the woman with the most amazing boobs in the history of breasts isn’t standing there almost topless. “Or you can hang it up.”

Somehow holding her bra sounds like a better option than hanging it on a hook where anyone can see it. Although anyone can see her right now, which is freaking me the hell out. I glance around, but no one is paying attention.

What can I do about it, anyway? And why do I even care? Dex certainly doesn’t seem to think this is a big deal. I suppose he tattoos beautiful women with amazing boobs all the time, and Linnea is just another client.

Dex has Linnea hold up her arm while he places the stencil along her rib cage, just behind the side of her left boob. She clutches her shirt to her chest with her other hand and I’m not sure whether I should look or avert my eyes. God, why didn’t she tell me where she was getting this damn tattoo?

“Take a look in the mirror,” Dex says. “Let me know if that looks right. I can still make changes.”

Linnea steps in front of the full-length mirror and turns to the side, lifting her arm out of the way. “Yes, that’s perfect.”

“Great.” Dex works the hydraulics on the chair, turning it into a flat table. “I’m going to have you lie down, facing Caleb. Just relax for now. It’ll take me a minute to finish setting up.”

She gets on the table and lies on her side, holding her shirt over her chest. Her eyes meet mine for a split second, but we both look away. I’m probably not helping her feel less nervous, considering I’m the furthest thing from relaxed I can imagine.

I take a deep breath. “Don’t worry. You’ve got this.”

“My parents will kill me if they find out,” she says.

There’s just enough concern in her voice that I can tell she isn’t kidding. “Is it their business? It’s not like you’re still a kid.”

She meets my eyes. “You’re right. I’m not.”

Dex gets to work on her and I’m amazed at how tough she is. She’s being stabbed with a tiny needle, but she barely flinches. I chat with her to help keep her mind off any pain she might be feeling. We start talking about Charlotte and the time seems to fly. A little over an hour later, Dex sits back and declares that he’s finished.

She gets up and checks her new tattoo in the mirror. The lines are delicate and flowing. It’s gorgeous. And it looks sexy as fuck on her. I’m back to swallowing hard and trying to keep my eyes elsewhere.

Dex puts a bandage over the tattoo and gives her a sheet with care instructions. She puts her shirt back on, but tucks her bra in her purse.

Nothing about that is helping.

She pays and thanks Dex. He gives her a gentle hug and we both say goodbye.

“So, was it as bad as you thought?” I ask as we walk back to my car.

“Not at all,” she says. “It hurt, but it wasn’t unbearable. Now it just feels warm, kind of like a sunburn.”

“You did great,” I say. “I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” she says. “And thanks for coming with me. Sorry if it was, um… uncomfortable.”

“Nah, it was fine,” I say. That’s almost true. I handled it at least. “I’m glad I could come.”

“I’m glad too.” She bites her lip. “I kind of can’t believe I just did that. A tattoo is so unlike me.”

“I don’t know about that,” I say. “I think it’s perfect for you.”

She smiles again and her eyes sparkle. God, this woman is going to be the death of me.